The Silver Box | Page 6

course I won't sir.
JACK. It's quite an accident; I don't know how it happened. I must have
forgotten to go to bed. It's a queer thing. I 've got a most beastly
headache. Mind you don't say anything, Mrs. Jones.
[Goes out and passes MARLOW in the doorway. MARLOW is young
and quiet; he is cleanshaven, and his hair is brushed high from his
forehead in a coxcomb. Incidentally a butler, he is first a man. He looks
at MRS. JONES, and smiles a private smile.]
MARLOW. Not the first time, and won't be the last. Looked a bit dicky,
eh, Mrs. Jones?
MRS. JONES. He did n't look quite himself. Of course I did n't take
notice.
MARLOW. You're used to them. How's your old man?
MRS. JONES. [Softly as throughout.] Well, he was very bad last night;
he did n't seem to know what he was about. He was very late, and he
was most abusive. But now, of course, he's asleep.
MARLOW. That's his way of finding a job, eh?
MRS. JONES. As a rule, Mr. Marlow, he goes out early every morning
looking for work, and sometimes he comes in fit to drop--and of course
I can't say he does n't try to get it, because he does. Trade's very bad.
[She stands quite still, her fan and brush before her, at the beginning
and the end of long vistas of experience, traversing them with her
impersonal eye.] But he's not a good husband to me--last night he hit
me, and he was so dreadfully abusive.
MARLOW. Bank 'oliday, eh! He 's too fond of the "Goat and Bells,"
that's what's the matter with him. I see him at the corner late every
night. He hangs about.
MRS. JONES. He gets to feeling very low walking about all day after
work, and being refused so often, and then when he gets a drop in him
it goes to his head. But he shouldn't treat his wife as he treats me.
Sometimes I 've had to go and walk about at night, when he wouldn't
let me stay in the room; but he's sorry for it afterwards. And he hangs
about after me, he waits for me in the street; and I don't think he ought
to, because I 've always been a good wife to him. And I tell him Mrs.
Barthwick wouldn't like him coming about the place. But that only
makes him angry, and he says dreadful things about the gentry. Of
course it was through me that he first lost his place, through his not

treating me right; and that's made him bitter against the gentry. He had
a very good place as groom in the country; but it made such a stir,
because of course he did n't treat me right.
MARLOW. Got the sack?
MRS. JONES. Yes; his employer said he couldn't keep him, because
there was a great deal of talk; and he said it was such a bad example.
But it's very important for me to keep my work here; I have the three
children, and I don't want him to come about after me in the streets, and
make a disturbance as he sometimes does.
MARLOW. [Holding up the empty decanter.] Not a drain! Next time
he hits you get a witness and go down to the court----
MRS. JONES. Yes, I think I 've made up my mind. I think I ought to.
MARLOW. That's right. Where's the ciga----?
[He searches for the silver box; he looks at MRS. JONES, who is
sweeping on her hands and knees; he checks himself and stands
reflecting. From the tray he picks two half-smoked cigarettes, and reads
the name on them.]
Nestor--where the deuce----?
[With a meditative air he looks again at MRS. JONES, and, taking up
JACK'S overcoat, he searches in the pockets. WHEELER, with a tray
of breakfast things, comes in.]
MARLOW. [Aside to WHEELER.] Have you seen the cigarette-box?
WHEELER. No.
MARLOW. Well, it's gone. I put it on the tray last night. And he's been
smoking. [Showing her the ends of cigarettes.] It's not in these pockets.
He can't have taken it upstairs this morning! Have a good look in his
room when he comes down. Who's been in here?
WHEELER. Only me and Mrs. Jones.
MRS. JONES. I 've finished here; shall I do the drawing-room now?
WHEELER. [Looking at her doubtfully.] Have you seen----Better do
the boudwower first.
[MRS. JONES goes out with pan and brush. MARLOW and
WHEELER look each other in the face.]
MARLOW. It'll turn up.
WHEELER. [Hesitating.] You don't think she---- [Nodding at the
door.]
MARLOW. [Stoutly.] I don't----I never believes anything of anybody.

WHEELER. But the master'll have to be told.
MARLOW. You wait a bit, and see if it