The Mob | Page 9

minutes.

It was fine, Mrs. More; like--like lava; he was the only cool person
there. I wouldn't have missed it for anything--it was grand!
MORE has appeared on the terrace, behind STEEL.
KATHERINE. Good-night, Mr. Steel.
STEEL. [Startled] Oh!--Good-night!
He goes out into the hall. KATHERINE picks up OLIVE'S shoes, and
stands clasping them to her breast. MORE comes in.
KATHERINE. You've cleared your conscience, then! I didn't think
you'd hurt me so.
MORE does not answer, still living in the scene he has gone through,
and KATHERINE goes a little nearer to him.
KATHERINE. I'm with the country, heart and soul, Stephen. I warn
you.
While they stand in silence, facing each other, the footman, HENRY,
enters from the hall.
FOOTMAN. These notes, sir, from the House of Commons.
KATHERINE. [Taking them] You can have the room directly.
[The FOOTMAN goes out.]
MORE. Open them!
KATHERINE opens one after the other, and lets them fall on the table.
MORE. Well?
KATHERINE. What you might expect. Three of your best friends. It's
begun.
MORE. 'Ware Mob! [He gives a laugh] I must write to the Chief.
KATHERINE makes an impulsive movement towards him; then
quietly goes to the bureau, sits down and takes up a pen.
KATHERINE. Let me make the rough draft. [She waits] Yes?
MORE. [Dictating]
"July 15th.
"DEAR SIR CHARLES, After my speech to-night, embodying my
most unalterable convictions [KATHERINE turns and looks up at him,
but he is staring straight before him, and with a little movement of
despair she goes on writing] I have no alternative but to place the
resignation of my Under-Secretaryship in your hands. My view, my
faith in this matter may be wrong--but I am surely right to keep the flag
of my faith flying. I imagine I need not enlarge on the reasons----"
THE CURTAIN FALLS.

ACT. II
Before noon a few days later. The open windows of the dining- room
let in the sunlight. On the table a number of newspapers are littered.
HELEN is sitting there, staring straight before her. A newspaper boy
runs by outside calling out his wares. At the sound she gets up anti goes
out on to the terrace. HUBERT enters from the hall. He goes at once to
the terrace, and draws HELEN into the room.
HELEN. Is it true--what they're shouting?
HUBERT. Yes. Worse than we thought. They got our men all crumpled
up in the Pass--guns helpless. Ghastly beginning.
HELEN. Oh, Hubert!
HUBERT. My dearest girl!
HELEN puts her face up to his. He kisses her. Then she turns quickly
into the bay window. The door from the hall has been opened, and the
footman, HENRY, comes in, preceding WREFORD and his
sweetheart.
HENRY. Just wait here, will you, while I let Mrs. More know.
[Catching sight of HUBERT] Beg pardon, sir!
HUBERT. All right, Henry. [Off-hand] Ah! Wreford! [The
FOOTMAN withdraws] So you've brought her round. That's good! My
sister'll look after her--don't you worry! Got everything packed? Three
o'clock sharp.
WREFORD. [A broad faced soldier, dressed in khaki with a certain
look of dry humour, now dimmed-speaking with a West Country burr]
That's right, zurr; all's ready.
HELEN has come out of the window, and is quietly looking at
WREFORD and the girl standing there so awkwardly.
HELEN. [Quietly] Take care of him, Wreford.
HUBERT. We'll take care of each other, won't we, Wreford?
HELEN. How long have you been engaged?
THE GIRL. [A pretty, indeterminate young woman] Six months. [She
sobs suddenly.]
HELEN. Ah! He'll soon be safe back.
WREFORD. I'll owe 'em for this. [In a lacy voice to her] Don't 'ee now!
Don't 'ee!
HELEN. No! Don't cry, please!

She stands struggling with her own lips, then goes out on to the terrace,
HUBERT following. WREFORD and his girl remain where they were,
strange and awkward, she muffling her sobs.
WREFORD. Don't 'ee go on like that, Nance; I'll 'ave to take you 'ome.
That's silly, now we've a-come. I might be dead and buried by the fuss
you're makin'. You've a-drove the lady away. See!
She regains control of herself as the door is opened and KATHERINE
appears, accompanied by OLIVE, who regards WREFORD with awe
and curiosity, and by NURSE, whose eyes are red, but whose manner is
composed.
KATHERINE. My brother told me; so glad you've brought her.
WREFORD. Ye--as, M'. She feels me goin', a bit.
KATHERINE. Yes, yes! Still, it's for the country, isn't it?
THE GIRL. That's what Wreford keeps tellin' me. He've got to go--so
it's no use upsettin' 'im. And of course I keep tellin' him I shall be all
right.
NURSE. [Whose eyes never leave her son's face] And so you will.
THE GIRL. Wreford thought it'd comfort him to know you were
interested in me. 'E's so 'ot-headed I'm