STRANGWAY. Look at me, Burlacombe.
[BURLACOMBE looks up, trying hard to keep his eyes on STRANGWAY'S, that seem to burn in his thin face.]
STRANGWAY. Do I look like that? Please, please! [He touches his breast] I've too much here. Please!
BURLACOMBE. [With a sort of startled respect] Well, zurr, 'tes not for me to zay nothin', certainly.
[He turns and after a slow look back at STRANGWAY goes out.]
STRANGWAY. [To himself] Passions! No passions! Ha!
[The outer door is opened and IVY BURLACOMBE appears, and, seeing him, stops. Then, coming softly towards him, she speaks timidly.]
IVY. Oh! Mr. Strangway, Mrs. Bradmere's cumin' from the Rectory. I ran an' told 'em. Oh! 'twas awful.
[STRANGWAY starts, stares at her, and turning on his heel, goes into the house. Ivy's face is all puckered, as if she were on the point of tears. There is a gentle scratching at the door, which has not been quite closed.]
VOICE OF GLADYS. [Whispering] Ivy! Come on Ivy. I won't.
VOICE OF MERCY. Yu must. Us can't du without Yu.
Ivy. [Going to the door] I don't want to.
VOICE of GLADYS. "Naughty maid, she won't come out," Ah! du 'ee!
VOICE OF CREMER. Tim Clyst an' Bobbie's cumin'; us'll only be six anyway. Us can't dance "figure of eight" without yu.
Ivy. [Stamping her foot] I don't want to dance at all! I don't.
MERCY. Aw! She's temper. Yu can bang on tambourine, then!
GLADYS. [Running in] Quick, Ivy! Here's the old grey mare cumin' down the green. Quick.
[With whispering and scuffling; gurgling and squeaking, the reluctant Ivy's hand is caught and she is jerked away. In their haste they have left the door open behind them.]
VOICE of MRS. BRADMERE. [Outside] Who's that?
[She knocks loudly, and rings a bell; then, without waiting, comes in through the open door.]
[Noting the overcoat and hat on the window-sill she moves across to ring the bell. But as she does so, MRS. BURLACOMBE, followed by BURLACOMBE, comes in from the house.]
MRS. BRADMERE This disgraceful business! Where's Mr. Strangway? I see he's in.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Yes, m'm, he'm in—but—but Burlacombe du zay he'm terrible upset.
MRS. BRADMERE. I should think so. I must see him—at once.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. I doubt bed's the best place for 'un, an' gude 'ot drink. Burlacombe zays he'm like a man standin' on the edge of a cliff; and the lasts tipsy o' wind might throw un over.
MRS. BRADMERE. [To BURLACOMBE] You've seen him, then?
BURLACOMBE. Yeas; an' I don't like the luke of un—not a little bit, I don't.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Almost to herself] Poor soul; 'e've a-'ad to much to try un this yer long time past. I've a-seen 'tis sperrit cumin' thru 'is body, as yu might zay. He's torn to bits, that's what 'tis.
BURLACOMBE. 'Twas a praaper cowardly thing to hiss a man when he's down. But 'twas natural tu, in a manner of spakin'. But 'tesn't that troublin' 'im. 'Tes in here [touching his forehead], along of his wife, to my thinkin'. They zay 'e've a-known about 'er a-fore she went away. Think of what 'e've 'ad to kape in all this time. 'Tes enough to drive a man silly after that. I've a-locked my gun up. I see a man like—like that once before—an' sure enough 'e was dead in the mornin'!
MRS. BRADMERE. Nonsense, Burlacombe! [To MRS. BURLACOMBE] Go and tell him I want to see him—must see him. [MRS. BURLACOMBE goes into the house] And look here, Burlacombe; if we catch any one, man or woman, talking of this outside the village, it'll be the end of their tenancy, whoever they may be. Let them all know that. I'm glad he threw that drunken fellow out of the window, though it was a little–
BURLACOMBE. Aye! The nuspapers would be praaper glad of that, for a tiddy bit o' nuse.
MRS. BRADMERE. My goodness! Yes! The men are all up at the inn. Go and tell them what I said—it's not to get about. Go at once, Burlacombe.
BURLACOMBE. Must be a turrable job for 'im, every one's knowin' about 'is wife like this. He'm a proud man tu, I think. 'Tes a funny business altogether!
MRS. BRADMERE. Horrible! Poor fellow! Now, come! Do your best, Burlacombe!
[BURLACOMBE touches his forelock and goes. MRS. BRADMERE stands quite still, thinking. Then going to the photograph, she stares up at it.]
MRS. BRADMERE. You baggage!
[STRANGWAY has come in noiselessly, and is standing just behind her. She turns, and sees him. There is something so still, so startlingly still in his figure and white face, that she cannot for the moment fond her voice.]
MRS. BRADMERE. [At last] This is most distressing. I'm deeply sorry. [Then, as he does not answer, she goes a step closer] I'm an old woman; and old women must take liberties, you know, or they couldn't get on at all. Come now! Let's try and talk it over calmly and see if we can't put things right.
STRANGWAY. You were very good to come; but I would rather not.
MRS. BRADMERE. I know you're in as grievous trouble as a man can be.
STRANGWAY. Yes.
MRS. BRADMERE. [With a little sound of sympathy] What are you— thirty-five? I'm sixty-eight if I'm a day—old enough to be your mother. I can feel what you must have been through all these months, I can indeed. But you know you've gone the wrong way to work. We aren't angels down here below! And a son of the Church can't act as if for himself alone. The eyes of every one are on him.
STRANGWAY. [Taking the church key from the window.] Take this, please.
MRS. BRADMERE. No, no, no! Jarland deserved all he got. You had great provocation.
STRANGWAY. It's not Jarland. [Holding out the key] Please take it to the Rector. I beg his forgiveness. [Touching his breast] There's too much I can't speak of—can't make plain. Take it to him, please.
MRS. BRADMERE. Mr. Strangway—I don't accept this. I am sure my husband—the Church—will never accept–
STRANGWAY. Take it!
MRS. BRADMERE. [Almost unconsciously taking it] Mind! We don't accept it. You must come and talk to the Rector to-morrow. You're overwrought. You'll see it all in another light, then.
STRANGWAY. [With a strange smile] Perhaps. [Lifting the blind] Beautiful night! Couldn't be more beautiful!
MRS. BRADMERE. [Startled-softly] Don't turn sway from these who want to help you! I'm a grumpy old woman, but I can feel for you. Don't try and keep it all back, like this! A woman would cry, and it would all seem clearer at once. Now won't you let me–?
STRANGWAY. No one can help, thank you.
MRS. BRADMERE. Come! Things haven't gone beyond mending, really, if you'll face them. [Pointing to the photograph] You know what I mean. We dare not foster immorality.
STRANGWAY. [Quivering as at a jabbed nerve] Don't speak of that!
MRS. BRADMERE. But think what you've done, Mr. Strangway! If you can't take your wife back, surely you must divorce her. You can never help her to go on like this in secret sin.
STRANGWAY. Torture her—one way or the other?
MRS. BRADMERE. No, no; I want you to do as the Church—as all Christian society would wish. Come! You can't let this go on. My dear man, do your duty at all costs!
STRANGWAY. Break her heart?
MRS. BRADMERE. Then you love that woman—more