Part 14

GEOFFREY. (He folds her to him.) The very words sound ugly, don’t they?

ANNYS. It would be hideous. (She draws away.) How long will the election last?

GEOFFREY. Not long. The writ will be issued on Wednesday. Nomination on Monday—polling, I expect, on Saturday. Puts me in mind—I must prepare my election address.

ANNYS. I ought to be getting on with mine, too, I suppose.

GEOFFREY. It ought to be out by to-morrow.

ANNYS. (With inspiration.) We’ll do yours first. (She wonders why he hesitates.)

GEOFFREY. “We?” Shan’t I have to do it alone—this time?

ANNYS. Alone! Nonsense! How can you?

GEOFFREY. I’m afraid I shall have to try.

ANNYS. Um! I suppose you’re right. What a nuisance! (She turns away.) I shan’t like it.

GEOFFREY. (He moves towards the folding-doors.) No. It won’t be quite the same thing. Goodbye.

ANNYS. (She crosses to her desk by the window. Not the same instant but the next his “Goodbye” strikes her. She turns.) You’re not going out, are you?

GEOFFREY. (He stops and turns—puzzled at her question.) No. Only into my study.

ANNYS. You said “Goodbye.”

GEOFFREY. (Not remembering.) I did! Must have been thinking of something else. I shall be in here if you want me. (He goes into the other room.)

ANNYS. (She has crossed to her desk. She is humming. She seats herself, takes paper and pen, writes. Without turning—still writing—she raises her voice.) Geoffrey! How do you spell “experimental”? One “r” or two?

(There is no answer. Puzzled at the silence, she looks round. The great folding-doors are closed. She stares in front of her, thinking, then turns again to her work.)

CURTAIN.

THE SECOND ACT

SCENE:—Liberal Central Committee Rooms, East India Dock Road, Poplar. A large, high room on the first floor of an old-fashioned house. Two high windows right. A door at back is the main entrance. A door left leads to other rooms. The walls are papered with election literature. Conspicuous among the posters displayed is “A Man for Men.” “No Petticoat Government.” “Will you be Henpecked?” A large, round table centre is littered with papers and pamphlets. A large desk stands between the windows. A settee is against the left wall.

(When the curtain rises, ROSE MERTON (otherwise “GINGER”) is discovered seated, her left arm resting on the table. She is a young lady typical of the Cockney slavey type, dressed according to the ideas of her class as regards the perfect lady. Her hat is characteristic. Her gloves, her reticule, her umbrella—the latter something rather “saucy”—are displayed around her. She is feeling comfortable and airing her views. MRS. CHINN is laying the cloth over a portion of the table, with some tea-things. MRS. CHINN is a thin, narrow-chested lady with thin hands and bony wrists. No one since her husband died has ever seen her without her bonnet. Its appearance suggests the possibility that she sleeps in it. It is black, like her dress. The whole figure is decent, but dingy.)

GINGER. Wot I say about the question is—

MRS. CHINN. Do you mind moving your arm?

GINGER. Beg pardon. (She shifts.) Wot I say is, why not give us the vote and end all the talking?

MRS. CHINN. You think it would have that effect?

GINGER. Well! we don’t want to go on being a nuisance—longer than we can possibly ’elp!

MRS. CHINN. Daresay you’re right. It’s about the time most people stop.

GINGER. You’ve never thought much about the question yourself, ’ave you, Mrs. Chinn?