Eh?
AGATHA. 'But by great good luck I heard his cries'--
LORD LOAM. My cries?
AGATHA.--'and rushing forward with drawn knife, I stabbed the monster to the heart.'
(LORD LOAM shuts his book with a pettish slam. There might be a scene here were it not that CRICHTON reappears and goes to one of the glass cases. All are at once on the alert and his lordship is particularly sly.)
LORD LOAM. Anything in the papers, Catherine?
CATHERINE. No, father, nothing--nothing at all.
ERNEST (it pops out as of yore). The papers! The papers are guides that tell us what we ought to do, and then we don't do it.
(CRICHTON having opened the glass case has taken out the bucket, and ERNEST, looking round for applause, sees him carrying it off and is undone. For a moment of time he forgets that he is no longer on the island, and with a sigh he is about to follow CRICHTON and the bucket to a retired spot. The door closes, and ERNEST comes to himself.)
LORD LOAM (uncomfortably). I told him to take it away.
ERNEST. I thought--(he wipes his brow)--I shall go and dress. (He goes.)
CATHERINE. Father, it's awful having Crichton here. It's like living on tiptoe.
LORD LOAM (gloomily). While he is here we are sitting on a volcano.
AGATHA. How mean of you! I am sure he has only stayed on with us to --to help us through. It would have looked so suspicious if he had gone at once.
CATHERINE (revelling in the worst) But suppose Lady Brocklehurst were to get at him and pump him. She's the most terrifying, suspicious old creature in England; and Crichton simply can't tell a lie.
LORD LOAM. My dear, that is the volcano to which I was referring. (He has evidently something to communicate.) It's all Mary's fault. She said to me yesterday that she would break her engagement with Brocklehurst unless I told him about--you know what.
(All conjure up the vision of CRICHTON.)
AGATHA. Is she mad?
LORD LOAM. She calls it common honesty.
CATHERINE. Father, have you told him?
LORD LOAM (heavily). She thinks I have, but I couldn't. She's sure to find out to-night.
(Unconsciously he leans on the island concertina, which he has perhaps been lately showing to an interviewer as something he made for TWEENY. It squeaks, and they all jump.)
CATHERINE. It's like a bird of ill-omen.
LORD LOAM (vindictively). I must have it taken away; it has done that twice.
(LADY MARY comes in. She is in evening dress. Undoubtedly she meant to sail in, but she forgets, and despite her garments it is a manly entrance. She is properly ashamed of herself. She tries again, and has an encouraging success. She indicates to her sisters that she wishes to be alone with papa.)
AGATHA. All right, but we know what it's about. Come along, Kit.
(They go. LADY MARY thoughtlessly sits like a boy, and again corrects herself. She addresses her father, but he is in a brown study, and she seeks to draw his attention by whistling. This troubles them both.)
LADY MARY. How horrid of me!
LORD LOAM (depressed). If you would try to remember--
LADY MARY (sighing). I do; but there are so many things to remember.
LORD LOAM (sympathetically). There are--(in a whisper). Do you know, Mary, I constantly find myself secreting hairpins.
LADY MARY. I find it so difficult to go up steps one at a time.
LORD LOAM. I was dining with half a dozen members of our party last Thursday, Mary, and they were so eloquent that I couldn't help wondering all the time how many of their heads he would have put in the bucket.
LADY MARY. I use so many of his phrases. And my appetite is so scandalous. Father, I usually have a chop before we sit down to dinner.
LORD LOAM. As for my clothes--(wriggling). My dear, you can't think how irksome collars are to me nowadays.
LADY MARY. They can't be half such an annoyance, father, as--(She looks dolefully at her skirt.)
LORD LOAM (hurriedly). Quite so--quite so. You have dressed early to-night, Mary.
LADY MARY. That reminds me; I had a note from Brocklehurst saying that he would come a few minutes before his mother as--as he wanted to have a talk with me.