DOLLY (significantly to Philip). Ahah! (The parlor maid answers the bell.)
DOLLY. Show the old gentleman up.
THE PARLOR MAID (puzzled). Madam?
DOLLY. The old gentleman with the toothache.
PHILIP. The landlord.
THE PARLOR MAID. Mr. Crampton, Sir?
PHILIP. Is his name Crampton?
DOLLY (to Philip). Sounds rheumaticky, doesn’t it?
PHILIP. Chalkstones, probably.
DOLLY (over her shoulder, to the parlor maid). Show Mr. Crampstones up. (Goes R. to writing-table chair).
THE PARLOR MAID (correcting her). Mr. Crampton, miss. (She goes.)
DOLLY (repeating it to herself like a lesson). Crampton, Crampton, Crampton, Crampton, Crampton. (She sits down studiously at the writing-table.) I must get that name right, or Heaven knows what I shall call him.
GLORIA. Phil: can you believe such a horrible thing as that about our father — what mother said just now?
PHILIP. Oh, there are lots of people of that kind. Old Chalice used to thrash his wife and daughters with a cartwhip.
DOLLY (contemptuously). Yes, a Portuguese!
PHILIP. When you come to men who are brutes, there is much in common between the Portuguese and the English variety, Doll. Trust my knowledge of human nature. (He resumes his position on the hearthrug with an elderly and responsible air.)
GLORIA (with angered remorse). I don’t think we shall ever play again at our old game of guessing what our father was to be like. Dolly: are you sorry for your father — the father with lots of money?
DOLLY. Oh, come! What about your father — the lonely old man with the tender aching heart? He’s pretty well burst up, I think.
PHILIP. There can be no doubt that the governor is an exploded superstition. (Valentine is heard talking to somebody outside the door.) But hark: he comes.
GLORIA (nervously). Who?
DOLLY. Chalkstones.
PHILIP. Sh! Attention. (They put on their best manners. Philip adds in a lower voice to Gloria) If he’s good enough for the lunch, I’ll nod to Dolly; and if she nods to you, invite him straight away.
(Valentine comes back with his landlord. Mr. Fergus Crampton is a man of about sixty, tall, hard and stringy, with an atrociously obstinate, ill tempered, grasping mouth, and a querulously dogmatic voice. Withal he is highly nervous and sensitive, judging by his thin transparent skin marked with multitudinous lines, and his slender fingers. His consequent capacity for suffering acutely from all the dislike that his temper and obstinacy can bring upon him is proved by his wistful, wounded eyes, by a plaintive note in his voice, a painful want of confidence in his welcome, and a constant but indifferently successful effort to correct his natural incivility of manner and proneness to take offence. By his keen brows and forehead he is clearly a shrewd man; and there is no sign of straitened means or commercial diffidence about him: he is well dressed, and would be classed at a guess as a prosperous master manufacturer in a business inherited from an old family in the aristocracy of trade. His navy blue coat is not of the usual fashionable pattern. It is not exactly a pilot’s coat; but it is cut that way, double breasted, and with stout buttons and broad lapels, a coat for a shipyard rather than a counting house. He has taken a fancy to Valentine, who cares nothing for his crossness of grain and treats him with a sort of disrespectful humanity, for which he is secretly grateful.)
VALENTINE. May I introduce — this is Mr. Crampton — Miss Dorothy Clandon, Mr. Philip Clandon, Miss Clandon. (Crampton stands nervously bowing. They all bow.) Sit down, Mr. Crampton.
DOLLY (pointing to the operating chair). That is the most comfortable chair, Mr. Ch — crampton.
CRAMPTON. Thank you; but won’t this young lady — (indicating Gloria, who is close to the chair)?
GLORIA. Thank you, Mr. Crampton: we are just going.
VALENTINE (bustling him across to the chair with goodhumored peremptoriness). Sit down, sit down. You’re tired.
CRAMPTON. Well, perhaps as I am considerably the oldest person present, I — (He finishes the sentence by sitting down a little rheumatically in the operating chair. Meanwhile, Philip, having studied him critically during his passage across the room, nods to Dolly; and Dolly nods to Gloria.)
GLORIA. Mr. Crampton: we understand that we are preventing Mr. Valentine from lunching with you by taking him away ourselves. My mother would be very glad, indeed, if you would come too.
CRAMPTON (gratefully, after looking at her earnestly for a moment). Thank you. I will come with pleasure.
GLORIA } (politely { Thank you very much — er —
DOLLY } murmuring).{ So glad — er —
PHILIP } { Delighted, I’m sure — er —
(The conversation drops. Gloria and Dolly look at one another; then at Valentine and Philip. Valentine and Philip, unequal to the occasion, look away from them at one another, and are instantly so disconcerted by catching one another’s eye, that they look back again and catch the eyes of Gloria and Dolly. Thus, catching one another all round, they all look at nothing and are quite at a loss. Crampton looks about him, waiting for them to begin. The silence becomes unbearable.)
DOLLY (suddenly, to keep things going). How old are you, Mr. Crampton?
GLORIA (hastily). I am afraid we must be going, Mr. Valentine. It is understood, then, that we meet at half past one. (She makes for the door. Philip goes with her. Valentine retreats to the bell.)
VALENTINE. Half past one. (He rings the bell.) Many thanks. (He follows Gloria and Philip to the door, and goes out with them.)
DOLLY (who has meanwhile stolen across to Crampton). Make him give you gas. It’s five shillings extra: but it’s worth it.
CRAMPTON (amused). Very well. (Looking more earnestly at her.) So you want to know my age, do you? I’m fifty-seven.
DOLLY (with conviction). You look it.
CRAMPTON (grimly). I dare say I do.
DOLLY. What are you looking at me so hard for? Anything wrong? (She feels whether her hat is right.)
CRAMPTON. You’re like somebody.
DOLLY. Who?
CRAMPTON. Well, you have a curious look of my mother.
DOLLY (incredulously). Your mother!!! Quite sure you don’t mean your daughter?
CRAMPTON (suddenly blackening with hate). Yes: I’m quite sure I don’t mean my daughter.
DOLLY (sympathetically). Tooth bad?
CRAMPTON. No, no: nothing. A twinge of memory, Miss Clandon, not of toothache.
DOLLY. Have it out. “Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow:” with gas, five shillings extra.
CRAMPTON (vindictively). No, not a sorrow. An injury that was done me once: that’s all. I don’t forget injuries; and I don’t want to forget them. (His features settle into an implacable frown.)
(reenter Philip: to look for Dolly. He comes down behind her unobserved.)
DOLLY (looking critically at Crampton’s expression). I don’t think we shall like you when you are brooding over your sorrows.
PHILIP (who has entered the room unobserved, and stolen behind her). My sister means well, Mr. Crampton: but she is indiscreet. Now Dolly, outside! (He takes her towards the door.)
DOLLY (in a perfectly audible undertone). He says he’s only fifty-seven; and he thinks me the image of his mother; and he hates his daughter; and — (She is interrupted by the return of