FullReads

ISABEL.
But Jim and I aren’t married either, you know.

MRS. MURPHY.
It’s too soft you are, that’s why. You take no for an answer, as a girl shouldn’t. Let you keep at him long enough, and he’ll give in. Sure the youth of this generation have no regard for their proper rights. Never was a man yet that couldn’t be come around, if he was taken in his weakness. A silk dress or a wedding ring or shoes for the baby, it’s all the same–they have to be coaxed twice for every one thing they do. It’s the nature of the beast, so it is, God help us. Well I remember how my sister that’s dead in Ireland used to say, and we girls together, “Sure,” says she, “it’s woman’s place to ask,” says she, “and man’s to refuse,” says she, “and woman’s to ask again,” says she. Widow that I am this ten year, I could tell you some things now– but I’ll not be sayin’ a word.

ISABEL.
Do I look all right?

MRS. MURPHY.
It’s pretty as a flower you look, Miss. And I’d not be askin’ questions, for it’s none of my business at all, but who are you fixin’ yourself up for to-day, if you know yourself?

ISABEL.
What difference does it make? I go into rehearsal next week, and there’s a manager that will want to make love to me, and he’s fat, and I’ll get to hate and loathe the sight of male mankind–and this is my last week to enjoy myself! ( She goes to the door at the back.) Besides, Jim may have another girl by this time, or Mr. Falcington’s wife may come.

She goes into the inner room.

MRS. MURPHY.
His wife–God help us!

She shakes her head, and starts to go out.

There is a knock. She opens the door, and admits a woman in a travelling suit
.

THE WOMAN.
Is Mr. Falcington here?

MRS. MURPHY.
( disingenuously )

There’s a party of that name on the east side of the Square if I’m not mistaken, ma’am, in the Benedick, bachelor apartments like–’tis there you might inquire.

THE WOMAN.
There’s no Mr. Falcington here?

MRS. MURPHY.
On another floor, maybe. ‘Tis a lady lives here.

The woman turns to go.

ISABEL.
( within )

Who is asking for Mr. Falcington?

THE WOMAN.
I am Mrs. Falcington,–his wife.

ISABEL.
( at the inner door )

Oh!

MRS. FALCINGTON.
And you are Isabel Summers?

ISABEL.
Yes.

MRS. MURPHY.
The Lord have mercy!

She escapes.

ISABEL.
Sit down.

MRS. FALCINGTON.
Thank you. I will.

( She does so.)
Harold is out?

ISABEL.
Yes.

( A pause )
Getting brioches for breakfast.

( A pause )
You look tired. Won’t you have some coffee? It’s ready.

MRS. FALCINGTON.
Thank you. Yes.

Both the women give an impression of timid courage.

ISABEL.
( pouring the coffee )

He ought to be back soon. He talked of getting lost in the
crooked streets of the Village, and I’m afraid that’s
what has happened to him.

MRS. FALCINGTON.
Yes. Harold is all at sea in a strange place.