Time.--A few days later.
A table is laid for tea. Ernest enters with the tea-urn. He leaves the door open; through it comes the sound of an harmonium, accompanying the singing of a hymn. Fanny comes from her dressing- room. She is dressed more cheerfully than when we last saw her, but still "seemly." She has a book in her hand. She pauses, hearing the music, goes nearer to the open door, and listens; then crosses and takes her place at the table. The music ceases.
FANNY. Another prayer meeting? [Ernest nods.] I do keep 'em busy.
ERNEST. D'ye know what they call you downstairs?
FANNY. What?
ERNEST. The family cross.
FANNY. I'm afraid it's about right.
ERNEST. What have you been doing THIS time? Swearing again?
FANNY. Worse. I've been lying. [Ernest gives vent to a low whistle.] Said I didn't know what had become of that yellow poplin with the black lace flounces, that they've had altered for me. Found out that I'd given it to old Mother Potts for the rummage sale at the Vicarage. Jane was down there. Bought it in for half a crown.
ERNEST. You are risky. Why, you might have known -Vernon comes in. He is in golfing get-up. He throws his cap on to the settee.
VERNON. Hello, got a cup of tea there?
Ernest goes out.
FANNY. Yes. Thought you were playing golf?
VERNON. Just had a telegram handed to me in the village--from your friend Newte. Wants me to meet him at Melton Station at five o'clock. [Looks at his watch.] Know what he wants?
FANNY. Haven't the faintest idea. [She hands him his cup.] Is he coming HERE? Or merely on his way somewhere?
VERNON. I don't know; he doesn't say.
FANNY. Don't let him mix you up in any of his "ventures." Dear old George, he's as honest as the day, but if he gets hold of an "idea" there's always thousands in it for everybody.
VERNON. I'll be careful. [Ernest has left the door open. The harmonium breaks forth again, together with vocal accompaniment as before.] What's on downstairs, then--a party?
FANNY. Bennet is holding a prayer meeting.
VERNON. A prayer meeting?
FANNY. One of the younger members of the family has been detected "telling a deliberate lie." [Vernon is near the door listening, with his back towards her, or he would see that she is smiling.] Black sheep, I suppose, to be found in every flock. [Music ceases, Ernest having arrived with the news of his lordship's return.]
VERNON [returning to the table, having closed the door]. Good old man, you know, Bennet. All of them! So high-principled! Don't often get servants like that, nowadays.
FANNY. Seems almost selfish, keeping the whole collection to ourselves.
VERNON [laughs]. 'Pon my word it does. But what can we do? They'll never leave us--not one of them.
FANNY. No, I don't believe they ever will.
VERNON. Do you know, I sometimes think that you don't like them.
[Fanny makes a movement.] Of course, they are a bit bossy, I admit.
But all that comes from their devotion, their -FANNY. The wonder to me is that, brought up among them, admiring them as you do, you never thought of marrying one of them.
VERNON [staggered.] Marrying them?
FANNY. I didn't say "them." I said "ONE of them." There's Honoria.
She's pretty enough, anyhow. So's Alice, Charles Bennet's daughter, and Bertha and Grace--all of them beautiful. And what's even better still--good. [She says it viciously.] Didn't you ever think of them?
VERNON. Well [laughs]--well, one hardly marries into one's own kitchen.
FANNY. Isn't that rather snobbish? You say they're more like friends than servants. They've lived with your people, side by side, for three generations, doing their duty, honourably. There's never been a slur upon their name. They're "high-principled." You know it. They've better manners than nine-tenths of your smart society, and they're healthy. What's wrong with them--even from a lord's point of view?
VERNON [recovering himself]. Well, don't pitch into me about it.
It's your fault if I didn't marry them--I mean one of them. [He laughs, puts his empty cup back on the table.] Maybe I'd have thought about it--if I hadn't met you.
FANNY [takes his hand in hers]. I wish you hadn't asked Newte any questions about me. It would have been so nice to feel that you had married me--just because you couldn't help it--just because I was I and nothing else mattered.
VERNON. Let's forget I ever did. [He kneels beside her.] I didn't do it for my own sake, as you know. A MAN in my position has to think of other people. His wife has to take her place in society.
People insist upon knowing something about her. It's not enough for the stupid "County" that she's the cleverest, most bewilderingly beautiful, bewitching lady in the land.
FANNY. And how long will you think all that?
VERNON. For ever, and ever, and ever.
FANNY. Oh, you dear boy. [She kisses him.] You don't know how a woman loves the man she loves to love her. [Laughs.] Isn't that complicated?
VERNON. Not at all. We're just the same. We love to love the woman we love.
FANNY. Provided the "County" will let us. And the County has said:
A man may not marry his butler's niece.
VERNON [laughing]. You've got butlers on the brain. If ever I do run away with my own cook or under-housemaid, it will be your doing.
FANNY. You haven't the pluck! The "County" would laugh at you. You men are so frightened of being laughed at.
VERNON [he rises]. Well, if it saves us from making asses of ourselves -FANNY. Wasn't there a niece of old Bennet's, a girl who had been brought up abroad, and who WASN'T a domestic servant--never had been--who stayed with them here, at the gardener's cottage, for a short time, some few years ago?
VERNON. You mean poor Rose Bennet's daughter--the one who ran away and married an organ-grinder.
FANNY. An organ-grinder?
VERNON. Something of that sort--yes. They had her over; did all they could. A crazy sort of girl; used to sing French ballads on the village green to all the farm labourers she could collect. Shortened poor Bennet's life by about ten years. [Laughs.] But why? Not going to bully me for not having fallen in love with her, are you?
