No More Learning

I had become a new person; and those who knew the old person
laughed at me. The only man who behaved sensibly was my tailor: he took
my measure anew every time he saw me, whilst all the rest went on with
their old measurements and expected them to fit me.

ANN. You became frightfully self-conscious.

TANNER. When you go to heaven, Ann, you will be frightfully conscious of
your wings for the first year or so. When you meet your relatives there,
and they persist in treating you as if you were still a mortal, you will
not be able to bear them. You will try to get into a circle which has
never known you except as an angel.

ANN. So it was only your vanity that made you run away from us after
all?

TANNER. Yes, only my vanity, as you call it.

ANN. You need not have kept away from ME on that account.

TANNER. From you above all others. You fought harder than anybody
against my emancipation.

ANN. [earnestly] Oh, how wrong you are! I would have done anything for
you.

TANNER. Anything except let me get loose from you. Even then you had
acquired by instinct that damnable woman's trick of heaping obligations
on a man, of placing yourself so entirely and helplessly at his mercy
that at last he dare not take a step without running to you for leave.
I know a poor wretch whose one desire in life is to run away from his
wife. She prevents him by threatening to throw herself in front of the
engine of the train he leaves her in. That is what all women do. If we
try to go where you do not want us to go there is no law to prevent us,
but when we take the first step your breasts are under our foot as it
descends: your bodies are under our wheels as we start. No woman shall
ever enslave me in that way.

ANN. But, Jack, you cannot get through life without considering other
people a little.

TANNER. Ay; but what other people? It is this consideration of other
people or rather this cowardly fear of them which we call consideration
that makes us the sentimental slaves we are. To consider you, as you
call it, is to substitute your will for my own. How if it be a baser
will than mine? Are women taught better than men or worse? Are mobs of
voters taught better than statesmen or worse? Worse, of course, in both
cases. And then what sort of world are you going to get, with its public
men considering its voting mobs, and its private men considering their
wives? What does Church and State mean nowadays? The Woman and the
Ratepayer.

ANN. [placidly] I am so glad you understand politics, Jack: it will
be most useful to you if you go into parliament [he collapses like a
pricked bladder]. But I am sorry you thought my influence a bad one.

TANNER. I don't say it was a bad one. But bad or good, I didn't choose
to be cut to your measure. And I won't be cut to it.

ANN. Nobody wants you to, Jack. I assure you--really on my word--I
don't mind your queer opinions one little bit. You know we have all been
brought up to have advanced opinions. Why do you persist in thinking me
so narrow minded?

TANNER. That's the danger of it. I know you don't mind, because you've
found out that it doesn't matter. The boa constrictor doesn't mind the
opinions of a stag one little bit when once she has got her coils round
it.

ANN. [rising in sudden enlightenment] O-o-o-o-oh! NOW I understand why
you warned Tavy that I am a boa constrictor. Granny told me. [She laughs
and throws her boa around her neck]. Doesn't it feel nice and soft,
Jack?

TANNER. [in the toils] You scandalous woman, will you throw away even
your hypocrisy?

ANN. I am never hypocritical with you, Jack. Are you angry? [She
withdraws the boa and throws it on a chair]. Perhaps I shouldn't have
done that.

TANNER. [contemptuously] Pooh, prudery! Why should you not, if it amuses
you?

ANN. [Shyly] Well, because--because I suppose what you really meant by
the boa constrictor was THIS [she puts her arms round his neck].

TANNER. [Staring at her] Magnificent audacity! [She laughs and pats his
cheeks]. Now just to think that if I mentioned this episode not a soul
would believe me except the people who would cut me for telling, whilst
if you accused me of it nobody would believe my denial.

ANN. [taking her arms away with perfect dignity] You are incorrigible,
Jack. But you should not jest about our affection for one another.
Nobody could possibly misunderstand it. YOU do not misunderstand it, I
hope.

TANNER. My blood interprets for me, Ann. Poor Ricky Tiky Tavy!

ANN. [looking quickly at him as if this were a new light] Surely you are
not so absurd as to be jealous of Tavy.

TANNER. Jealous! Why should I be? But I don't wonder at your grip of
him. I feel the coils tightening round my very self, though you are only
playing with me.

ANN. Do you think I have designs on Tavy?

TANNER. I know you have.

ANN. [earnestly] Take care, Jack. You may make Tavy very happy if you
mislead him about me.

TANNER. Never fear: he will not escape you.

ANN. I wonder are you really a clever man!

TANNER. Why this sudden misgiving on the subject?

ANN. You seem to understand all the things I don't understand; but you
are a perfect baby in the things I do understand.

TANNER. I understand how Tavy feels for you, Ann; you may depend on
that, at all events.

ANN. And you think you understand how I feel for Tavy, don't you?

TANNER. I know only too well what is going to happen to poor Tavy.

ANN. I should laugh at you, Jack, if it were not for poor papa's death.
Mind! Tavy will be very unhappy.

TANNER. Yes; but he won't know it, poor devil. He is a thousand times
too good for you. That's why he is going to make the mistake of his life
about you.

ANN. I think men make more mistakes by being too clever than by being
too good [she sits down, with a trace of contempt for the whole male sex
in the elegant carriage of her shoulders].

TANNER. Oh, I know you don't care very much about Tavy. But there is
always one who kisses and one who only allows the kiss. Tavy will kiss;
and you will only turn the cheek. And you will throw him over if anybody
better turns up.

ANN. [offended] You have no right to say such things, Jack. They are not
true, and not delicate. If you and Tavy choose to be stupid about me,
that is not my fault.

TANNER. [remorsefully] Forgive my brutalities, Ann. They are levelled
at this wicked world, not at you. [She looks up at him, pleased and
forgiving. He becomes cautious at once]. All the same, I wish Ramsden
would come back. I never feel safe with you: there is a devilish
charm--or no: not a charm, a subtle interest [she laughs]. Just so: you
know it; and you triumph in it. Openly and shamelessly triumph in it!

ANN. What a shocking flirt you are, Jack!

TANNER. A flirt! ! I! !

ANN. Yes, a flirt. You are always abusing and offending people, but you
never really mean to let go your hold of them.

TANNER. I will ring the bell. This conversation has already gone further
than I intended.

Ramsden and Octavius come back with Miss Ramsden, a hardheaded old
maiden lady in a plain brown silk gown, with enough rings, chains and
brooches to show that her plainness of dress is a matter of principle,
not of poverty. She comes into the room very determinedly: the two men,
perplexed and downcast, following her. Ann rises and goes eagerly to
meet her. Tanner retreats to the wall between the busts and pretends
to study the pictures. Ramsden goes to his table as usual; and Octavius
clings to the neighborhood of Tanner.

MISS RAMSDEN. [almost pushing Ann aside as she comes to Mr. Whitefield's
chair and plants herself there resolutely] I wash my hands of the whole
affair.

OCTAVIUS. [very wretched] I know you wish me to take Violet away, Miss
Ramsden. I will. [He turns irresolutely to the door].

RAMSDEN. No no--

MISS RAMSDEN. What is the use of saying no, Roebuck? Octavius knows that
I would not turn any truly contrite and repentant woman from your doors.
But when a woman is not only wicked, but intends to go on being wicked,
she and I part company.

ANN. Oh, Miss Ramsden, what do you mean? What has Violet said?

RAMSDEN. Violet is certainly very obstinate. She won't leave London. I
don't understand her.

MISS RAMSDEN. I do. It's as plain as the nose on your face, Roebuck,
that she won't go because she doesn't want to be separated from this
man, whoever he is.

ANN. Oh, surely, surely! Octavius: did you speak to her?

OCTAVIUS. She won't tell us anything. She won't make any arrangement
until she has consulted somebody. It can't be anybody else than the
scoundrel who has betrayed her.

TANNER. [to Octavius] Well, let her consult him. He will be glad enough
to have her sent abroad. Where is the difficulty?

MISS RAMSDEN. [Taking the answer out of Octavius's mouth]. The
difficulty, Mr Jack, is that when he offered to help her I didn't offer
to become her accomplice in her wickedness. She either pledges her word
never to see that man again, or else she finds some new friends; and the
sooner the better.

[The parlormaid appears at the door. Ann hastily resumes her seat, and
looks as unconcerned as possible.
Octavius instinctively imitates her].

THE MAID. The cab is at the door, ma'am.

MISS RAMSDEN. What cab?

THE MAID. For Miss Robinson.

MISS RAMSDEN. Oh! [Recovering herself] All right. [The maid withdraws].
She has sent for a cab.

TANNER. I wanted to send for that cab half an hour ago.

MISS RAMSDEN. I am glad she understands the position she has placed
herself in.

RAMSDEN. I don't like her going away in this fashion, Susan. We had
better not do anything harsh.

OCTAVIUS. No: thank you again and again; but Miss Ramsden is quite
right. Violet cannot expect to stay.

ANN. Hadn't you better go with her, Tavy?

OCTAVIUS. She won't have me.

MISS RAMSDEN. Of course she won't. She's going straight to that man.

TANNER. As a natural result of her virtuous reception here.

RAMSDEN. [much troubled] There, Susan! You hear! and there's some truth
in it. I wish you could reconcile it with your principles to be a little
patient with this poor girl. She's very young; and there's a time for
everything.

MISS RAMSDEN. Oh, she will get all the sympathy she wants from the men.
I'm surprised at you, Roebuck.

TANNER. So am I, Ramsden, most favorably.

Violet appears at the door. She is as impenitent and self-assured a
young lady as one would desire to see among the best behaved of her sex.
Her small head and tiny resolute mouth and chin; her haughty crispness
of speech and trimness of carriage; the ruthless elegance of her
equipment, which includes a very smart hat with a dead bird in it, mark
a personality which is as formidable as it is exquisitely pretty. She is
not a siren, like Ann: admiration comes to her without any compulsion
or even interest on her part; besides, there is some fun in Ann, but in
this woman none, perhaps no mercy either: if anything restrains her, it
is intelligence and pride, not compassion. Her voice might be the
voice of a schoolmistress addressing a class of girls who had disgraced
themselves, as she proceeds with complete composure and some disgust to
say what she has come to say.

VIOLET. I have only looked in to tell Miss Ramsden that she will find
her birthday present to me, the filagree bracelet, in the housekeeper's
room.

TANNER. Do come in, Violet, and talk to us sensibly.

VIOLET. Thank you: I have had quite enough of the family conversation
this morning. So has your mother, Ann: she has gone home crying. But
at all events, I have found out what some of my pretended friends are
worth. Good bye.

TANNER. No, no: one moment. I have something to say which I beg you
to hear. [She looks at him without the slightest curiosity, but waits,
apparently as much to finish getting her glove on as to hear what he
has to say]. I am altogether on your side in this matter. I congratulate
you, with the sincerest respect, on having the courage to do what you
have done. You are entirely in the right; and the family is entirely in
the wrong.

Sensation. Ann and Miss Ramsden rise and turn toward the two. Violet,
more surprised than any of the others, forgets her glove, and comes
forward into the middle of the room, both puzzled and displeased.
Octavius alone does not move or raise his head; he is overwhelmed with
shame.

ANN. [pleading to Tanner to be sensible] Jack!

MISS RAMSDEN. [outraged] Well, I must say!

VIOLET. [sharply to Tanner] Who told you?

TANNER. Why, Ramsden and Tavy of course. Why should they not?

VIOLET. But they don't know.

TANNER. Don't know what?

VIOLET. They don't know that I am in the right, I mean.

TANNER. Oh, they know it in their hearts, though they think themselves
bound to blame you by their silly superstitions about morality and
propriety and so forth. But I know, and the whole world really knows,
though it dare not say so, that you were right to follow your instinct;
that vitality and bravery are the greatest qualities a woman can have,
and motherhood her solemn initiation into womanhood; and that the fact
of your not being legally married matters not one scrap either to your
own worth or to our real regard for you.

VIOLET. [flushing with indignation] Oh! You think me a wicked woman,
like the rest. You think I have not only been vile, but that I share
your abominable opinions. Miss Ramsden: I have borne your hard words
because I knew you would be sorry for them when you found out the truth.
But I won't bear such a horrible insult as to be complimented by Jack on
being one of the wretches of whom he approves. I have kept my marriage
a secret for my husband's sake. But now I claim my right as a married
woman not to be insulted.

OCTAVIUS. [raising his head with inexpressible relief] You are married!

VIOLET. Yes; and I think you might have guessed it. What business had
you all to take it for granted that I had no right to wear my wedding
ring? Not one of you even asked me: I cannot forget that.

TANNER. [in ruins] I am utterly crushed. I meant well--I
apologize--abjectly apologize.

VIOLET. I hope you will be more careful in future about the things
you say. Of course one does not take them seriously. But they are very
disagreeable, and rather in bad taste.

TANNER. [bowing to the storm] I have no defence: I shall know better in
future than to take any woman's part. We have all disgraced ourselves in
your eyes, I am afraid, except Ann, SHE befriended you. For Ann's sake,
forgive us.

VIOLET. Yes: Ann has been very kind; but then Ann knew.

TANNER. Oh!

MISS RAMSDEN. [stiffly] And who, pray, is the gentleman who does not
acknowledge his wife?

VIOLET. [promptly] That is my business, Miss Ramsden, and not yours. I
have my reasons for keeping my marriage a secret for the present.

RAMSDEN. All I can say is that we are extremely sorry, Violet. I am
shocked to think of how we have treated you.

OCTAVIUS. [awkwardly] I beg your pardon, Violet. I can say no more.

MISS RAMSDEN. [still loth to surrender] Of course what you say puts
a very different complexion on the matter. All the same, I owe it to
myself--

VIOLET. [cutting her short] You owe me an apology, Miss Ramsden: that's
what you owe both to yourself and to me. If you were a married woman you
would not like sitting in the housekeeper's room and being treated like
a naughty child by young girls and old ladies without any serious duties
and responsibilities.

TANNER. Don't hit us when we're down, Violet. We seem to have made fools
of ourselves; but really it was you who made fools of us.

VIOLET. It was no business of yours, Jack, in any case.

TANNER. No business of mine! Why, Ramsden as good as accused me of being
the unknown gentleman.

Ramsden makes a frantic demonstration; but Violet's cool keen anger
extinguishes it.

VIOLET. You! Oh, how infamous! how abominable! How disgracefully you
have all been talking about me! If my husband knew it he would never let
me speak to any of you again. [To Ramsden] I think you might have spared
me, at least.

RAMSDEN. But I assure you I never--at least it is a monstrous perversion
of something I said that--

MISS RAMSDEN. You needn't apologize, Roebuck. She brought it all on
herself. It is for her to apologize for having deceived us.

VIOLET. I can make allowances for you, Miss Ramsden: you cannot
understand how I feel on this subject though I should have expected
rather better taste from people of greater experience. However, I quite
feel that you have all placed yourselves in a very painful position;
and the most truly considerate thing for me to do is to go at once. Good
morning.

She goes, leaving them staring.

Miss RAMSDEN. Well, I must say--!

RAMSDEN. [plaintively] I don't think she is quite fair to us.

TANNER. You must cower before the wedding ring like the rest of us,
Ramsden. The cup of our ignominy is full.




ACT II

On the carriage drive in the park of a country house near Richmond a
motor car has broken down. It stands in front of a clump of trees round
which the drive sweeps to the house, which is partly visible through
them: indeed Tanner, standing in the drive with the car on his right
hand, could get an unobstructed view of the west corner of the house on
his left were he not far too much interested in a pair of supine legs
in blue serge trousers which protrude from beneath the machine. He is
watching them intently with bent back and hands supported on his knees.
His leathern overcoat and peaked cap proclaim him one of the dismounted
passengers.

THE LEGS. Aha! I got him.

TANNER. All right now?

THE LEGS. All right now.

Tanner stoops and takes the legs by the ankles, drawing their owner
forth like a wheelbarrow, walking on his hands, with a hammer in his
mouth. He is a young man in a neat suit of blue serge, clean shaven,
dark eyed, square fingered, with short well brushed black hair and
rather irregular sceptically turned eyebrows. When he is manipulating
the car his movements are swift and sudden, yet attentive and
deliberate. With Tanner and Tanner's friends his manner is not in the
least deferential, but cool and reticent, keeping them quite effectually
at a distance whilst giving them no excuse for complaining of him.
Nevertheless he has a vigilant eye on them always, and that, too, rather
cynically, like a man who knows the world well from its seamy side. He
speaks slowly and with a touch of sarcasm; and as he does not at all
affect the gentleman in his speech, it may be inferred that his smart
appearance is a mark of respect to himself and his own class, not to
that which employs him.

He now gets into the car to test his machinery and put his cap and
overcoat on again. Tanner takes off his leather overcoat and pitches
it into the car. The chauffeur (or automobilist or motoreer or whatever
England may presently decide to call him) looks round inquiringly in the
act of stowing away his hammer.

THE CHAUFFEUR. Had enough of it, eh?

TANNER. I may as well walk to the house and stretch my legs and calm my
nerves a little. [Looking at his watch] I suppose you know that we have
come from Hyde Park Corner to Richmond in twenty-one minutes.

THE CHAUFFEUR. I'd have done it under fifteen if I'd had a clear road
all the way.

TANNER. Why do you do it? Is it for love of sport or for the fun of
terrifying your unfortunate employer?

THE CHAUFFEUR. What are you afraid of?

TANNER. The police, and breaking my neck.

THE CHAUFFEUR. Well, if you like easy going, you can take a bus, you
know. It's cheaper. You pay me to save your time and give you the value
of your thousand pound car.