The Silver Box | Page 8

It might have ruined you for life. I can't see what's
to become of you if these are your principles. I never did anything of
the sort myself.
JACK. I expect you always had lots of money. If you've got plenty of
money, of course----
BARTHWICK. On the contrary, I had not your advantages. My father
kept me very short of money.
JACK. How much had you, dad?
BARTHWICK. It's not material. The question is, do you feel the
gravity of what you did?
JACK. I don't know about the gravity. Of course, I 'm very sorry if you
think it was wrong. Have n't I said so! I should never have done it at all
if I had n't been so jolly hard up.
BARTHWICK. How much of that forty pounds have you got left,
Jack?
JACK. [Hesitating.] I don't know--not much.
BARTHWICK. How much?
JACK. [Desperately.] I have n't got any.
BARTHWICK. What?
JACK. I know I 've got the most beastly headache.
[He leans his head on his hand.]
MRS. BARTHWICK. Headache? My dear boy! Can't you eat any
breakfast?
JACK. [Drawing in his breath.] Too jolly bad!
MRS. BARTHWICK. I'm so sorry. Come with me; dear; I'll give you

something that will take it away at once.
[They leave the room; and BARTHWICK, tearing up the letter, goes to
the fireplace and puts the pieces in the fire. While he is doing this
MARLOW comes in, and looking round him, is about quietly to
withdraw.]
BARTHWICK. What's that? What d 'you want?
MARLOW. I was looking for Mr. John, sir.
BARTHWICK. What d' you want Mr. John for?
MARLOW. [With hesitation.] I thought I should find him here, sir.
BARTHWICK. [Suspiciously.] Yes, but what do you want him for?
MARLOW. [Offhandedly.] There's a lady called--asked to speak to
him for a minute, sir.
BARTHWICK. A lady, at this time in the morning. What sort of a
lady?
MARLOW. [Without expression in his voice.] I can't tell, sir; no
particular sort. She might be after charity. She might be a Sister of
Mercy, I should think, sir.
BARTHWICK. Is she dressed like one?
MARLOW. No, sir, she's in plain clothes, sir.
BARTHWICK. Did n't she say what she wanted?
MARLOW. No sir.
BARTHWICK. Where did you leave her?
MARLOW. In the hall, sir.
BARTHWICK. In the hall? How do you know she's not a thief--not got
designs on the house?
MARLOW. No, sir, I don't fancy so, sir.
BARTHWICK. Well, show her in here; I'll see her myself.
[MARLOW goes out with a private gesture of dismay. He soon returns,
ushering in a young pale lady with dark eyes and pretty figure, in a
modish, black, but rather shabby dress, a black and white trimmed hat
with a bunch of Parma violets wrongly placed, and fuzzy-spotted veil.
At the Sight of MR. BARTHWICK she exhibits every sign of
nervousness. MARLOW goes out.]
UNKNOWN LADY. Oh! but--I beg pardon there's some mistake--I
[She turns to fly.]
BARTHWICK. Whom did you want to see, madam?
UNKNOWN. [Stopping and looking back.] It was Mr. John Barthwick

I wanted to see.
BARTHWICK. I am John Barthwick, madam. What can I have the
pleasure of doing for you?
UNKNOWN. Oh! I--I don't [She drops her eyes. BARTHWICK
scrutinises her, and purses his lips.]
BARTHWICK. It was my son, perhaps, you wished to see?
UNKNOWN. [Quickly.] Yes, of course, it's your son.
BARTHWICK. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of speaking to?
UNKNOWN. [Appeal and hardiness upon her face.] My name is----oh!
it does n't matter--I don't want to make any fuss. I just want to see your
son for a minute. [Boldly.] In fact, I must see him.
BARTHWICK. [Controlling his uneasiness.] My son is not very well.
If necessary, no doubt I could attend to the matter; be so kind as to let
me know----
UNKNOWN. Oh! but I must see him--I 've come on purpose--[She
bursts out nervously.] I don't want to make any fuss, but the fact is,
last--last night your son took away--he took away my [She stops.]
BARTHWICK. [Severely.] Yes, madam, what?
UNKNOWN. He took away my--my reticule.
BARTHWICK. Your reti----?
UNKNOWN. I don't care about the reticule; it's not that I want--I 'm
sure I don't want to make any fuss--[her face is quivering]--but-
-but--all my money was in it!
BARTHWICK. In what--in what?
UNKNOWN. In my purse, in the reticule. It was a crimson silk purse.
Really, I wouldn't have come--I don't want to make any fuss. But I
must get my money back--mustn't I?
BARTHWICK. Do you tell me that my son----?
UNKNOWN. Oh! well, you see, he was n't quite I mean he was
[She smiles mesmerically.]
BARTHWICK. I beg your pardon.
UNKNOWN. [Stamping her foot.] Oh! don't you see--tipsy! We had a