COSENS. Eh?
LUCY. With a note from me, saying that it is the eminent Dr. Cosens’ cure for love. You will be a specialist after to-day, Doctor.
COSENS (very much embarrassed). You — you — if I don’t tell him who the woman is, will you give me that prescription?
(LUCY nods.)
Come, then.
(LUCY refuses to give it him yet.)
PROFESSOR (returning). Didn’t you say you had something to tell me, Dick?
COSENS. No, Tom, I don’t think so.
(He holds out hand for the prescription. LUCY gives it him, and he looks at it.)
COSENS (aside). Quinine.
PROFESSOR. Try a run north to see us, Dick.
COSENS. I should like to, Tom, but — (Shaking hands.)
LUCY (mockingly). Do, Doctor.
COSENS (meekly). Thank you, Miss White.
(Enter EFFIE.)
EFFIE. The cab is at the door, sir. (She has his hat and stick.)
PROFESSOR. Mind, Dick, I don’t believe in your diagnosis, I don’t believe a word of it, for there is no woman, and how could any one love vacuum? — quite absurd, quite absurd — but in case — just in case, there is no harm in taking precaution, and if there is such a woman —
EFFIE (from door). You’ll need all your time, sir.
PROFESSOR. If there is such a woman, there is no harm in running away from her, is there? I have you there! Have you there. Take my arm, Miss White.
(The PROFESSOR and LUCY go. COSENS raises his hands helplessly to heaven, but cannot help seeing the humour of the situation.)
Act II
A cornfield at harvest time. The corn down is already cut and standing in stooks. Effie is sitting on stook, knitting a stocking. Enter Pete, sheepishly. He is in corduroys, without coat, and strings are tied round the trousers below his knees. He is eating an apple. He comes and gazes at her fondly but cautiously. She knits demurely.
PETE. Effie!
EFFIE. Pete!
PETE. It’s yoursel’, Effie?
EFFIE. I dinna deny it, Pete.
PETE. It’s dinner time, lassie.
EFFIE. It’s dinner time to common folk, but it’s hardly breakfast time to their betters. The likes of you doesna ken what they do in grand society. You should see the Professor’s house in London. I may say the walls is papered in bank notes.
PETE. And yet he doesna work. He just invents electricity machines.
EFFIE. He is a great man.
PETE. Maybe, but I dinna approve o’ him.
EFFIE. What for no?
PETE. Because, Effie, there’s na electricity machines in the Bible!
EFFIE. He’s a religious man.
PETE. I question it. He has put English windows into his cottage, that open outwards. There’s no windows in the Bible that open outwards. All the windows in the Bible slide up and down.
(Pause.)
EFFIE. It may be so.
PETE. It is so. It’s the Scotch way. Effie!
EFFIE. Pete!
PETE. I’m like the Professor in one respect — I’m a single man.
EFFIE. Any coward can be a single man. It’s the only calling that’s open to them.
PETE. I’m not a coward — I’m just cautious. Effie, I’ve had something on the tip o’ my tongue to say to you this three years.
EFFIE. What about?
PETE. About — about marriage.
EFFIE (coyly). What about marriage?
(Enter HENDERS with sickle.)
PETE. It’s — an honourable estate, Effie.
EFFIE. It is, Pete.
PETE (fondly). But it’s for life — Effie!
EFFIE. I’m listening, Pete.
PETE. I’m holding mysel’ with an awful effort. I hinna kent you lang enough to say what I want to say.
EFFIE. Five years.
PETE. That’s no lang for such a risky thing.
EFFIE. Be courageous, Pete.
PETE. I will. (Starts to embrace her, but becomes scared. Draws back and walks away.) I’ll bide a wee. It’s so chancey. Good day to you, Effie.
EFFIE. Good day.
(PETE goes, HENDERS comes towards EFFIE. He is very domineering in manner.)
HENDERS. What was Pete saying to you, Effie?
EFFIE (coquettishly). Different things.
HENDERS. He wasn’t asking you to marry him, was he?
EFFIE. That might be one of the things.
HENDERS. Was it?
EFFIE. No, Henders.
HENDERS. Effie, dinna tak’ Pete, if he asks you to marry him.
EFFIE. What for no?
HENDERS. Because there’s better than him to be got. Tell me this first, do you like him or me best, Effie?
EFFIE. You, Henders.
HENDERS. A lot better?
EFFIE. Humpha. No comparison.
HENDERS. Ay; well, in that case, there’s no hurry. Good day to you, Effie.
(He goes, EFFIE watches him and sighs. Enter DOWAGER with corn sheaf, dressed in her charming idea of a harvesting dress.)
DOWAGER. Oh, Effie! Do show me how to make the thingumbob that goes round — the waistbelt, you know.
EFFIE. The band, my lady. It’s this way.
DOWAGER (kneeling over sheaf). Charming! But I don’t want to learn. I want you to find the Professor and give him this letter.
EFFIE (taking letter). Yes, my lady.
DOWAGER. And, Effie, here comes Miss Goodwillie. She needn’t see the letter. It’s only about electricity.
(EFFIE goes, MISS GOODWILLIE enters. She is outwardly hard.)
Ah, Miss Goodwillie. Effie has been teaching me to bind. Such fun.
MISS GOODWILLIE. I feel sure Effie never taught you to bind in that way. That is not binding, that’s strangling.
(Enter LADY GILDING, coming down stage, dressed in harvesting costume, similar to DOWAGER, and carrying sheaf.)
LADY GILDING. HOW do you think our harvesting is progressing, Miss Goodwillie?
MISS GOODWILLIE. I think you hold your sheaf, Lady Gilding, as if it were an infant.
DOWAGER. Ha, ha, so you do, Mildred! (Acting three ways) Good child, naughty child, upside-down child.
(LADY GILDING flings down sheaf. Enter SIR GEORGE.)
SIR GEORGE. I hope you are admiring our handiwork, Miss Goodwillie?
MISS GOODWILLIE. I wonder you don’t go and play at something else.