The 'Mind the Paint' Girl by Arthur Wing Pinero (books for men to read TXT) 📕

used to call these Pandora women, Farncombe? Bending forward, his hands tightly clenched. She used to call them a menace to society. With their beauty, and their flagrant opportunities for displaying it, they are a living curse, she used to say—a source of constant dread to mothers whose hope it is to see their sons safely mated to modest, maidenly girls of the typical English pattern. She told us once—my brothers and me—frightened as to where we were drifting, that she was one of many mothers who prayed on their knees daily that their boys might be spared from being drawn into the net woven by their own weaknesses and passions—drawn into it by these—these——! He breaks off, stares about him for a moment, and then rises. Oh, but I oughtn’t to have repeated this to you. Pardon. Walking away unsteadily. Ho, damned bad taste! Behind the table, supporting himself by leaning upon it. Where was I? Back from the Curragh! Confused. Yes—yes—and so things went on for a couple o’ years—I trailing after Lily closer than ever—and at last—at last I did ask her to be my wife.

Lily.

Who has been listening to Jeyes with parted lips and wide-open eyes—appealingly. Don’t! Don’t, Nicko; don’t!

Jeyes.

Oblivious of her interruption. But I’d left it too late. The novelty of me had worn off; she’d scores of friends by that time; she’d made her big hit, and followed it with another, and was the talk o’ the town. And she’d money; she wasn’t dependent on me any longer for her gloves and her trips and outings!

Lily.

Her head drooping. Oh! Oh! Wringing her hands. Oh, that’s beastly of you; beastly!

Jeyes.

She was kind to me too, in a way—kind and cruel. She didn’t want to marry me; she didn’t want to marry anybody; she was in love with herself, and her success, and what it was bringing her. But she wouldn’t give me the kick. No, she wouldn’t do that; I had been something to her. And there’s where the kindness came in—and the merciless cruelty. Sitting upon the fauteuil-stool rigidly. God, if only she’d broken with me then, firmly and finally—if only she’d broken with me then—she—she might have saved me!

Lily.

Struggling with her tears. Oh, Nicko, Nicko!

Jeyes.

Twelve months ago she did throw me a bone. The regiment was under orders for India, and of course I sent in my papers; and out of pity, I suppose—and because I was always pestering her—she promised to become engaged to me if I’d get other work to do. Work! I wonder whether really she was grinning to herself when she made the stipulation!

Lily.

Oh—oh——!

Jeyes.

Work! All the spunk, all the energy, had been sapped out of me long before, and even her promise couldn’t revive it. My search for a berth wasn’t much more than a sham. At the back of my head I knew very well what I’d come to. The only work I was capable of was dancing attendance on her, and filling in what remained of the day and night at a rotten restaurant, a Bohemian club, and the bar of the theatre. And that’s been my sole employment for the past year—nothing but that. Pretty, for a man who started life as swimmingly as I did! His voice dying away. Pretty—pretty—pretty—pretty——!

Lily.

After a profound stillness. I—I don’t think you’ve ever—put the case to me—quite so plainly as this, Nicko.

Jeyes.

I—I don’t think I’ve ever put it quite so plainly—to myself.

Lily.

Her lip trembling. You—you won’t believe me——

Jeyes.

What?

Lily.

I—I’ve never fully realised it till now—the harm I’ve done you. I declare to God I’ve never realised it till now. Faintly. Nicko——!

Jeyes.

After a further pause. Ah, well—! With a deep sigh. Ah, well! To Farncombe, resignedly. Farncombe, I—I’m afraid I’m a shocking brute. I—I got carried away. Forget—forget the things I’ve said of this girl. Forget ’em, will yer? Starting to his feet. And look here! A man who isn’t a sportsman deserves to be shot. You’ve won her; I’ve lost her. Congratulate yer, old chap; congratulate yer! Pulling on his cap. Take care of her, that’s all; m-m-mind you take care of her!

He turns towards the door and she jumps up and runs to him and seizes his arm. Farncombe also rises.

Lily.

No, no, Nicko! Nicko—! Giving Farncombe a half frightened, half imploring look. Nicko, I can’t undo the mischief I’ve done; I can’t do that. But I can try to make it up to you—some of it—and I will, if you’ll let me. Putting her arms round his shoulders. Nicko——!

Jeyes.

Roughly. Make it—up to me?

Lily.

Her face close to his. You know what I mean! As soon as possible—next month, if you like—next week—quietly—! He grips her arms and stares at her blankly. Ha, ha! Yes, you’ve been in too great a hurry to settle matters, you have. Lord Farncombe and I—we—we’re not going to be married. I’ve refused him. Wildly. I—I’ve ruined you, Nicko; but I—I’ve told him—I’m not going to draw him into my net! Clinging to Jeyes and burying her face in the breast of his coat, crying. Oh! Oh! Oh! I’m not going to draw him into my net!

Again there is a pause and then Jeyes turns to Farncombe, dazed.

Jeyes.

Farncombe——?

Farncombe.

Inclining his head. Yes—yes——

Jeyes.

With feeling. My dear fellow, I—I——!

Lily.

Raising her head and speaking through her tears—to Jeyes. Nicko, I—I want to have one more word with Lord Farncombe—just one more word. He nods understandingly and goes to the door on the left. She follows him. Only a minute; he opens the door and then you must walk away together, you and he, and part good friends. He goes out on to the landing and she closes the door and stands with her back to it, drying her eyes with her handkerchief. Farncombe, still carrying his hat and overcoat, has crossed to the settee, a forlorn figure. W-w-well, you—you have had a lucky escape, haven’t you?

Farncombe.

Heavily. Escape?

Lily.

Leaving the door and advancing. You—you’ve heard what a cold-blooded, selfish wretch I am—how I’ve treated Nicko!

Farncombe.

Waving the idea away. Oh——!

Lily.

Coming to him. And you’ve seen what I’m like when I’m in a rage; you’ve seen what the genuine Lily Margaret Upjohn is, without her disguise. Looking up into his face pathetically. Yes, that was me, Eddie, under the crust. Common as dirt, dear; common as dirt! Holding the lapels of his coat. Oh! Oh, you’ll always remember me, with my eyes starting out of my head, spitting at Nicko! You’ll always picture that horrible sight when you think of me.

Farncombe.

You—you were provoked; I—I admired you for it.

Lily.

Tenderly. Ah, you dear boy! In an altered tone. Eddie——

Farncombe.

Yes?

Lily.

Had you—a little hope—that, after all, I might turn your offer over in my mind and—and eventually——?

Farncombe.

Yes—yes.

Lily.

With a catch in her breath. Ah——! In a whisper. I—I’ll tell you something.

Farncombe.

What?

Lily.

In his ear. I might have, if—if you’d persisted.

Farncombe.

Groaning. Oh-h-h-h!

Lily.

Retreating a step or two. Thank God Nicko came along! Thank God Nicko came along! What was it his mother called us girls? A menace to society; creatures to be dreaded, and prayed against! You see I was right in wishing to protect you for your mammy’s sake as well as your own. But, oh—thank God Nicko came along! He sits suddenly upon the settee and covers his face with his hands. She returns to him quickly. Ah, don’t do that; don’t do that! Touching his hands. Eddie! Eddie! I’m not worth it. Eddie! With an effort, he lifts his head. Listen. This is what I want to say to you. Don’t come near me any more; you mustn’t. And don’t come to the theatre again either. If I thought you were sitting in front, I—I’m sure I couldn’t——! Entreatingly. Swear—swear you’ll keep away from me, and from the theatre! He nods. And you’ll never go to any supper or dinner or dance where you’re likely to meet the other girls, will you? Eddie! He shakes his head. Swear! He rises and, as he does so, she grips the lapels of his coat again, her eyes blazing fiercely. Oh! Oh! If one of the other girls ever got hold of you, I—I— hissing into his face I’d kill her! She leaves him and goes to the door on the left and opens it. Nicko! Jeyes enters the room. March, both of you! Exhausted. I—I’m pretty well baked. Farncombe joins Lily and Jeyes at the door and she stands between the two men looking from one to the other and taking a hand of each. Ha, ha, ha! I’ve made the pair of you precious miserable, if you only knew it. To Jeyes. The difference is that he’ll soon forget me, and you, with me for a wife, are doomed for life. Putting her hands upon Jeyes’ shoulders. Nicko——! She kisses him lightly and, having done so, asks him a question with her eyes. Jeyes turns aside and she faces Farncombe and offers him her lips. They kiss. Good-bye. After a moment’s pause, to both of them. Away with you! The two men go out and she follows them to the top of the stairs and watches them descend. Then she slowly comes back into the room and stands listening at the door. There is a distant sound. Ah! Partly closing the door, she wanders about the room aimlessly for a while. Then, impulsively, she runs to the further window, lifts the sash, and looks below. Ah!... Ah!... Drawing back. Ah-h-h-h——!

She shuts the window and comes to the settee and, sitting there, takes off her shoes. Then she goes down upon the floor inelegantly, hunts for her slippers, and puts them on. As she rises, the door on the left is pushed open and Mrs. Upjohn peeps in cautiously.

Mrs. Upjohn.

In a dressing-gown and with her hair, now very scanty, tightly screwed up. Lil——?

Lily.

Stiffening herself and speaking in a cold, level voice. Oh, I was just coming up to you, mother, to get you to undo me.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Bustling to Lily. I didn’t mean to, but I fell off. Unhooking Lily’s dress. It was the front-door I ’eard a minute ago, then? It gave me sech a start. In difficulties with the hooks. Turn more to the light, dearie. These dressmakers do it a’ purpose, I b’lieve. The ’ooks on that noo gown o’ mine are a perfect myst’ry. Wot’s this?

Lily.

Twisting her body. Oh, don’t fiddle so, mother!

Mrs. Upjohn.

You did let ’im stay a time, Lil. ’Eaps to talk over, eh?

Lily.

Stonily. Heaps. Trying to assist Mrs. Upjohn. Oh——!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Well, dear; well, well! Tell me wot’s took place. Don’t keep me in suspense.

Lily.

I shan’t tell you anything, mother, till I’ve had a sleep. I must go through the sheets first. Stamping her foot. Oh, tear the thing; tear it!

Mrs. Upjohn.

’Ave you consented to make ’im ’appy, poor young gentleman? That’s all I want to know, Lil. Overcoming a hook. There!

Lily.

Thank you, mother. Slipping her arms out of her dress. I can manage the rest.

Mrs. Upjohn.

But, Lil, dearie——!

Lily.

Oh, for mercy’s sake, leave me alone! Violently. Why can’t you leave me alone!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Ho! Very good! Moving away indignantly as Lily, with shaking fingers, unfastens a