Marguerite. (at the window). No signs of Mr. Vendale! And yet I felt so sure that he would come to me on my birthday!
Obenreizer. (handling the money). Vendale knows that it is her birthday. If he sends her a present, it will be the most brilliant present that wealth can buy. What am I going to give her? Nothing but the flowers that she loves!—the flowers whose eloquence I trust to speak for me. If I only dared use this money, I know whose birthday gift should be the richest! I have a month before me—the five hundred pounds won’t be wanted for another month. Dare I run the risk? Madness to think of it! Every farthing I can spare must be scraped together to make up the missing sum. Discovery brands me as a felon—discovery ruins me for life. I’ll lock the money up—the sight of it tempts me. Vendale? Bah! he is overwhelmed with business—he will forget her birthday. (Putting the money into a drawer.)
Marguerite. (joyously). Ah! I didn’t reckon on him in vain. There he is in the street! (Turns to OBENREIZER.) Mr. Vendale is coming!
Obenreizer. (pausing, before he closes the drawer). He has remembered the birthday! Come what may of it, Vendale shall not get the upper hand of me now! (A knock at the door.) Come in!
Enter VENDALE, with a jeweller’s case in his hand. He
bows to OBENREIZER, and passes on to MARGUERITE.
Vendale. (to MARGUERITE). May I offer you my best wishes and congratulations? Will you honour me by accepting a little memorial of this happy day? (MARGUERITE receives the present hesitatingly.)
Obenreizer. A little memorial! Oh, Mr. Vendale! how modestly wealth speaks, when it speaks in England!
Marguerite. (to VENDALE). You are very kind—I am much obliged to you, Mr. Vendale. (Aside.) I hope he has remembered that a simple present is the only present I can accept from him!
Vendale. (to MARGUERITE). You don’t open the case? Will you favour me by looking at what is inside?
Obenreizer. (aside). I can bear it no longer! (Snatching the money out of the drawer.) The die is cast! (To MARGUERITE.) Excuse me, dearest, for one moment. Mr. Vendale reminds me that my birthday present has not been made yet! (Goes out, stopping for a moment to speak to MADAME DOR, and to show by a gesture that he desires her not to leave VENDALE and MARGUERITE alone in his absence.)
Marguerite. (opening the case, and taking from it a plain gold locket and chain). Oh, Mr. Vendale! how well you have understood me! A present that I might have received from a person in my own rank of life!
Vendale. Is my little offering forgiven, as well as accepted?
Marguerite. More than forgiven! I own you have pleased and flattered me! (She places the locket in the bosom of her dress, and seats herself on the sofa.)
Vendale. (looking towards MADAME DOR). Madame Dor! Is there no way of getting that piece of human furniture out of the room? Stay! Her head nods—her stocking falls into her lap. Best of women! yield to Nature’s weakness, and mercifully fall asleep!
Marguerite. (noticing MADAME DOR, and rising to wake her). Madame Dor!
Vendale. (taking MARGUERITE’S hand, and leading her back to the sofa). Don’t disturb her! I have been waiting to tell you a secret, which must be heard by nobody but ourselves. Let me tell it now!
(He seats himself by MARGUERITE on the sofa. She takes up her embroidery, and tries to hide her confusion, by affecting to work.)
Marguerite. (coquettishly). What claim can I have, Mr. Vendale, to know your secrets?
Vendale. I can never tell you, if you persist in looking at your work. (MARGUERITE shyly looks up at him.) We have often talked of those delightful days in Switzerland, when we were fellow-travellers. I have often told you of the impressions I brought back with me to England. But there is one impression that I have never mentioned yet. Can you guess what that one is?
Marguerite. I am very bad at guessing, Mr. Vendale. It was an impression of the mountains, perhaps?
Vendale. No: a much more precious impression than that.
Marguerite. An impression of the lakes?
Vendale. No. The lakes are not associated with my happiness in the present, and my hopes in the future. Marguerite! all that makes life worth having, hangs for me on a word from your lips. Marguerite! I love you!
Marguerite. (sadly). Oh, Mr. Vendale, it would have been kinder to have kept your secret! Have you forgotten the distance between us? It can never, never be!
Vendale. There can be but one distance between us—a distance of your making. My love! There is no higher rank in goodness, there is no higher rank in beauty, than yours! Come! whisper the one little word! Tell me you will be my wife!
Marguerite. Think of your family! and think of mine!
Vendale. (drawing her nearer to him). If you dwell on such an obstacle as that, I shall think but one thought—I shall think I have offended you.
Marguerite. (turning towards him innocently). Oh no! (She stops, confused, and tries to disengage herself.) I didn’t mean that! I—I don’t know what I mean! Let me go, Mr. Vendale!
Vendale. (kissing her). Call me George!
Marguerite. (softly). George!
Vendale. Say you love me!
Marguerite. (timidly touching his cheek with her lips). I love you! (A pause. Footsteps heard outside. MARGUERITE starts to her feet.) Leave me! He is coming back!
(MADAME DOR wakes with a start. She drops several old gloves, which all roll off her lap together. VENDALE hurries to the back to pick them up for her. MARGUERITE stands looking towards the door, uncertain whether to go or stay. OBENREIZER appears, radiant with triumph. He has a jeweller’s case in his hand, and is followed by two men, who place pots of rare flowers, under his directions, in different parts of the room.)
Obenreizer. (to MARGUERITE). Look, dearest, at the flowers—and tell me if one of your favourites has been forgotten!
Marguerite. (confusedly). You are too kind! How can I thank you?
(She takes VENDALE’S locket nervously out of her dress.)
Obenreizer. My birthday present is not made yet! You are pleased with the flowers; but the flowers will wither with time. I have another and a better gift, which will always remind you of me. Marguerite! I have inherited no fortune from my parents. All that I possess I owe to my own exertions—and that little “all” I offer to you. (Handing her the jewel-case.) Wear these, dearest, and give them a beauty which is not their own!
Marguerite. (opening the case, and taking out a diamond necklace). Oh! how could you buy this! How can a girl like me wear such diamonds as these? You will not be offended? I do wish you had been satisfied with only giving me the flowers! (She has spoken these words—feeling OBENREIZER’S eyes fixed eagerly on her—timidly and with embarrassment.