Part 20

FANNY. Vernon! They’ve brought him up from a baby—spanked him all round, I expect. Might as well ask a boy to talk to his old schoolmaster. Besides, if he did talk, then it would all come out. As I tell you, it’s bound to come out—and the sooner the better.

NEWTE. It must not come out! It’s too late. If we had told him at the beginning that he was proposing to marry into his own butler’s family—well, it’s an awkward situation—he might have decided to risk it. Or he might have cried off.

FANNY. And a good job if he had.

NEWTE. Now talk sense. You wanted him—you took a fancy to him from the beginning. He’s a nice boy, and there’s something owing to him. [It is his trump card, and he knows it.] Don’t forget that. He’s been busy, explaining to all his friends and relations why they should receive you with open arms: really nice girl, born gentlewoman, good old Church of England family—no objection possible. For you to spring the truth upon him now—well, it doesn’t seem to me quite fair to him.

FANNY. Then am I to live all my life dressed as a charity girl?

NEWTE. You keep your head and things will gradually right themselves. This family of yours—they’ve got some sense, I suppose?

FANNY. Never noticed any sign of it myself.

NEWTE. Maybe you’re not a judge. [Laughs.] They’ll listen to reason. You let me have a talk to them, one of these days; see if I can’t show them—first one and then the other—the advantage of leaving to “better” themselves—with the help of a little ready money. Later on—choosing your proper time—you can break it to him that you have discovered they’re distant connections of yours, a younger branch of the family that you’d forgotten. Give the show time to settle down into a run. Then you can begin to make changes.

FANNY. You’ve a wonderful way with you, George. It always sounds right as you put it—even when one jolly well knows that it isn’t.

NEWTE. Well, it’s always been right for you, old girl, ain’t it?

FANNY. Yes. You’ve been a rattling good friend. [She takes his hands.] Almost wish I’d married you instead. We’d have been more suited to one another.

NEWTE [shakes his head]. Nothing like having your fancy. You’d never have been happy without him. [He releases her.] ’Twas a good engagement, or I’d never have sanctioned it.

FANNY. I suppose it will be the last one you will ever get me. [She has dropped for a moment into a brown study.]

NEWTE [he turns]. I hope so.

FANNY [she throws off her momentary mood with a laugh]. Poor fellow! You never even got your commission.

NEWTE. I’ll take ten per cent. of all your happiness, old girl. So make it as much as you can for my benefit. Good-bye. [He holds out hand.]

FANNY. You’re not going? You’ll stop to lunch?

NEWTE. Not to-day.

FANNY. Do. If you don’t, they’ll think it’s because I was frightened to ask you.

NEWTE. All the better. The more the other party thinks he’s having his way, the easier always to get your own. Your trouble is, you know, that you never had any tact.

FANNY. I hate tact. [Newte laughs.] We could have had such a jolly little lunch together. I’m all alone till the evening. There were ever so many things I wanted to talk to you about.

NEWTE. What?

FANNY. Ah, how can one talk to a man with his watch in his hand? [He puts it away and stands waiting, but she is cross.] I think you’re very disagreeable.

NEWTE. I must really get back to town. I oughtn’t to be away now, only your telegram—

FANNY. I know. I’m an ungrateful little beast! [She crosses and rings bell.] You’ll have a glass of champagne before you go?

NEWTE. Well, I won’t say no to that.

FANNY. How are all the girls?

NEWTE. Oh, chirpy. I’m bringing them over to London. We open at the Palace next week.