(seriously). Mademoiselle Marguerite is here. With her excellent relative, Madame Dor.
Wilding. Do you mean that the ladies are waiting for you? (OBENREIZER bows.) Beg them to join us directly! I am shocked to think that ladies should have been kept waiting at my door. I’ll go and fetch them myself!
Obenreizer. Not for the world!
(Exit.)
Vendale. (aside). I shall see her again! Oh, if she only remembers me as I remember her!
Wilding. (to BINTREY, speaking earnestly). I must ask him about his early life. There may be something providential in the accident which has brought this man here to-day!
Bintrey. Mr. Wilding, when Mr. Obenreizer comes back, will you favour me by doing something?
Wilding. Certainly! What can I do?
Bintrey. If you choose to make a great effort, you can hold your tongue!
(Enter OBENREIZER, leading in MARGUERITE, and followed by MADAME DOR. MADAME DOR has a dirty glove on one hand, which she is cleaning with india-rubber. Sitting or standing she always keeps her back turned on the persons about her.)
Obenreizer. (to WILDING and BINTREY, presenting MARGUERITE). My ward—Mademoiselle Marguerite! (WILDING and BINTREY bow. MARGUERITE notices VENDALE, betrays her pleasure at meeting him again, then glances at OBENREIZER, and suddenly restrains herself. She and VENDALE talk apart. Meanwhile OBENREIZER, in his jesting tone, introduces MADAME DOR.) Madame Dor! the guardian angel, gentlemen, of my gloves and stockings! (MADAME D. bobs sideways to WILDING and BINTREY, and plumps down, with her back to everybody, cleaning the glove. OBENREIZER continues.) You adore domestic details in this country, Mr. Wilding! You insist on nothing else in your books; you will buy nothing else in your pictures. Behold (pointing to MADAME D.) the most domestic woman in existence! To-day, she is cleaning my gloves; to-morrow she will be darning my stockings; the day after she will be up to her elbows in suet and flour, making my puddings—my good, solid, indigestible English puddings! You admire her fine large back, don’t you? Bah! her back is a baby, compared to her heart!
Vendale. (to MARGUERITE). Have you ever thought since of our happy days in Switzerland?
Marguerite. Over and over again, Mr. Vendale. Do you remember our lakes and mountains?
Vendale. (in a whisper). I only remember you!
(MARGUERITE turns aside confused.)
Obenreizer. (tenderly to MARGUERITE). I am afraid the journey has fatigued you? I am afraid all these new faces here confuse you. (MARGUERITE makes a sign in the negative.) No? Ah! you are too kind to let me be anxious about you! You will acknowledge nothing that can give me a moment’s pain! (She passes on to WILDING and BINTREY, who speak to her apart. OBENREIZER turns abruptly to VENDALE.) Ha! Mr. Vendale, I will make that charming creature’s English home, a home that is worthy of her! Where the money is to come from, who knows? But it shall be done! Silks, and satins, and laces, and flowers—my ward shall have them all. Can your sound English sense understand a man who sacrifices everything to one dominant idea? I dare say not! You are so well brought up in England; you are so prosperous and so rich! I was brought up in the cowshed with the cow! I was brought up barefooted, to beg for halfpence on the highway! While your parents were saying to you, “Nice boy, come and kiss us!” my parents (if they were my parents) were saying to me, “Little wretch! come and have the stick!” (WILDING makes an attempt to speak to OBENREIZER. BINTREY holds him back.) Bah! we were a sordid set where I passed my young life. I wish I could forget Switzerland.
Marguerite. For my part, I love Switzerland.
Obenreizer. (anxiously to MARGUERITE). Then, I love it too! I have said nothing to hurt you, I hope? A slip of the tongue, dearest! Remember that we are speaking in proud England!
Marguerite. I speak in proud earnest. I am not ashamed of my country—I am not ashamed of being a peasant’s daughter.
Vendale. (to MARGUERITE). I understand your feeling, and admire it.
Obenreizer. (to MARGUERITE, after looking at his watch). I am sure you are fatigued! I am sure you need rest and quiet! En route, my dear Marguerite! en route, my good Dor! Mr. Wilding, I am delighted to have presented myself.
Wilding. Mr. Obenreizer——
Bintrey. (behind WILDING). Hold your tongue!
Obenreizer. (gaily to WILDING). We must be firm friends—we must do business together—we must exchange hospitalities when I have a home of my own. I am eager for your English puddings! I adore your glorious grogs! (Turns away, and rouses MADAME DOR. BINTREY persists in silencing WILDING.)
Vendale. (to MARGUERITE). When shall we meet again?
Marguerite. It depends on Mr. Obenreizer!
(She joins OBENREIZER.)
Obenreizer. Adieu, gentleman, for the present! Mr. Wilding, you shall hear from me to-morrow. (Giving his arm to MARGUERITE.) Now, dearest, for our house-hunting in this great city! We will find you the prettiest home to live in that London can produce!
(He goes out with MARGUERITE. MADAME DOR follows sideways, still cleaning the glove. At the same moment, VENDALE and BINTREY, at either side of the stage, and WILDING in the middle, all three turn towards the audience, each speaking in turn, in a whisper to himself.)
Vendale. He is the kindest of guardians!
Bintrey. He is the greatest of rascals!
Wilding. He may be the lost man!
THE END OF THE FIRST ACT.
ACT II.
(In Three Scenes.)
FIRST SCENE.—The drawing-room at OBENREIZER’S lodgings. The room is richly furnished. On one side of the stage, MARGUERITE, elegantly dressed, stands at a window, looking out. On the other side, OBENREIZER is engaged at an open desk, counting and arranging a sum of money in gold and bank-notes. In the centre, at the back of the stage, MADAME DOR sits, with her back to the audience, cleaning a glove. A lapse of three months is supposed to have occurred since the First Act.
Marguerite. (speaking to herself). Mr. Vendale knows that to-day is my birthday—and yet Mr. Vendale never comes near me! (Remains at the window, looking out.)
Obenreizer. (counting the money). One hundred, two hundred, four hundred—four hundred and fifty. Fifty pounds still wanting to make up the five hundred—the sum which I must replace—or I am a lost man! Oh, this ruinous luxury! this hollow show of prosperity and wealth! Will Marguerite ever know what the splendour she lives in has cost me? We have been three months in England. Have I produced no impression on her by all that I have done in that time? I must have produced an impression! She has been more familiar—there has been something almost affectionate in her manner to me lately. She thinks less—she evidently thinks less of that man, Vendale.