The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prude's Progress, by Jerome K. Jerome and Eden Phillpotts This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: The Prude's Progress A Comedy in Three Acts Author: Jerome K. Jerome Eden Phillpotts Release Date: December 6, 2014 [EBook #47559] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRUDE'S PROGRESS *** Produced by David Widger from page images generously provided by Google Books THE PRUDE'S PROGRESS A Comedy In Three Acts By Jerome K. Jerome and Eden Phillpotts London: Chatto & Windus 1895 PERSONS IN THE PLAY. Jack Medbury Ted Morris. Adam Cherry, Theodore Travers Ben Dixon L.C.C., M.V.A. Footman. Mrs. Wheedles Nelly Morris. Primrose Deane Mrs. Ben Dixon CONTENTS THE FIRST ACT. THE SECOND ACT. THE THIRD ACT. THE FIRST ACT. The scene represents a room high up in a Bloomsbury lodging-house. It is poorly, but not sordidly, furnished; and here and there are touches of taste, and some attempt at comfort. Nelly Morris, a young girl, dressed in a very old frock, the shabbiness of which she has attempted to hide by various feminine devices, is discovered sitting L. of table. A pile of medical books, topped by a skull, faces her. She is sitting with her elbows on table, her head in her hands, looking up at, and talking to, the skull. NELLY MORRIS. Did you ever know what it was to be poor-real poor I mean? Do you know what Ted and I have got for dinner? Three sausages between us! That's one and a half—no, two for him because he's working, and one for me. And do you know what I am longing for more than anything else in the world? A great plate of roast beef—heaps of beef—and Yorkshire pudding and potatoes—large potatoes. (Sniffs in the air.) Did you ever feel like that? Did you ever try studying for an exam, on bread-and-butter for breakfast, bread-and-butter for dinner (when it won't run to the sausages), and bread, without butter, for supper, like poor Ted has to? Do you think he'll be able to learn enough on it to pass? Do you? (Breaking down.) Ah! you only grin at it all. 'Tis funny, isn't it? (Laughing hysterically.) I suppose we shall grin at it all when we are as old as you. (The door at back opens, and Mrs. Wheedles, an old lady of the Mrs. Gummidge type, enters. Nelly hastily wipes away her tears.) MRS. WHEEDLES. Oh! my dear, you gave me quite a turn. I made sure you'd got someone here. NELLY MORRIS. Only old Tapley, Mrs. Wheedles. I talk to him about my worries and he teaches me to laugh at them. Do you see how he's smiling? (Takes skull and shows its face to Mrs Wheedles.) MRS. WHEEDLES. (Pushing it away.) Oh, my dear, don't. You make me feel quite creepy. I do wish your brother wouldn't leave his bones about as he does. It's really hardly decent. NELLY MORRIS. We'll put something over him. (Takes the skull to mantelpiece and ties pocket- handkerchief round it.) You are shocking the susceptibilities of the British Matron, Mr. Tapley. You must be dressed. MRS. WHEEDLES. He doesn't look very well to-day, does he? NELLY MORRIS. What, Mr. Tapley? Oh, much the same as—— MRS. WHEEDLES. Lor', no, my dear! how your mind does run on that nasty things I was speaking of your brother. NELLY MORRIS. You don't think he's going to break down? MRS. WHEEDLES. Oh no, my dear—at least we'll hope for the best. He seemed a bit pale, that's all. (Nelly takes books from the table and puts them away in case, and in other ways tidies up the room while talking.) NELLY MORRIS. He's working so hard you see—so terribly hard. He'll be able to rest a bit when he's passed his exam. MRS. WHEEDLES. Yes, of course—that is if he does pass it. NELLY MORRIS. Don't say "if," Mrs. Wheedles, please. You don't know what it means to us. He must pass—he must. He's worked so hard. MRS. WHEEDLES. Ah, it's never those who know the most that do pass. I've had a few medicos, as they call themselves, through my hands, and it's always the ones that will never know the difference between croup and rheumatism that get through. NELLY MORRIS. I'm afraid that doesn't promise very well for Ted. MRS. WHEEDLES. No, my dear, I am sorely afraid he won't pass—sorely afraid. But there, you can never tell, and one should always look on the bright side of things, they say. (Beginning to cry.) NELLY MORRIS. You don't help one to do so very much, Mrs. Wheedles. MRS. WHEEDLES. I never like to see anyone too sanguine, my dear. He doesn't eat enough to keep himself well, and you won't let me send a little bit of anything up now and then. NELLY MORRIS. How can we, you kind old soul, when we owe you as much as we do already? And Heaven knows how we shall ever be able to pay you if he doesn't pass. MRS. WHEEDLES. Ah, you don't like to feel that you owe anything to a poor old lodging-house keeper. I only wish all of them were as considerate. I'd be better off than I am. But suppose, now, it didn't come out of my pocket, but from someone who could well afford it—who—was rich—and who—— NELLY MORRIS. What do you mean, Mrs. Wheedles? Have you been telling anyone of our poverty? Have you been asking for charity for us? MRS. WHEEDLES. Lord help the child, no! How you do flare up. I haven't said a word to anyone. (Aside.) That's the truth anyhow. NELLY MORRIS. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to be cross. I know how kindly you meant it, but you don't understand. We're not so very poor, you know. Ted can't work if he eats heavily, and——(Turns away, choking a sob.) MRS. WHEEDLES. Ah, poor dears—and both as proud as lucifers, so that nobody can help 'em. Ah, well, my dear, I only just looked in to cheer you up a bit. There's nothing I can do for you, I suppose? NELLY MORRIS. No, thank you, Mrs. Wheedles. I'll get you to let Martha boil me a few potatoes later on. (Knock heard at door, which Mrs. Wheedles has left open.) ADAM CHERRY. (Looking in.) Can I come in? MRS. WHEEDLES. It's Mr. Cherry, my dear. NELLY MORRIS. Oh yes, come in, Mr. Cherry. (Enter Cherry. He is a dapper little man of about fifty-five, but dresses, and tries to look younger. He carries a book in his hand which he seems anxious to keep out of sight.) ADAM CHERRY. Ah, Mrs. Wheedles, you here? ADAM CHERRY. (He looks from one to the other.) I suppose you've been cheering up Miss Morris? MRS. WHEEDLES. (Crying.) Yes, Mr. Cherry. I just looked in to comfort her a bit, you know. I'm sure the poor child needs it. ADAM CHERRY. Ah, I'll tell you what it is, Mrs. Wheedles. Wheedles must have had a damp time of it. I don't wonder at his leaving you. NELLY MORRIS. Oh, do you think it wise to start her on Wheedles? MRS. WHEEDLES. I don't expect anyone to, Mr. Cherry, I'm sure. He was a fine-looking man, and there were those that lured him away. Not that I think it right that a man who's once promised to—— ADAM CHERRY. No, no! of course not! I didn't mean that. He was a villain, Mrs. Wheedles—a villain. (He bustles her, still crying, towards the door.) MRS. WHEEDLES. No, I won't say that. ADAM CHERRY. Oh, I would, Mrs. Wheedles, if I were you. Only I'd go downstairs where I could have a good cry about it all to myself, and not come up again till I felt better. MRS. WHEEDLES. Ah, no, Mr. Cherry, crying won't mend matters. We must grin and bear things in this world. (She is still crying.) You bring down those potatoes whenever you're ready, dear. (She goes off crying.) NELLY MORRIS. Thank you, Mrs. Wheedles. ADAM CHERRY. (He closes the door and returns to Nelly.) That woman never wants to go to the seaside, you know. She has a salt-water bath every day. NELLY MORRIS. Poor old soul. I think she gets all her enjoyment out of being miserable. ADAM CHERRY. Yes, and you can't say she's selfish with it either. Oh, I just came up to bring you this (showing book in his hand)—"Gray's Anatomy." I came across it in turning over some old books of mine. It's—it's the book your brother was saying he wanted, isn't it? NELLY MORRIS. (Smiling as she looks at the palpably new volume.) You keep your "old books" nice and clean, Mr. Cherry. ADAM CHERRY. (A little confused.) Yes. I—I'm very careful of my books. NELLY MORRIS. (Opening and reading title-page.) Tenth edition, London, 1893. (She goes up to him, and without speakings gives him her hand very quietly. He takes it in both his and pats it gently.) ADAM CHERRY. How is Ted? NELLY MORRIS. Very overworked, Mr. Cherry. ADAM CHERRY. Ah, well, the examination is only six weeks off now, and then he must have a long rest. NELLY MORRIS. Yes, if he passes; if he doesn't, it means the old struggle all over again, only with less heart and (Aside) less bread-and-butter. ADAM CHERRY. Ah, now, that old woman has been doing that. You mustn't think about his not passing. He's bound to pass. I do wish she'd keep downstairs. NELLY MORRIS. Oh, it's better to be ready to face a thing, I suppose, than to be crushed by it when it does come. There are plenty do fail, and they are not always those that deserve to. And you see he's not strong and well just now, and it is such a hard fight. (Vehemently) Oh, if I could only do something to help him instead of being a drag upon him. It is so hard. Other girls can earn money—I haven't been brought up to do anything. There's nothing I can do—nothing, nothing. ADAM CHERRY. (Earnestly.) Nothing! (Nelly, startled by his earnest tone, turns and looks at him.) Suppose, my dear, there—there was something you could do—which would enable somebody else to help him—something which mightn't even be very unpleasant for you, either, and that only wanted a kind, loving, little heart. Suppose, my dear, some old fellow —not very old, you know, but just old enough to—to know your value, my dear—should say to you: I love you very, very dearly, my dear—and it would make me very, very happy to make you happy. Will you try to love me, my dear? Will you give me the right to —to take away all this trouble from you—to—to help you both. (Nelly slowly crosses to fire, and stands looking into it.) Don't you see, my dear I should be one of the family, and he couldn't mind my helping him then. You see—I—I've been working all my life, and making money, and now I've no one that I care for to spend it on. It would be so pleasant for me to—to feel that I was helping some brave, clever young fellow to get on in the world. It would make me so proud and happy to be helping those you cared for— to be taking care of you. NELLY MORRIS. (She still looks into fire and Cherry stands waiting At length she turns with a calm face and firm, closed lips.) Yes, I will be your wife, Mr. Cherry—if you will be content with me as I am. ADAM CHERRY. My dear—— NELLY MORRIS. You don't misunderstand me, do you Mr. Cherry? You have been the only friend that we have had, and I like you and respect you very, very much, but I do not—— ADAM CHERRY. (Checking her.) Never mind that, my dear. I know what you are going to say. But don't say it. That will come all right. Why, you've only known me six months, and half that time as only as Mrs. Wheedles' first floor lodger. I must win that, my dear. Oh, I'm going to begin to make love now; I'm not so very old, you know. Why, bless you, I feel as if I were just beginning life. We shall be as happy as can be, my dear. You'll just try to love me a little, dear, that's all. NELLY MORRIS. I'll try to make you a good wife, Mr. Cherry. ADAM CHERRY. I know you will, my dear. I know you will. Won't you call me Adam, dear? (Seeing her trouble over this.) Ah, not just yet—never mind. It will come in time, dear. And I may begin to make things a little smoother for you—and—and for Ted at once, mayn't I? NELLY MORRIS. (A little wearily.) Yes, Mr. Cherry, thank you. You are very kind and good. ADAM CHERRY. Tut, tut, my dear. I'm pleasing myself, that's all. And now you'd like me to run away, I know, so that you can think it all over by yourself. I can't tell you, my dear, how very happy you've made me. I—I never felt like this before, and I don't know what to say. I can feel it, but I can't tell it to you. May I——? (She involuntarily shrinks away.) Ah, not yet, dear—not till you've learnt to love me a little more, eh? (Kisses her hand.) Good-bye for a little while, my dear. (He goes out.) NELLY MORRIS. (Left alone, she stands for awhile where he has left her, then, slouly crossing to fire, she takes from round her neck a locket, and, opening it, takes out a small picture and looks at it.) Poor Jack! Poor me! (She tears the miniature in two and lets the pieces fall into the fire. Ted's voice is faintly heard, and Jack's in answer to it. Nelly goes out L., closing door behind her and taking her work-box off table with her. There is a moment's pause, and then door at back opens and Ted enters, followed by Jack. They are both young fellows of three or four and twenty. Both are poorly dressed, Ted is ill and worn looking, but gay and boyish in his manner; Jack is an older and graver man. Both men are smoking pipes.) TED MORRIS. Come in, old man. (Calling.) Are you in, Nelly? NELLY MORRIS. (Calling from the inner room.) Yes, I'll be out in a minute, dear. TED MORRIS. Take your coat off, old man. You'll stop and have a bit of lunch? JACK MEDBURY. No, I won't, Ted, thanks—can't stop. Oughtn't to have come out at all—clear morning like this. TED MORRIS. (At cupboard.) Oh you can't be always at work. Have some whiskey? JACK MEDBURY. Well, just a——(Sees that bottle in Ted's hand is empty.) No—no I won't. Can't stand it in the morning. TED MORRIS. (Much relieved, puts bottle away.) Perhaps you're right. Bad habit to get into. How's the picture getting on? JACK MEDBURY. Which one? That churchyard thing? TED MORRIS. No, no,—the big one—the Enid and Geraint. Ought to make a very pretty picture that, Jack. JACK MEDBURY. Yes—yes. I should like to be getting on with that. I want a face for the Enid, you know. TED MORRIS. Yes, I should say she'd look all the better for one. JACK MEDBURY. I was wondering if Nelly would mind sitting for it. TED MORRIS. Nelly! But you want someone very beautiful for that, don't you? JACK MEDBURY. Well, and don't you call—— No, you wouldn't, of course. I expect Helen of Troy's brothers never could understand what Paris saw in her. TED MORRIS. Oh, she's a dear little soul; but, seriously now, Jack, as an artist, is she beautiful? JACK MEDBURY. Oh, you're a fool, Ted. I don't mean to be insulting. (Laughs.) But fancy your sitting opposite Nelly every day of your life, and then asking somebody else "If she's beautiful!" TED MORRIS. Um! I must have another look at her. JACK MEDBURY. Yes, I should—with your eyes open on this occasion. Look at her closely, Ted. You'll see one of the fairest, noblest little women God ever made—who'd just lay down her life for you—who keeps a bonny face and a brave word for you—and a sore heart for herself sometimes. Look at her a little oftener, old man—let her see that you understand and love her for it and—you don't mind my coming the family friend over you, do you, old fellow? TED MORRIS. Of course not, Jack. But you've worried me about Nelly. JACK MEDBURY. How? TED MORRIS. Why, it never occurred to me before, but here—— Beautiful as you say she is, and just growing up into womanhood, I'll just tell you what will be happening before long. JACK MEDBURY. What? TED MORRIS. Why, we shall have some young idiot falling in love with her. JACK MEDBURY. Yes; it's not altogether impossible. TED MORRIS. It's not at all improbable—and what the deuce shall I do? JACK MEDBURY. Oh, you come and tell me. I'll show you what to do. TED MORRIS. It's no chaffing matter, Jack. It's a serious responsibility upon a fellow when you come to think of it. I'm beginning to understand the feelings of a "stern parent." JACK MEDBURY. What sort of a fellow do you fancy for a brother-in-law? TED MORRIS. (Laughs.) What she fancies will be more to the point, I expect. You know she's a bit headstrong; I'll tell you who it will be. JACK MEDBURY. (Quickly.) Who? TED MORRIS. Why some poor devil without a penny to bless himself with. You bet your bottom dollar on that. JACK MEDBURY. And what do you intend saying to this impecunious suitor when he does turn up? TED MORRIS. I must think it over seriously, and be prepared for him. JACK MEDBURY. Better think it over now. TED MORRIS. Why? JACK MEDBURY. He may be down on you sooner than you expect. The truth is there's a very impecunious young man very much in love with your sister already, and I—I rather fancy she—she doesn't mind it. TED MORRIS. Oh! impossible. JACK MEDBURY. I don't quite see why. TED MORRIS. Why, she hasn't seen anybody for the last eighteen months. We never go out, and there hasn't been a soul here—except yourself. JACK MEDBURY. And which do you consider as "impossible"—my falling in love with her, or her not objecting to it? TED MORRIS. You? You and Nelly in love with each other? How long has it all been going on? JACK MEDBURY. Well, as far as I am concerned I don't think I lost much time since you first brought me here last Christmas twelve-month. TED MORRIS. Funny I've never noticed anything. JACK MEDBURY. Well, I don't really think it's been our fault, old man—'pon my soul, I don't. TED MORRIS. Are you engaged? JACK MEDBURY. No, no, we shouldn't have done that without saying anything to you, but I think we understand one another. TED MORRIS. Hum! I don't seem much good at this duenna business. JACK MEDBURY. It's not your strong point, Ted. (Both men laugh.) Well, what do you think, old fellow? I ought to have spoken to you before, of course. But somehow it seemed odd talking to another fellow about it. You know all about me. We are both a couple of poor devils. You're fighting the world with bones and bottles; I'm tackling it with a paint-brush. If I get licked, of course I shall clear out, but I shall daub a good deal better if I fancy I see Nelly waiting for me behind the canvas, and I may win. Come, you know I'll try to be good to her. What do you say? TED MORRIS. That it's the grandest bit of news I've heard, Jack, for many a long month. JACK MEDBURY. You don't mind? I mind a good deal, old man—I can't tell you how much—I'm glad—awfully glad. (He puts both hands on Jack's shoulders.) Why, Jack, I feel as if I'd got a new heart in me. We'll put Nelly between us, old man, and face the world together—and, damn it all, we'll win! JACK MEDBURY. Brothers! TED MORRIS. Brothers! JACK MEDBURY. Thanks, old fellow, thanks. TED MORRIS. TED MORRIS. Jack! This demands a drink of some sort. Have you ever tackled methylated spirit? JACK MEDBURY. No, I've heard of people drinking it. They say you can't tell it from gin. TED MORRIS. Let's try it. It's the very best methylated, this brand. (He goes up to cupboard and brings it down in two glasses. Jack at the same time gets water from window-sill, and brings it and fills glasses.) Shoulder to shoulder, old man. JACK MEDBURY. And our Nelly. (A knock is heard at door. Both men pause and listen. Knock is repeated. They put their glasses down on table.) TED MORRIS. Come in. (Theodore Travers enters. He is a man about twenty-five, but looks any age. He is well-dressed, well-groomed.) THEODORE TRAVERS. Good morning. Mr. Edward Morris, I believe? TED MORRIS. I—I don't think I have the pleasure of knowing you. THEODORE TRAVERS. Not hitherto. I have come on purpose to remove that reproach from you. I believe you have the distinction of being a cousin of mine. My name is Travers—Theodore Travers. JACK MEDBURY. What, the Theodore Travers? The author? THEODORE TRAVERS. Well I know of no other. I rather think one of us is sufficient for this sized world. (Turns aside and writes covertly on his cuff.) Books everywhere—microscope— smokes briar—shaves at intervals. TED MORRIS. Well, I'm very glad to see you, and I'm very glad to learn you're my cousin, though I don't quite understand how. THEODORE. TRAVERS. (Sitting.) Don't you? Oh, it's simple enough. My mother having accomplished the exceedingly satisfactory life's work of introducing me into the world, dies, poor lady. My father, feeling the sole responsibility of bringing up so extraordinary an infant as myself too much for him, marries a charming lady of whom I have always very much approved, a Miss Belinda Greggs, better known as Mdlle. Silvia, the beauteous and world-renowned skipping-rope artiste. This lady, upon the death of my father, marries your uncle. Thus Art becomes the golden link connecting the Morris to the Travers family. (About to drink from one of the glasses.) Gin? TED MORRIS. No; an experiment. I don't fancy you'd care for it. (Takes glasses away and puts them back in cupboard.) O yes, I recollect now. Mrs. Ben Dixon was a Mrs. Travers, of course. (Noticing that Theo is again writing on his cuff.) Your cuff is getting rather full, isn't it? Don't you carry a note-book? THEODORE TRAVERS. Yes, but you know some people object to it, so I generally make short memoranda on my cuff and copy them out afterwards. TED MORRIS. Very considerate of you, I'm sure. But don't you trouble about it in this case. If you can make anything out of us you go ahead. It's more than we can do ourselves. THEODORE TRAVERS. (Takes out note-book,) Well now, that's really very kind of you. I will. To tell you the truth, that's partly why I came here. I'm giving the medical students a turn in my next book, and I wanted to get material. (Writing.) Hard up, of course? (Ted nods.) Loud tie. (Sniffs.) Shag! (Turns to Jack.) Friend an artist? Also hard up? Coloured shirt! JACK MEDBURY. They last clean so much longer than the white ones. THEODORE TRAVERS. Quite so—blunt and careless. Gentleman on mantelpiece seems to be suffering from toothache. TED MORRIS. (Laughs.) Oh, that's Nelly's nonsense, I suppose. This is Mr. Tapley. We call him Mr. Tapley because he is always so jolly. THEODORE TRAVERS. (Shutting book.) Thanks. Now that will be really useful to me. You see I'm a realist. We don't imagine, we study; the world's my scenery, mankind my characters. I write as I run. JACK MEDBURY. Do you ever get your head punched? THEODORE TRAVERS. Did once. TED MORRIS. What did you do? THEODORE TRAVERS. Made a note of the experience while it was fresh in my mind, and then hit him back. JACK MEDBURY. You don't waste your experiences? THEODORE TRAVERS. Never. Experience is the cypher that explains the universe. I've been everything, done everything, made a note of everything, and understand everything. I've fought in Russia and made love in Spain, edited a newspaper in Calcutta, and ran a company in New York. Been imprisoned in Japan, and married in Egypt. I've studied mankind from the Equator to the Pole and I flatter myself I know the poor thing inside and out. TED MORRIS. You're rather young to know so much. Aren't you afraid of overdoing it, and injuring yourself? THEODORE TRAVERS. My dear fellow, I never was young. Age is a question of senses, not of seasons. I was born pretty much as you see me now. I told my first lie before most children can lisp the truth. I posed before most children can stand. I drank brandy at an age when most children lick sherbet, and made love while my co-temporaries were making mudpies. JACK MEDBURY. I wonder you care to stop on any longer in this world. THEODORE TRAVERS. Duty, my dear fellow. I'm wanted down here. The age requires me. Great men are scarce. TED MORRIS. And modest—I always thought. THEODORE TRAVERS. A popular delusion. They pretend to be. In reality they all think of themselves exactly as I think of myself; I am setting them an example of naturalness and candour. TED MORRIS. (Laughs.) You certainly can't be accused of the "pride that apes humility." Well, and how are my respected aunt and uncle? THEODORE TRAVERS. Mr. and Mrs. Ben Dixon? Oh, they are getting on very well now. I've gone to live with them. TED MORRIS. Awfully good of you. How do you get on with the old man? THEODORE TRAVERS. Ben Dixon? Well, I like him. He amuses me. TED MORRIS. Is he still in the philanthropic line? THEODORE TRAVERS. Yes, doing a bigger business than ever. I'm afraid he won't live long. They'll be wanting him for an angel when the next vacancy occurs. He is a County Councillor already. By- the-bye, he landed you pretty heavily, didn't he? TED MORRIS. Oh, that was my fault. I let him invest all our money in some cast-iron affair that was going to pay a hundred per cent. He had influence with the Directors, and got them to let us into it—as a favour. THEODORE TRAVERS. Um! and a very pretty little "let in" it was. Well, it's all experience, my dear boy—all. (Enter Nelly. Theodore rises.) TED MORRIS. This is my sister. THEODORE TRAVERS. I envy you, my dear boy. How do you do, Miss Morris? I'm Theodore Travers, your cousin, you know. NELLY MORRIS. Oh, yes, I remember. How did you manage to find us? THEODORE TRAVERS. Oh, the step-mater's been on your track ever since you disappeared. She'll be here in a minute. TED MORRIS. (Aghast.) Mrs. Ben Dixon coming here! THEODORE TRAVERS. Yes, and he's coming too. I ought to have told you before, only I've been so taken up with your interesting conversation. TED MORRIS. (Aside, savagely.) Why the deuce can't they wait till they're asked? THEODORE TRAVERS. And if you would permit me, as a practical stage-manager, I would suggest a rearrangement of the props. (Looking round room.) Let me see. Step-mater will take the centre of the stage, of course; she always does, from force of habit. NELLY MORRIS. (Putting flimsy chair R. of table, and smiling.) There! THEODORE TRAVERS. Yes, that's the place, but it's not the chair. (Shaking and testing it.) JACK MEDBURY. (Bringing a big one over from window.) This one? THEODORE TRAVERS. That's more the thing, and then, let me see, the old man—he won't sit anywhere, he'll stand in front of the fire and try to look like a stained-glass window; and then the girl—— TED MORRIS. What girl! THEODORE TRAVERS. Oh, a protégée of the step-mater's—a dear little thing—suggests roses and old Chippendale. (Takes chair to window.) She can sit over here near me. (At window, he looks out.) Ah, there's the carriage going away now. They are here evidently—all on the stairs in different degrees of exhaustion. MRS. BEN DIXON. (Without.) Well, we can't go any higher; it must be this. (Door opens, and in bustles breezily Mrs. Ben Dixon. She is a kindly, blunt, slightly vulgar woman of about forty. Her style in dress is pronounced.) Yes. Here they are, both of them. The young villains! Oh, you bad boy! Oh, you bad girl! I'll never forgive you, neither of you. Come and kiss me. (She embraces Nelly.) (She is followed in by Mr. Ben Dixon and Primrose Deane. Mr. Ben Dixon is an unctuous, plausible, smiling old humbug. He is dressed with the nicest regard to ostentatious respectability. Primrose is a sweet, childish girl.) MR. BEN DIXON. So we have run you to earth at last, you young rogues. (He kisses Nelly and introduces her to Primrose.) MRS. BEN DIXON.