Part 23

HYPATIA. I'll catch you. [She dashes off in pursuit].

During this conversation the head of the scandalized man in the Turkish bath has repeatedly risen from the lunette, with a strong expression of moral shock. It vanishes abruptly as the two turn towards it in their flight. At the same moment Tarleton comes back through the vestibule door, exhausted by severe and unaccustomed exercise.

TARLETON. [looking after the flying figures with amazement] Hallo, Patsy: whats up? Another aeroplane? [They are far too preoccupied to hear him; and he is left staring after them as they rush away through the garden. He goes to the pavilion door and looks up; but the heavens are empty. His exhaustion disables him from further inquiry. He dabs his brow with his handkerchief, and walks stiffly to the nearest convenient support, which happens to be the Turkish bath. He props himself upon it with his elbow, and covers his eyes with his hand for a moment. After a few sighing breaths, he feels a little better, and uncovers his eyes. The man's head rises from the lunette a few inches from his nose. He recoils from the bath with a violent start]. Oh Lord! My brain's gone. [Calling piteously] Chickabiddy! [He staggers down to the writing table].

THE MAN. [coming out of the bath, pistol in hand] Another sound; and youre a dead man.

TARLETON. [braced] Am I? Well, youre a live one: thats one comfort. I thought you were a ghost. [He sits down, quite undisturbed by the pistol] Who are you; and what the devil were you doing in my new Turkish bath?

THE MAN. [with tragic intensity] I am the son of Lucinda Titmus.

TARLETON. [the name conveying nothing to him] Indeed? And how is she? Quite well, I hope, eh?

THE MAN. She is dead. Dead, my God! and youre alive.

TARLETON. [unimpressed by the tragedy, but sympathetic] Oh! Lost your mother? Thats sad. I'm sorry. But we cant all have the luck to survive our mothers, and be nursed out of the world by the hands that nursed us into it.

THE MAN. Much you care, damn you!

TARLETON. Oh, dont cut up rough. Face it like a man. You see I didnt know your mother; but Ive no doubt she was an excellent woman.

THE MAN. Not know her! Do you dare to stand there by her open grave and deny that you knew her?

TARLETON. [trying to recollect] What did you say her name was?

THE MAN. Lucinda Titmus.

TARLETON. Well, I ought to remember a rum name like that if I ever heard it. But I dont. Have you a photograph or anything?

THE MAN. Forgotten even the name of your victim!

TARLETON. Oh! she was my victim, was she?

THE MAN. She was. And you shall see her face again before you die, dead as she is. I have a photograph.

TARLETON. Good.

THE MAN. Ive two photographs.

TARLETON. Still better. Treasure the mother's pictures. Good boy!

THE MAN. One of them as you knew her. The other as she became when you flung her aside, and she withered into an old woman.

TARLETON. She'd have done that anyhow, my lad. We all grow old. Look at me! [Seeing that the man is embarrassed by his pistol in fumbling for the photographs with his left hand in his breast pocket] Let me hold the gun for you.

THE MAN. [retreating to the worktable] Stand back. Do you take me for a fool?

TARLETON. Well, youre a little upset, naturally. It does you credit.

THE MAN. Look here, upon this picture and on this. [He holds out the two photographs like a hand at cards, and points to them with the pistol].

TARLETON. Good. Read Shakespear: he has a word for every occasion. [He takes the photographs, one in each hand, and looks from one to the other, pleased and interested, but without any sign of recognition] What a pretty girl! Very pretty. I can imagine myself falling in love with her when I was your age. I wasnt a bad-looking young fellow myself in those days. [Looking at the other] Curious that we should both have gone the same way.

THE MAN. You and she the same way! What do you mean?