a box from his pocket, and handed it to his uncle, who began to light his pipe, saying between puffs: "Go on, go on! What are you waiting for?"
"Wormwood," said Roydon throatily. "A play in three acts."
"Very powerful title," nodded Mottisfont knowledgeably. Roydon threw him a grateful look, and continued:
"Act I. The scene is a back-bedroom in a third-rate lodging-house. The bedstead is of brass, with sagging springs, and two of the knobs missing from the foot-rail. The carpet is threadbare, and the wallpaper, which is flowered in a design of roses in trellis-work tied up with blue ribbons, is stained in several places."
"Stained with what?" asked Stephen.
Roydon, who had never considered this point, glared at him, and said: "Does it matter?"
"Not to me, but if it's blood you ought to say so, and then my betrothed can make an excuse to go away. She's squeamish."
"Well, it isn't! I don't write that kind of play. The wallpaper is just stained."
"I expect it was from damp," suggested Maud. "It sounds as though it would be a damp sort of a place." Stephen turned his mocking gaze upon her, and said:
"You shouldn't say that, Aunt. After all, we haven't heard enough to judge yet."
"Shut up!" said Paula fiercely. "Don't pay any attention to Stephen, Willoughby! Just go on reading. Now, all of you! You must make your minds receptive, and absorb the atmosphere of the scene: it's tremendously significant. Go on, Willoughby!"
Roydon cleared his throat again. "Nottingham lace curtains shroud the windows, through which there can be obtained a vista of slate-roofs and chimney-stacks. A tawdry doll leans drunkenly on the dressing-table; and a pair of soiled pink corsets are flung across the only armchair." He looked round in a challenging kind of way as he enunciated this, and appeared to wait for comment.
"Ah yes, I see!" said Joseph, with a deprecating glance at the assembled company. "You wish to convey an atmosphere of sordidness."
"Quite, quite!" said Mottisfont, coughing.
"And let us admit freely that you have succeeded," said Stephen cordially.
"I always think there's something frightfully sordid about corsets, don't you?" said Valerie. "Those satin ones, I mean, with millions of bones and laces and things. Of course, nowadays one simply wears an elastic belt, if one wears anything at all, which generally one doesn't."
"You'll come to it, my girl," prophesied Mathilda.
"When I was young," remarked Maud, "no one thought of not wearing corsets. It would have been quite unheard-of."
"You corseted your minds as well as your bodies," interpolated Paula scornfully. "Thank God I live in an untrammelled age!"
"When I was young," exploded Nathaniel, "no decent woman would have mentioned such things in public!"
"How quaint!" said Valerie. "Stephen, darling, give me a cigarette!"
He threw his case over to her. Roydon asked, trying to control his voice, whether anyone wished him to continue or not.
"Yes, yes, for heaven's sake get on!" snapped Nathaniel testily. "If there's any more about underwear, you can leave it out!"
"You'll have to, anyway," added Stephen.
Roydon ignored this, and read aloud in an angry voice; 'Lucetta May is discovered, seated before her dressing table. She is wearing a shoddy pink negligee, which imperfectly conceals -"
"Careful!" Stephen warned him.
"It is grimy round the edge, and the lace is torn!" said Roydon defiantly.
"I think that's a marvellous touch!" said Valerie.
"It's surprising what a lot of dirt you can pick up from carpets, even where there's a vacuum-cleaner, which I don't suppose there would be in a place like that," said Maud. "I know those cheap theatrical lodging-houses, none better!"
"It is not a theatrical lodging-house!" said Roydon, goaded to madness. "It is, as you will shortly perceive, a bawdy lodging-house!"
Maud's placid voice broke the stunned silence. "I expect they're just as dirty," she said.
"Look here!" began Nathaniel thunderously.
Joseph intervened in a
"Wormwood," said Roydon throatily. "A play in three acts."
"Very powerful title," nodded Mottisfont knowledgeably. Roydon threw him a grateful look, and continued:
"Act I. The scene is a back-bedroom in a third-rate lodging-house. The bedstead is of brass, with sagging springs, and two of the knobs missing from the foot-rail. The carpet is threadbare, and the wallpaper, which is flowered in a design of roses in trellis-work tied up with blue ribbons, is stained in several places."
"Stained with what?" asked Stephen.
Roydon, who had never considered this point, glared at him, and said: "Does it matter?"
"Not to me, but if it's blood you ought to say so, and then my betrothed can make an excuse to go away. She's squeamish."
"Well, it isn't! I don't write that kind of play. The wallpaper is just stained."
"I expect it was from damp," suggested Maud. "It sounds as though it would be a damp sort of a place." Stephen turned his mocking gaze upon her, and said:
"You shouldn't say that, Aunt. After all, we haven't heard enough to judge yet."
"Shut up!" said Paula fiercely. "Don't pay any attention to Stephen, Willoughby! Just go on reading. Now, all of you! You must make your minds receptive, and absorb the atmosphere of the scene: it's tremendously significant. Go on, Willoughby!"
Roydon cleared his throat again. "Nottingham lace curtains shroud the windows, through which there can be obtained a vista of slate-roofs and chimney-stacks. A tawdry doll leans drunkenly on the dressing-table; and a pair of soiled pink corsets are flung across the only armchair." He looked round in a challenging kind of way as he enunciated this, and appeared to wait for comment.
"Ah yes, I see!" said Joseph, with a deprecating glance at the assembled company. "You wish to convey an atmosphere of sordidness."
"Quite, quite!" said Mottisfont, coughing.
"And let us admit freely that you have succeeded," said Stephen cordially.
"I always think there's something frightfully sordid about corsets, don't you?" said Valerie. "Those satin ones, I mean, with millions of bones and laces and things. Of course, nowadays one simply wears an elastic belt, if one wears anything at all, which generally one doesn't."
"You'll come to it, my girl," prophesied Mathilda.
"When I was young," remarked Maud, "no one thought of not wearing corsets. It would have been quite unheard-of."
"You corseted your minds as well as your bodies," interpolated Paula scornfully. "Thank God I live in an untrammelled age!"
"When I was young," exploded Nathaniel, "no decent woman would have mentioned such things in public!"
"How quaint!" said Valerie. "Stephen, darling, give me a cigarette!"
He threw his case over to her. Roydon asked, trying to control his voice, whether anyone wished him to continue or not.
"Yes, yes, for heaven's sake get on!" snapped Nathaniel testily. "If there's any more about underwear, you can leave it out!"
"You'll have to, anyway," added Stephen.
Roydon ignored this, and read aloud in an angry voice; 'Lucetta May is discovered, seated before her dressing table. She is wearing a shoddy pink negligee, which imperfectly conceals -"
"Careful!" Stephen warned him.
"It is grimy round the edge, and the lace is torn!" said Roydon defiantly.
"I think that's a marvellous touch!" said Valerie.
"It's surprising what a lot of dirt you can pick up from carpets, even where there's a vacuum-cleaner, which I don't suppose there would be in a place like that," said Maud. "I know those cheap theatrical lodging-houses, none better!"
"It is not a theatrical lodging-house!" said Roydon, goaded to madness. "It is, as you will shortly perceive, a bawdy lodging-house!"
Maud's placid voice broke the stunned silence. "I expect they're just as dirty," she said.
"Look here!" began Nathaniel thunderously.
Joseph intervened in a
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