No More Learning

And when dad treats my private letters as his own, and
takes it on himself to say that I shan't marry you if I am happy and
fortunate enough to gain your consent, then I just snap my fingers and
go my own way.

TANNER. Marry Violet!

RAMSDEN. Are you in your senses?

TANNER. Do you forget what we told you?

HECTOR. [recklessly] I don't care what you told me.

RAMSDEN. [scandalized] Tut tut, sir! Monstrous! [he flings away towards
the gate, his elbows quivering with indignation]

TANNER. Another madman! These men in love should be locked up. [He gives
Hector up as hopeless, and turns away towards the garden, but Malone,
taking offence in a new direction, follows him and compels him, by the
aggressivenes of his tone, to stop].

MALONE. I don't understand this. Is Hector not good enough for this
lady, pray?

TANNER. My dear sir, the lady is married already. Hector knows it; and
yet he persists in his infatuation. Take him home and lock him up.

MALONE. [bitterly] So this is the high-born social tone I've spoilt by
my ignorant, uncultivated behavior! Makin love to a married woman! [He
comes angrily between Hector and Violet, and almost bawls into Hector's
left ear] You've picked up that habit of the British aristocracy, have
you?

HECTOR. That's all right. Don't you trouble yourself about that. I'll
answer for the morality of what I'm doing.

TANNER. [coming forward to Hector's right hand with flashing eyes] Well
said, Malone! You also see that mere marriage laws are not morality! I
agree with you; but unfortunately Violet does not.

MALONE. I take leave to doubt that, sir. [Turning on Violet] Let me tell
you, Mrs Robinson, or whatever your right name is, you had no right to
send that letter to my son when you were the wife of another man.

HECTOR. [outraged] This is the last straw. Dad: you have insulted my
wife.

MALONE. YOUR wife!

TANNER. YOU the missing husband! Another moral impostor! [He smites his
brow, and collapses into Malone's chair].

MALONE. You've married without my consent!

RAMSDEN. You have deliberately humbugged us, sir!

HECTOR. Here: I have had just about enough of being badgered. Violet and
I are married: that's the long and the short of it. Now what have you
got to say--any of you?

MALONE. I know what I've got to say. She's married a beggar.

HECTOR. No; she's married a Worker [his American pronunciation imparts
an overwhelming intensity to this simple and unpopular word]. I start to
earn my own living this very afternoon.

MALONE. [sneering angrily] Yes: you're very plucky now, because you got
your remittance from me yesterday or this morning, I reckon. Wait til
it's spent. You won't be so full of cheek then.

HECTOR. [producing a letter from his pocketbook] Here it is [thrusting
it on his father]. Now you just take your remittance and yourself out of
my life. I'm done with remittances; and I'm done with you. I don't sell
the privilege of insulting my wife for a thousand dollars.

MALONE. [deeply wounded and full of concern] Hector: you don't know what
poverty is.

HECTOR. [fervidly] Well, I want to know what it is. I want'be a Man.
Violet: you come along with me, to your own home: I'll see you through.

OCTAVIUS. [jumping down from the garden to the lawn and running to
Hector's left hand] I hope you'll shake hands with me before you go,
Hector. I admire and respect you more than I can say. [He is affected
almost to tears as they shake hands].

VIOLET. [also almost in tears, but of vexation] Oh don't be an idiot,
Tavy. Hector's about as fit to become a workman as you are.

TANNER. [rising from his chair on the other ride of Hector] Never fear:
there's no question of his becoming a navvy, Mrs Malone. [To Hector]
There's really no difficulty about capital to start with. Treat me as a
friend: draw on me.

OCTAVIUS. [impulsively] Or on me.

MALONE. [with fierce jealousy] Who wants your dirty money? Who should he
draw on but his own father? [Tanner and Octavius recoil, Octavius rather
hurt, Tanner consoled by the solution of the money difficulty. Violet
looks up hopefully]. Hector: don't be rash, my boy. I'm sorry for what I
said: I never meant to insult Violet: I take it all back. She's just the
wife you want: there!

HECTOR. [Patting him on the shoulder] Well, that's all right, dad. Say
no more: we're friends again. Only, I take no money from anybody.

MALONE. [pleading abjectly] Don't be hard on me, Hector. I'd rather you
quarrelled and took the money than made friends and starved. You don't
know what the world is: I do.

HECTOR. No, no, NO. That's fixed: that's not going to change. [He passes
his father inexorably by, and goes to Violet]. Come, Mrs Malone: you've
got to move to the hotel with me, and take your proper place before the
world.

VIOLET. But I must go in, dear, and tell Davis to pack. Won't you go on
and make them give you a room overlooking the garden for me? I'll join
you in half an hour.

HECTOR. Very well. You'll dine with us, Dad, won't you?

MALONE. [eager to conciliate him] Yes, yes.

HECTOR. See you all later. [He waves his hand to Ann, who has now been
joined by Tanner, Octavius, and Ramsden in the garden, and goes out
through the little gate, leaving his father and Violet together on the
lawn].

MALONE. You'll try to bring him to his senses, Violet: I know you will.

VIOLET. I had no idea he could be so headstrong. If he goes on like
that, what can I do?

MALONE. Don't be discurridged: domestic pressure may be slow; but it's
sure. You'll wear him down. Promise me you will.

VIOLET. I will do my best. Of course I think it's the greatest nonsense
deliberately making us poor like that.

MALONE. Of course it is.

VIOLET. [after a moment's reflection] You had better give me the
remittance. He will want it for his hotel bill. I'll see whether I can
induce him to accept it. Not now, of course, but presently.

MALONE. [eagerly] Yes, yes, yes: that's just the thing [he hands her the
thousand dollar bill, and adds cunningly] Y'understand that this is only
a bachelor allowance.

VIOLET. [Coolly] Oh, quite. [She takes it]. Thank you. By the way, Mr
Malone, those two houses you mentioned--the abbeys.

MALONE. Yes?

VIOLET. Don't take one of them until I've seen it. One never knows what
may be wrong with these places.

MALONE. I won't. I'll do nothing without consulting you, never fear.

VIOLET. [politely, but without a ray of gratitude] Thanks: that will
be much the best way. [She goes calmly back to the villa, escorted
obsequiously by Malone to the upper end of the garden].

TANNER. [drawing Ramsden's attention to Malone's cringing attitude as he
takes leave of Violet] And that poor devil is a billionaire! one of the
master spirits of the age! Led on a string like a pug dog by the first
girl who takes the trouble to despise him. I wonder will it ever come to
that with me. [He comes down to the lawn. ]

RAMSDEN. [following him] The sooner the better for you.

MALONE. [clapping his hands as he returns through the garden] That'll be
a grand woman for Hector. I wouldn't exchange her for ten duchesses. [He
descends to the lawn and comes between Tanner and Ramsden].

RAMSDEN. [very civil to the billionaire] It's an unexpected pleasure to
find you in this corner of the world, Mr Malone. Have you come to buy up
the Alhambra?

MALONE. Well, I don't say I mightn't. I think I could do better with it
than the Spanish government. But that's not what I came about. To tell
you the truth, about a month ago I overheard a deal between two men over
a bundle of shares. They differed about the price: they were young and
greedy, and didn't know that if the shares were worth what was bid for
them they must be worth what was asked, the margin being too small to
be of any account, you see. To amuse meself, I cut in and bought the
shares. Well, to this day I haven't found out what the business is. The
office is in this town; and the name is Mendoza, Limited. Now whether
Mendoza's a mine, or a steamboat line, or a bank, or a patent article--

TANNER. He's a man. I know him: his principles are thoroughly
commercial. Let us take you round the town in our motor, Mr Malone, and
call on him on the way.

MALONE. If you'll be so kind, yes. And may I ask who--

TANNER. Mr Roebuck Ramsden, a very old friend of your daughter-in-law.

MALONE. Happy to meet you, Mr Ramsden.

RAMSDEN. Thank you. Mr Tanner is also one of our circle.

MALONE. Glad to know you also, Mr Tanner.

TANNER. Thanks.
[Malone and Ramsden go out very amicably through the
little gate. Tanner calls to Octavius, who is wandering in the garden
with Ann] Tavy! [Tavy comes to the steps, Tanner whispers loudly to
him] Violet has married a financier of brigands. [Tanner hurries away
to overtake Malone and Ramsden. Ann strolls to the steps with an idle
impulse to torment Octavius].

ANN. Won't you go with them, Tavy?

OCTAVIUS. [tears suddenly flushing his eyes] You cut me to the heart,
Ann, by wanting me to go [he comes down on the lawn to hide his face
from her. She follows him caressingly].

ANN. Poor Ricky Ticky Tavy! Poor heart!

OCTAVIUS. It belongs to you, Ann. Forgive me: I must speak of it. I love
you. You know I love you.

ANN. What's the good, Tavy? You know that my mother is determined that I
shall marry Jack.

OCTAVIUS. [amazed] Jack!

ANN. It seems absurd, doesn't it?

OCTAVIUS. [with growing resentment] Do you mean to say that Jack has
been playing with me all this time? That he has been urging me not to
marry you because he intends to marry you himself?

ANN. [alarmed] No no: you mustn't lead him to believe that I said that:
I don't for a moment think that Jack knows his own mind. But it's clear
from my father's will that he wished me to marry Jack. And my mother is
set on it.

OCTAVIUS. But you are not bound to sacrifice yourself always to the
wishes of your parents.

ANN. My father loved me. My mother loves me. Surely their wishes are a
better guide than my own selfishness.

OCTAVIUS. Oh, I know how unselfish you are, Ann. But believe me--though
I know I am speaking in my own interest--there is another side to this
question. Is it fair to Jack to marry him if you do not love him? Is
it fair to destroy my happiness as well as your own if you can bring
yourself to love me?

ANN. [looking at him with a faint impulse of pity] Tavy, my dear, you
are a nice creature--a good boy.

OCTAVIUS. [humiliated] Is that all?

ANN. [mischievously in spite of her pity] That's a great deal, I assure
you. You would always worship the ground I trod on, wouldn't you?

OCTAVIUS. I do. It sounds ridiculous; but it's no exaggeration. I do;
and I always shall.

ANN. Always is a long word, Tavy. You see, I shall have to live up
always to your idea of my divinity; and I don't think I could do that if
we were married. But if I marry Jack, you'll never be disillusioned--at
least not until I grow too old.

OCTAVIUS. I too shall grow old, Ann. And when I am eighty, one white
hair of the woman I love will make me tremble more than the thickest
gold tress from the most beautiful young head.

ANN. [quite touched] Oh, that's poetry, Tavy, real poetry. It gives
me that strange sudden sense of an echo from a former existence which
always seems to me such a striking proof that we have immortal souls.

OCTAVIUS. Do you believe that is true?

ANN. Tavy, if it is to become true you must lose me as well as love me.

OCTAVIUS. Oh! [he hastily sits down at the little table and covers his
face with his hands].

ANN. [with conviction] Tavy: I wouldn't for worlds destroy your
illusions. I can neither take you nor let you go. I can see exactly what
will suit you. You must be a sentimental old bachelor for my sake.

OCTAVIUS. [desperately] Ann: I'll kill myself.

ANN. Oh no you won't: that wouldn't be kind. You won't have a bad time.
You will be very nice to women; and you will go a good deal to the
opera. A broken heart is a very pleasant complaint for a man in London
if he has a comfortable income.

OCTAVIUS. [considerably cooled, but believing that he is only recovering
his self-control] I know you mean to be kind, Ann. Jack has persuaded
you that cynicism is a good tonic for me. [He rises with quiet dignity].

ANN. [studying him slyly] You see, I'm disillusionizing you already.
That's what I dread.

OCTAVIUS. You do not dread disillusionizing Jack.

ANN. [her face lighting up with mischievous ecstasy--whispering] I
can't: he has no illusions about me. I shall surprise Jack the other
way. Getting over an unfavorable impression is ever so much easier than
living up to an ideal. Oh, I shall enrapture Jack sometimes!

OCTAVIUS. [resuming the calm phase of despair, and beginning to enjoy
his broken heart and delicate attitude without knowing it] I don't doubt
that. You will enrapture him always. And he--the fool! --thinks you would
make him wretched.

ANN. Yes: that's the difficulty, so far.

OCTAVIUS. [heroically] Shall I tell him that you love?

ANN. [quickly] Oh no: he'd run away again.

OCTAVIUS. [shocked] Ann: would you marry an unwilling man?

ANN. What a queer creature you are, Tavy! There's no such thing as a
willing man when you really go for him. [She laughs naughtily]. I'm
shocking you, I suppose. But you know you are really getting a sort of
satisfaction already in being out of danger yourself.

OCTAVIUS [startled] Satisfaction! [Reproachfully] You say that to me!

ANN. Well, if it were really agony, would you ask for more of it?

OCTAVIUS. Have I asked for more of it?

ANN. You have offered to tell Jack that I love him. That's
self-sacrifice, I suppose; but there must be some satisfaction in it.
Perhaps it's because you're a poet. You are like the bird that presses
its breast against the sharp thorn to make itself sing.

OCTAVIUS. It's quite simple. I love you; and I want you to be happy. You
don't love me; so I can't make you happy myself; but I can help another
man to do it.

ANN. Yes: it seems quite simple. But I doubt if we ever know why we do
things. The only really simple thing is to go straight for what you want
and grab it. I suppose I don't love you, Tavy; but sometimes I feel
as if I should like to make a man of you somehow. You are very foolish
about women.

OCTAVIUS. [almost coldly] I am content to be what I am in that respect.

ANN. Then you must keep away from them, and only dream about them. I
wouldn't marry you for worlds, Tavy.

OCTAVIUS. I have no hope, Ann: I accept my ill luck. But I don't think
you quite know how much it hurts.

ANN. You are so softhearted! It's queer that you should be so different
from Violet. Violet's as hard as nails.

OCTAVIUS. Oh no. I am sure Violet is thoroughly womanly at heart.

ANN. [with some impatience] Why do you say that? Is it unwomanly to be
thoughtful and businesslike and sensible? Do you want Violet to be an
idiot--or something worse, like me?

OCTAVIUS. Something worse--like you! What do you mean, Ann?

ANN. Oh well, I don't mean that, of course. But I have a great respect
for Violet. She gets her own way always.

OCTAVIUS. [sighing] So do you.

ANN. Yes; but somehow she gets it without coaxing--without having to
make people sentimental about her.

OCTAVIUS. [with brotherly callousness] Nobody could get very sentimental
about Violet, I think, pretty as she is.

ANN. Oh yes they could, if she made them.

OCTAVIUS. But surely no really nice woman would deliberately practise on
men's instincts in that way.

ANN. [throwing up her hands] Oh Tavy, Tavy, Ricky Ticky Tavy, heaven
help the woman who marries you!

OCTAVIUS. [his passion reviving at the name] Oh why, why, why do you say
that? Don't torment me. I don't understand.

ANN. Suppose she were to tell fibs, and lay snares for men?

OCTAVIUS. Do you think I could marry such a woman--I, who have known and
loved you?

ANN. Hm! Well, at all events, she wouldn't let you if she were wise. So
that's settled. And now I can't talk any more. Say you forgive me, and
that the subject is closed.

OCTAVIUS. I have nothing to forgive; and the subject is closed. And if
the wound is open, at least you shall never see it bleed.

ANN. Poetic to the last, Tavy. Goodbye, dear. [She pats his check;
has an impulse to kiss him and then another impulse of distaste which
prevents her; finally runs away through the garden and into the villa].

Octavius again takes refuge at the table, bowing his head on his arms
and sobbing softly. Mrs Whitefield, who has been pottering round the
Granada shops, and has a net full of little parcels in her hand, comes
in through the gate and sees him.

MRS WHITEFIELD. [running to him and lifting his head] What's the matter,
Tavy? Are you ill?