HASLAM [beaming] Simply fatuous. [Rising] Well, I suppose I'd better be going. It's most awfully good of you to put up with my calling.
CONRAD [in his former low ghostly tone] You neednt go, you know, if you are really interested.
HASLAM [fed up] Well, I'm afraid I ought to—I really must get back—I have something to do in the—
FRANKLYN [smiling benignly and rising to proffer his hand] Goodbye.
CONRAD [gruffly, giving him up as a bad job] Goodbye.
HASLAM. Goodbye. Sorry—er—
As the rector moves to shake hands with Franklyn, feeling that he is making a frightful mess of his departure, a vigorous sunburnt young lady with hazel hair cut to the level of her neck, like an Italian youth in a Gozzoli picture, comes in impetuously. She seems to have nothing on but her short skirt, her blouse, her stockings, and a pair of Norwegian shoes: in short, she is a Simple-Lifer.
THE SIMPLE-LIFER [swooping on Conrad and kissing him] Hallo, Nunk. Youre before your time.
CONRAD. Behave yourself. Theres a visitor.
She turns quickly and sees the rector. She instinctively switches at her Gozzoli fringe with her fingers, but gives it up as hopeless.
FRANKLYN. Mr Haslam, our new rector. [To Haslam] My daughter Cynthia.
CONRAD. Usually called Savvy, short for Savage.
SAVVY. I usually call Mr Haslam Bill, short for William. [She strolls to the hearthrug, and surveys them calmly from that commanding position].
FRANKLYN. You know him?
SAVVY. Rather. Sit down, Bill.
FRANKLYN. Mr Haslam is going, Savvy. He has an engagement.
SAVVY. I know. I'm the engagement.
CONRAD. In that case, would you mind taking him into the garden while I talk to your father?
SAVVY [to Haslam] Tennis?
HASLAM. Rather!
SAVVY. Come on. [She dances out. He runs boyishly after her].
FRANKLYN [leaving his table and beginning to walk up and down the room discontentedly] Savvy's manners jar on me. They would have horrified her grandmother.
CONRAD [obstinately] They are happier manners than Mother's manners.
FRANKLYN. Yes: they are franker, wholesomer, better in a hundred ways. And yet I squirm at them. I cannot get it out of my head that Mother was a well-mannered woman, and that Savvy has no manners at all.
CONRAD. There wasnt any pleasure in Mother's fine manners. That makes a biological difference.
FRANKLYN. But there was beauty in Mother's manners, grace in them, style in them: above all, decision in them. Savvy is such a cub.
CONRAD. So she ought to be, at her age.
FRANKLYN. There it comes again! Her age! her age!
CONRAD. You want her to be fully grown at eighteen. You want to force her into a stuck-up, artificial, premature self-possession before she has any self to possess. You just let her alone: she is right enough for her years.
FRANKLYN. I have let her alone; and look at the result! Like all the other young people who have been let alone, she becomes a Socialist. That is, she becomes hopelessly demoralized.
CONRAD. Well, arnt you a Socialist?
FRANKLYN. Yes; but that is not the same thing. You and I were brought up in the old bourgeois morality. We were taught bourgeois manners and bourgeois points of honor. Bourgeois manners may be snobbish manners: there may be no pleasure in them, as you say; but they are better than no manners. Many bourgeois points of honor may be false; but at least they exist. The women know what to expect and what is expected of them. Savvy doesn't. She is a Bolshevist and nothing else. She has to improvise her manners and her conduct as she goes along. It's often charming, no doubt; but sometimes she puts her foot in it frightfully; and then I feel that she is blaming me for not teaching her better.
CONRAD. Well, you have something better to teach her now, at all events.
FRANKLYN. Yes: but it is too late. She doesn't trust me now. She doesn't talk about such things to me. She doesnt read anything I write. She never comes to hear me lecture. I am out of it as far as Savvy is concerned. [He resumes his seat at the writing-table].
CONRAD. I must have a talk to her.
FRANKLYN. Perhaps she will listen to you. You are not her father.
CONRAD. I sent her my last book. I can break the ice by asking her what she made of it.
FRANKLYN. When she heard you were coming, she asked me whether all the leaves were cut, in case it fell into your hands. She hasnt read a word of it.
CONRAD [rising indignantly] What!
FRANKLYN [inexorably] Not a word of it.
CONRAD [beaten] Well, I suppose it's only natural. Biology is a dry subject for a girl; and I am a pretty dry old codger.
[He sits down again resignedly].
FRANKLYN. Brother: if that is so; if biology as you have worked at it, and religion as I have worked at it, are dry subjects like the old stuff they taught under these names, and we two are dry old codgers, like the old preachers and professors, then the Gospel of the Brothers Barnabas is a delusion. Unless this withered thing religion, and this dry thing science, have come alive in our hands, alive and intensely interesting, we may just as well go out and dig the garden until it is time to dig our graves. [The parlor maid returns. Franklyn is impatient at the interruption]. Well? what is it now?
THE PARLOR MAID. Mr Joyce Burge on the telephone, sir. He wants to speak to you.
FRANKLYN [astonished] Mr Joyce Burge!
THE PARLOR MAID. Yes, sir.
FRANKLYN [to Conrad] What on earth does this mean? I havnt heard from him nor exchanged a word with him for years. I resigned the chairmanship of the Liberal Association and shook the dust of party politics from my feet before he was Prime Minister in the Coalition. Of course, he dropped me like a hot potato.
CONRAD. Well, now that the Coalition has chucked him out, and he is only one of the half-dozen leaders of the Opposition, perhaps he wants to pick you up again.
THE PARLOR MAID [warningly] He is holding the line, sir.
FRANKLYN. Yes: all right [he hurries out].
The parlor maid goes to the hearthrug to make up the fire. Conrad rises and strolls to the middle of the room, where he stops and looks quizzically down at her.
CONRAD. So you have only one life to live, eh?
THE PARLOR MAID [dropping on her knees in consternation] I meant no offence, sir.
CONRAD. You didn't give any. But you know you could live a devil of a long life if you really wanted to.
THE PARLOR MAID [sitting down on her heels] Oh, dont say that, sir. It's so unsettling.
CONRAD. Why? Have you been thinking about it?
THE PARLOR MAID. It would never have come into my head if you hadnt put it there, sir. Me and cook had a look at your book.
CONRAD. What!
You and cook
Had a look
At my book!
And my niece wouldn't open it! The prophet is without honor in his own family. Well, what do you think of living for several hundred years? Are you going to have a try for it?
THE PARLOR MAID. Well, of course youre not