Джон Голсуорси
Plays : First Series
ACT II
SCENE I
It is half-past three. In the kitchen of Roberts's cottage a meagre little fire is burning. The room is clean and tidy, very barely furnished, with a brick floor and white-washed walls, much stained with smoke. There is a kettle on the fire. A door opposite the fireplace opens inward from a snowy street. On the wooden table are a cup and saucer, a teapot, knife, and plate of bread and cheese. Close to the fireplace in an old arm-chair, wrapped in a rug, sits MRS. ROBERTS, a thin and dark-haired woman about thirty-five, with patient eyes. Her hair is not done up, but tied back with a piece of ribbon. By the fire, too, is MRS. YEO; a red-haired, broad-faced person. Sitting near the table is MRS. ROUS, an old lady, ashen-white, with silver hair; by the door, standing, as if about to go, is MRS. BULGIN, a little pale, pinched-up woman. In a chair, with her elbows resting on the table, avid her face resting in her hands, sits MADGE THOMAS, a good-looking girl, of twenty-two, with high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and dark untidy hair. She is listening to the talk, but she neither speaks nor moves.
MRS. YEO. So he give me a sixpence, and that's the first bit o' money I seen this week. There an't much 'eat to this fire. Come and warm yerself Mrs. Rous, you're lookin' as white as the snow, you are.
MRS. ROUS. [Shivering – placidly.] Ah! but the winter my old man was took was the proper winter. Seventy-nine that was, when none of you was hardly born – not Madge Thomas, nor Sue Bulgin. [Looking at them in turn.] Annie Roberts, 'ow old were you, dear?
MRS ROBERTS. Seven, Mrs. Rous.
MRS. ROUS. Seven – well, there! A tiny little thing!
MRS. YEO. [Aggressively.] Well, I was ten myself, I remembers it.
MRS. Rous. [Placidly.] The Company hadn't been started three years. Father was workin' on the acid, that's 'ow he got 'is pisoned-leg. I kep' sayin' to 'im, "Father, you've got a pisoned leg." "Well," 'e said, "Mother, pison or no pison, I can't afford to go a-layin' up." An' two days after, he was on 'is back, and never got up again. It was Providence! There was n't none o' these Compensation Acts then.
MRS. YEO. Ye had n't no strike that winter! [With grim humour.] This winter's 'ard enough for me. Mrs. Roberts, you don't want no 'arder winter, do you? Wouldn't seem natural to 'ave a dinner, would it, Mrs. Bulgin?
MRS. BULGIN. We've had bread and tea last four days.
MRS. YEO. You got that Friday's laundry job?
MRS. BULGIN. [Dispiritedly.] They said they'd give it me, but when I went last Friday, they were full up. I got to go again next week.
MRS. YEO. Ah! There's too many after that. I send Yeo out on the ice to put on the gentry's skates an' pick up what 'e can. Stops 'im from broodin' about the 'ouse.
MRS. BULGIN. [In a desolate, matter-of-fact voice.] Leavin' out the men – it's bad enough with the children. I keep 'em in bed, they don't get so hungry when they're not running about; but they're that restless in bed they worry your life out.
MRS. YEO. You're lucky they're all so small. It 's the goin' to school that makes 'em 'ungry. Don't Bulgin give you anythin'?
MRS. BULGIN. [Shakes her head, then, as though by afterthought.] Would if he could, I s'pose.
MRS. YEO. [Sardonically.] What! 'Ave n't 'e got no shares in the Company?
MRS. ROUS. [Rising with tremulous cheerfulness.] Well, good-bye, Annie Roberts, I'm going along home.
MRS. ROBERTS. Stay an' have a cup of tea, Mrs. Rous?
MRS. ROUS. [With the faintest smile.] Roberts 'll want 'is tea when he comes in. I'll just go an' get to bed; it's warmer there than anywhere.
[She moves very shakily towards the door.]
MRS. YEO. [Rising and giving her an arm.] Come on, Mother, take my arm; we're all going' the same way.
MRS. ROUS. [Taking the arm.]Thank you, my dearies!
[THEY go out, followed by MRS. BULGIN.]
MADGE. [Moving for the first time.] There, Annie, you see that! I told George Rous, "Don't think to have my company till you've made an end of all this trouble. You ought to be ashamed," I said, "with your own mother looking like a ghost, and not a stick to put on the fire. So long as you're able to fill your pipes, you'll let us starve." "I 'll take my oath, Madge," he said, "I 've not had smoke nor drink these three weeks!" "Well, then, why do you go on with it?" "I can't go back on Roberts!".. That's it! Roberts, always Roberts! They'd all drop it but for him. When he talks it's the devil that comes into them.
[A silence. MRS. ROBERTS makes a movement of pain.]
Ah! You don't want him beaten! He's your man. With everybody like their own shadows! [She makes a gesture towards MRS. ROBERTS.] If ROUS wants me he must give up Roberts. If he gave him up – they all would. They're only waiting for a lead. Father's against him – they're all against him in their hearts.
MRS. ROBERTS. You won't beat Roberts!
[They look silently at each other.]
MADGE. Won't I? The cowards – when their own mothers and their own children don't know where to turn.
MRS. ROBERTS. Madge!
MADGE. [Looking searchingly at MRS. ROBERTS.] I wonder he can look you in the face. [She squats before the fire, with her hands out to the flame.] Harness is here again. They'll have to make up their minds to-day.
MRS. ROBERTS. [In a soft, slow voice, with a slight West-country burr.] Roberts will never give up the furnace-men and engineers. 'T wouldn't be right.
MADGE. You can't deceive me. It's just his pride.
[A tapping at the door is heard, the women turn as ENID enters. She wears a round fur cap, and a jacket of squirrel's fur. She closes the door behind her.]
ENID. Can I come in, Annie?
MRS. ROBERTS. [Flinching.] Miss Enid! Give Mrs. Underwood a chair, Madge!
[MADGE gives ENID the chair she has been sitting on.]
ENID. Thank you!
ENID. Are you any better?
MRS. ROBERTS. Yes, M'm; thank you, M'm.
ENID. [Looking at the sullen MADGE as though requesting her departure.] Why did you send back the jelly? I call that really wicked of you!
MRS. ROBERTS. Thank you, M'm, I'd no need for it.
ENID. Of course! It was Roberts's doing, wasn't it? How can he let all this suffering go on amongst you?
MADGE. [Suddenly.] What suffering?
ENID. [Surprised.] I beg your pardon!
MADGE. Who said there was suffering?
MRS. ROBERTS. Madge!
MADGE. [Throwing her shawl over her head.] Please to let us keep ourselves to ourselves. We don't want you coming here and spying on us.
ENID. [Confronting her, but without rising.] I did n't speak to you.
MADGE. [In a low, fierce voice.] Keep your kind feelings to yourself. You think you can come amongst us, but you're mistaken. Go back and tell the Manager that.
ENID. [Stonily.] This is not your house.
MADGE. [Turning to the door.] No, it is not my house; keep clear of my house, Mrs. Underwood.
[She goes out. ENID taps her fingers on the table.]
MRS. ROBERTS. Please to forgive Madge Thomas, M'm; she's a bit upset to-day.
[A pause.]
ENID. [Looking at her.] Oh, I think they're so stupid, all of them.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With a faint smile]. Yes, M'm.
ENID. Is Roberts out?
MRS. ROBERTS. Yes, M'm.
ENID. It is his doing, that they don't come to an agreement. Now is n't it, Annie?
MRS. ROBERTS. [Softly, with her eyes on ENID, and moving the fingers of one hand continually on her breast.] They do say that your father, M'm —
ENID. My father's getting an old man, and you know what old men are.
MRS. ROBERTS. I am sorry, M'm.
ENID. [More softly.] I don't expect you to feel sorry, Annie. I know it's his fault as well as Roberts's.
MRS. ROBERTS. I'm sorry for any one that gets old, M'm; it 's dreadful to get old, and Mr. Anthony was such a fine old man, I always used to think.
ENID. [Impulsively.] He always liked you, don't you remember? Look here, Annie, what can I do? I do so want to know. You don't get what you ought to have. [Going to the fire, she takes the kettle off, and looks for coals.] And you're so naughty sending back the soup and things.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With a faint smile.] Yes, M'm?
ENID. [Resentfully.] Why, you have n't even got coals?
MRS. ROBERTS. If you please, M'm, to put the kettle on again; Roberts won't have long for his tea when he comes in. He's got to meet the men at four.
ENID. [Putting the kettle on.] That means he'll lash them into a fury again. Can't you stop his going, Annie?
[MRS. ROBERTS smiles ironically.]
Have you tried?
[A silence.]
Does he know how ill you are?
MRS. ROBERTS. It's only my weak 'eard, M'm.
ENID. You used to be so well when you were with us.
MRS. ROBERTS. [Stiffening.] Roberts is always good to me.
ENID. But you ought to have everything you want, and you have nothing!
MRS. ROBERTS. [Appealingly.] They tell me I don't look like a dyin' woman?
ENID. Of course you don't; if you could only have proper – Will you see my doctor if I send him to you? I'm sure he'd do you good.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With faint questioning.] Yes, M'm.
ENID. Madge Thomas ought n't to come here; she only excites you. As if I did n't know what suffering there is amongst the men! I do feel for them dreadfully, but you know they have gone too far.
MRS. ROBERTS. [Continually moving her fingers.] They say there's no other way to get better wages, M'm.
ENID. [Earnestly.] But, Annie, that's why the Union won't help them. My husband's very sympathetic with the men, but he says they are not underpaid.
MRS. ROBERTS. No, M'm?
ENID. They never think how the Company could go on if we paid the wages they want.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With an effort.] But the dividends having been so big, M'm.
ENID. [Takes aback.] You all seem to think the shareholders are rich men, but they're not – most of them are really no better off than working men.
[MRS. ROBERTS smiles.]
They have to keep up appearances.
MRS. ROBERTS. Yes, M'm?
ENID. You don't have to pay rates and taxes, and a hundred other things that they do. If the men did n't spend such a lot in drink and betting they'd be quite well off!
MRS. ROBERTS. They say, workin' so hard, they must have some pleasure.
ENID. But surely not low pleasure like that.
MRS. ROBERTS. [A little resentfully.] Roberts never touches a drop; and he's never had a bet in his life.
ENID. Oh! but he's not a com – I mean he's an engineer – a superior man.
MRS. ROBERTS. Yes, M'm. Roberts says they've no chance of other pleasures.
ENID. [Musing.] Of course, I know it's hard.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With a spice of malice.] And they say gentlefolk's just as bad.
ENID. [With a smile.] I go as far as most people, Annie, but you know, yourself, that's nonsense.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With painful effort.] A lot 'o the men never go near the Public; but even they don't save but very little, and that goes if there's illness.
ENID. But they've got their clubs, have n't they?
MRS. ROBERTS. The clubs only give up to eighteen shillin's a week, M'm, and it's not much amongst a family. Roberts says workin' folk have always lived from hand to mouth. Sixpence to-day is worth more than a shillin' to-morrow, that's what they say.
ENID. But that's the spirit of gambling.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With a sort of excitement.] Roberts says a working man's life is all a gamble, from the time 'e 's born to the time 'e dies.
[ENID leans forward, interested. MRS. ROBERTS goes on with a growing excitement that culminates in the personal feeling of the last words.]
He says, M'm, that when a working man's baby is born, it's a toss-up from breath to breath whether it ever draws another, and so on all 'is life; an' when he comes to be old, it's the workhouse or the grave. He says that without a man is very near, and pinches and stints 'imself and 'is children to save, there can't be neither surplus nor security. That's why he wouldn't have no children [she sinks back], not though I wanted them.
ENID. Yes, yes, I know!
MRS. ROBERTS. No you don't, M'm. You've got your children, and you'll never need to trouble for them.
ENID. [Gently.] You oughtn't to be talking so much, Annie. [Then, in spite of herself.] But Roberts was paid a lot of money, was n't he, for discovering that process?
MRS. ROBERTS. [On the defensive.] All Roberts's savin's have gone. He 's always looked forward to this strike. He says he's no right to a farthing when the others are suffering. 'T is n't so with all o' them! Some don't seem to care no more than that – so long as they get their own.
ENID. I don't see how they can be expected to when they 're suffering like this. [In a changed voice.] But Roberts ought to think of you! It's all terrible – ! The kettle's boiling. Shall I make the tea? [She takes the teapot and, seeing tea there, pours water into it.] Won't you have a cup?
MRS. ROBERTS. No, thank you, M'm. [She is listening, as though for footsteps.] I'd – sooner you did n't see Roberts, M'm, he gets so wild.
ENID. Oh! but I must, Annie; I'll be quite calm, I promise.
MRS. ROBERTS. It's life an' death to him, M'm.
ENID. [Very gently.] I'll get him to talk to me outside, we won't excite you.
MRS. ROBERTS. [Faintly.] No, M'm.
[She gives a violent start. ROBERTS has come in, unseen.]
ROBERTS. [Removing his hat – with subtle mockery.] Beg pardon for coming in; you're engaged with a lady, I see.
ENID. Can I speak to you, Mr. Roberts?
ROBERTS. Whom have I the pleasure of addressing, Ma'am?
ENID. But surely you know me! I 'm Mrs. Underwood.
ROBERTS. [With a bow of malice.] The daughter of our Chairman.
ENID. [Earnestly.] I've come on purpose to speak to you; will you come outside a minute?
[She looks at MRS. ROBERTS.]
ROBERTS. [Hanging up his hat.] I have nothing to say, Ma'am.
ENID. But I must speak to you, please.
[She moves towards the door.]
ROBERTS. [With sudden venom.] I have not the time to listen!
MRS. ROBERTS. David!
ENID. Mr. Roberts, please!
ROBERTS. [Taking off his overcoat.] I am sorry to disoblige a lady – Mr. Anthony's daughter.
ENID. [Wavering, then with sudden decision.] Mr. Roberts, I know you've another meeting of the men.
[ROBERTS bows.]
I came to appeal to you. Please, please, try to come to some compromise; give way a little, if it's only for your own sakes!
ROBERTS. [Speaking to himself.] The daughter of Mr. Anthony begs me to give way a little, if it's only for our own sakes!
ENID. For everybody's sake; for your wife's sake.
ROBERTS. For my wife's sake, for everybody's sake – for the sake of Mr. Anthony.
ENID. Why are you so bitter against my father? He has never done anything to you.
ROBERTS. Has he not?
ENID. He can't help his views, any more than you can help yours.
ROBERTS. I really did n't know that I had a right to views!
ENID. He's an old man, and you —
[Seeing his eyes fixed on her, she stops.]
ROBERTS. [Without raising his voice.] If I saw Mr. Anthony going to die, and I could save him by lifting my hand, I would not lift the little finger of it.
ENID. You – you – [She stops again, biting her lips.]
ROBERTS. I would not, and that's flat!
ENID. [Coldly.] You don't mean what you say, and you know it!
ROBERTS. I mean every word of it.
ENID. But why?
ROBERTS. [With a flash.] Mr. Anthony stands for tyranny! That's why!
ENID. Nonsense!
[MRS. ROBERTS makes a movement as if to rise, but sinks back in her chair.]
ENID. [With an impetuous movement.] Annie!
ROBERTS. Please not to touch my wife!
ENID. [Recoiling with a sort of horror.] I believe – you are mad.
ROBERTS. The house of a madman then is not the fit place for a lady.
ENID. I 'm not afraid of you.
ROBERTS. [Bowing.] I would not expect the daughter of Mr. Anthony to be afraid. Mr. Anthony is not a coward like the rest of them.
ENID. [Suddenly.] I suppose you think it brave, then, to go on with the struggle.
ROBERTS. Does Mr. Anthony think it brave to fight against women and children? Mr. Anthony is a rich man, I believe; does he think it brave to fight against those who have n't a penny? Does he think it brave to set children crying with hunger, an' women shivering with cold?
ENID. [Putting up her hand, as though warding off a blow.] My father is acting on his principles, and you know it!
ROBERTS. And so am I!
ENID. You hate us; and you can't bear to be beaten!
ROBERTS. Neither can Mr. Anthony, for all that he may say.
ENID. At any rate you might have pity on your wife.
[MRS. ROBERTS who has her hand pressed to her heart, takes it away, and tries to calm her breathing.]
ROBERTS. Madam, I have no more to say.
[He takes up the loaf. There is a knock at the door, and UNDERWOOD comes in. He stands looking at them, ENID turns to him, then seems undecided.]
UNDERWOOD. Enid!
ROBERTS. [Ironically.] Ye were not needing to come for your wife, Mr. Underwood. We are not rowdies.
UNDERWOOD. I know that, Roberts. I hope Mrs. Roberts is better.
[ROBERTS turns away without answering. Come, Enid!]
ENID. I make one more appeal to you, Mr. Roberts, for the sake of your wife.
ROBERTS. [With polite malice.] If I might advise ye, Ma'am – make it for the sake of your husband and your father.
[ENID, suppressing a retort, goes out. UNDERWOOD opens the door for her and follows. ROBERTS, going to the fire, holds out his hands to the dying glow.]
ROBERTS. How goes it, my girl? Feeling better, are you?
[MRS. ROBERTS smiles faintly. He brings his overcoat and wraps it round her.]
[Looking at his watch.] Ten minutes to four! [As though inspired.] I've seen their faces, there's no fight in them, except for that one old robber.
MRS. ROBERTS. Won't you stop and eat, David? You've 'ad nothing all day!
ROBERTS. [Putting his hand to his throat.] Can't swallow till those old sharks are out o' the town: [He walks up and down.] I shall have a bother with the men – there's no heart in them, the cowards. Blind as bats, they are – can't see a day before their noses.
MRS. ROBERTS. It's the women, David.
ROBERTS. Ah! So they say! They can remember the women when their own bellies speak! The women never stop them from the drink; but from a little suffering to themselves in a sacred cause, the women stop them fast enough.
MRS. ROBERTS. But think o' the children, David.
ROBERTS. Ah! If they will go breeding themselves for slaves, without a thought o' the future o' them they breed —
MRS. ROBERTS. [Gasping.] That's enough, David; don't begin to talk of that – I won't – I can't —
ROBERTS. [Staring at her.] Now, now, my girl!
MRS. ROBERTS. [Breathlessly.] No, no, David – I won't!
ROBERTS. There, there! Come, come! That's right! [Bitterly.] Not one penny will they put by for a day like this. Not they! Hand to mouth – Gad! – I know them! They've broke my heart. There was no holdin' them at the start, but now the pinch 'as come.
MRS. ROBERTS. How can you expect it, David? They're not made of iron.
ROBERTS. Expect it? Wouldn't I expect what I would do meself? Wouldn't I starve an' rot rather than give in? What one man can do, another can.
MRS. ROBERTS. And the women?
ROBERTS. This is not women's work.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With a flash of malice.] No, the women may die for all you care. That's their work.
ROBERTS. [Averting his eyes.] Who talks of dying? No one will die till we have beaten these —
[He meets her eyes again, and again turns his away. Excitedly.]
This is what I've been waiting for all these months. To get the old robbers down, and send them home again without a farthin's worth o' change. I 've seen their faces, I tell you, in the valley of the shadow of defeat.
[He goes to the peg and takes down his hat.]
MRS. ROBERTS. [Following with her eyes-softly.] Take your overcoat, David; it must be bitter cold.
ROBERTS. [Coming up to her-his eyes are furtive.] No, no! There, there, stay quiet and warm. I won't be long, my girl.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With soft bitterness.] You'd better take it.
[She lifts the coat. But ROBERTS puts it back, and wraps it round her. He tries to meet her eyes, but cannot. MRS. ROBERTS stays huddled in the coat, her eyes, that follow him about, are half malicious, half yearning. He looks at his watch again, and turns to go. In the doorway he meets JAN THOMAS, a boy of ten in clothes too big for him, carrying a penny whistle.]
ROBERTS. Hallo, boy!
[He goes. JAN stops within a yard of MRS. ROBERTS, and stares at her without a word.]
MRS. ROBERTS. Well, Jan!
JAN. Father 's coming; sister Madge is coming.
[He sits at the table, and fidgets with his whistle; he blows three vague notes; then imitates a cuckoo.]
[There is a tap on the door. Old THOMAS comes in.]
THOMAS. A very coot tay to you, Ma'am. It is petter that you are.
MRS. ROBERTS. Thank you, Mr. Thomas.
THOMAS. [Nervously.] Roberts in?
MRS. ROBERTS. Just gone on to the meeting, Mr. Thomas.
THOMAS. [With relief, becoming talkative.] This is fery unfortunate, look you! I came to tell him that we must make terms with London. It is a fery great pity he is gone to the meeting. He will be kicking against the pricks, I am thinking.
MRS. ROBERTS. [Half rising.] He'll never give in, Mr. Thomas.
THOMAS. You must not be fretting, that is very pat for you. Look you, there iss hartly any mans for supporting him now, but the engineers and George Rous. [Solemnly.] This strike is no longer Going with Chapel, look you! I have listened carefully, an' I have talked with her.
[JAN blows.]
Sst! I don't care what th' others say, I say that Chapel means us to be stopping the trouple, that is what I make of her; and it is my opinion that this is the fery best thing for all of us. If it was n't my opinion, I ton't say but it is my opinion, look you.
MRS. ROBERTS. [Trying to suppress her excitement.] I don't know what'll come to Roberts, if you give in.
THOMAS. It iss no disgrace whateffer! All that a mortal man coult do he hass tone. It iss against Human Nature he hass gone; fery natural any man may do that; but Chapel has spoken and he must not go against her.
[JAN imitates the cuckoo.]
Ton't make that squeaking! [Going to the door.] Here iss my daughter come to sit with you. A fery goot day, Ma'am – no fretting – rememper!
[MADGE comes in and stands at the open door, watching the street.]
MADGE. You'll be late, Father; they're beginning. [She catches him by the sleeve.] For the love of God, stand up to him, Father – this time!
THOMAS. [Detaching his sleeve with dignity.] Leave me to do what's proper, girl!
[He goes out. MADGE, in the centre of the open doorway, slowly moves in, as though before the approach of some one.]
ROUS. [Appearing in the doorway.] Madge!
[MADGE stands with her back to MRS. ROBERTS, staring at him with her head up and her hands behind her.]
ROUS. [Who has a fierce distracted look.] Madge! I'm going to the meeting.
[MADGE, without moving, smiles contemptuously.]
D' ye hear me?
[They speak in quick low voices.]
MADGE. I hear! Go, and kill your own mother, if you must.
[ROUS seizes her by both her arms. She stands rigid, with her head bent back. He releases her, and he too stands motionless.]
ROUS. I swore to stand by Roberts. I swore that! Ye want me to go back on what I've sworn.
MADGE. [With slow soft mockery.] You are a pretty lover!
ROUS. Madge!
MADGE. [Smiling.] I've heard that lovers do what their girls ask them —
[JAN sounds the cuckoo's notes]
– but that's not true, it seems!
ROUS. You'd make a blackleg of me!
MADGE. [With her eyes half-closed.] Do it for me!
ROUS. [Dashing his hand across his brow.] Damn! I can't!
MADGE. [Swiftly.] Do it for me!
ROUS. [Through his teeth.] Don't play the wanton with me!
MADGE. [With a movement of her hand towards JAN – quick and low.] I would be that for the children's sake!
ROUS. [In a fierce whisper.] Madge! Oh, Madge!
MADGE. [With soft mockery.] But you can't break your word for me!
ROUS. [With a choke.] Then, Begod, I can!
[He turns and rushes off.]
[MADGE Stands, with a faint smile on her face, looking after him. She turns to MRS. ROBERTS.]
MADGE. I have done for Roberts!
MRS. ROBERTS. [Scornfully.] Done for my man, with that – !
[She sinks back.]
MADGE. [Running to her, and feeling her hands.] You're as cold as a stone! You want a drop of brandy. Jan, run to the "Lion"; say, I sent you for Mrs. Roberts.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With a feeble movement.] I'll just sit quiet, Madge.
Give Jan – his – tea.
MADGE. [Giving JAN a slice of bread.] There, ye little rascal.
Hold your piping. [Going to the fire, she kneels.] It's going out.
MRS. ROBERTS. [With a faint smile.] 'T is all the same!
[JAN begins to blow his whistle.]
MADGE. Tsht! Tsht! – you
[JAN Stops.]
MRS. ROBERTS. [Smiling.] Let 'im play, Madge.
MADGE. [On her knees at the fire, listening.] Waiting an' waiting. I've no patience with it; waiting an' waiting – that's what a woman has to do! Can you hear them at it – I can!
[JAN begins again to play his whistle; MADGE gets up; half tenderly she ruffles his hair; then, sitting, leans her elbows on the table, and her chin on her hands. Behind her, on MRS. ROBERTS'S face the smile has changed to horrified surprise. She makes a sudden movement, sitting forward, pressing her hands against her breast. Then slowly she sinks' back; slowly her face loses the look of pain, the smile returns. She fixes her eyes again on JAN, and moves her lips and finger to the tune.]
The curtain falls.