Under a Veil

Cha. Yes, madam, I shall go.

[Endeavoring to turn round.

Luc. If you do that, I shall have to tie you with my handkerchief. Don’t you think now, joking apart, that it would be wiser, without tempting fortune at Baden, to go to your “mother at once”? (Waltz music again.) She’d play to you again. (Listening.) Come, do you hear that waltz? and when you hear it once more by her side, – that dear mother, – you’ll be happy, and —

Cha. Ah! then, in reading my letter, you evidently did not understand, did not comprehend.

Luc. Comprehend what?

Cha. The country that my mother is gone to.

Luc. No.

Cha. It is the Country of Peace, of Repose, – the only land from which the mother cannot return to console her child.

Luc. (making a movement as if to show herself). Then, sir, am I to understand that if you lost – you would – (stops, and reseats herself) – he has no mother!

Cha. It would not interest you, madam, to learn all these details; but please to remember that you are not my friend George, and that I’ve not absolutely gone on my knees to you to read my letter.

Luc. (aside, looking at Charles). Just imagine if it were him! (Rising with animation.) Well, sir, I don’t repent of having read your letter: in fact, I congratulate myself on having done so; and I am also glad to see you here, for now I can implore you, beseech you, to renounce such fatal plans; to beg of you with clasped hands to do so, in the name of your mother.

Cha. Madam!

Luc. Listen, sir. I cannot explain to you my object in being so curious; but what is your name?

Cha. Charleston King.

Luc. Sir!

Cha. That is my veil. If you want to take it off, remove your own.

Luc. No, sir: that is impossible; but —

Cha. In that case, madam, I am Charleston King, too lazy to do any thing, but quite at your service.

Luc. (aside). What shall I do? (Looking round, sees flowers.) Ah! (Takes a sprig of May, and comes towards Cha.) Sir, we are about to part, probably never to meet again; would it be repugnant to your feelings to accept a souvenir?

Cha. Pardon, madam, but you don’t propose giving me a dressing-case?

Luc. Don’t be alarmed. The souvenir I give you, do you promise to keep it?

Cha. For ever, madam, I swear it. (Aside.) What can it be?

Luc. (kissing sprig, and leaning against back of Cha.’s chair). Take it.

Cha. (looking at it, but not taking it). A sprig of May!

Luc. Upon which I have just left a kiss. (Cha. moves.) You have sworn never to part with it. Good! Should you persist in your fatal project, at the moment when you are about to commit this frightful act, perhaps my poor little sprig may catch your eye; perhaps it will remind you of the days of your childhood, those happy days that have fled away; those Sundays when your mother’s smile was upon you as you filled your little arms with flowers, and brought your childish offering to her knees.

Cha. Keep still, my heart!

Luc. If you should have such thoughts, your courage will be tried; for, in speaking to you of me, my little sprig will also remind you of your mother; and if you should still desire —

Cha. (seizing sprig). No, no! I have no longer any such desire (seizing her hand, and kissing it, slides upon his knees). I swear it to you on my knees. But I must see the angel who – (Lifts his head, when Lucy turns away). Ah, cruel! This hand at least I hold.

[Covers it with kisses.

Luc. Give me my hand, sir, or else —

Cha. Or else —

Luc. Tell me your name.

Cha. Shall I see your face?

Luc. No, no! I cannot possibly —

Cha. Madam, I implore you! I beseech you!

Eliz. (outside). It’s me, mam. There’s no key.

Luc. Elizabeth! – Get up at once, and return to your room, I implore you!

Cha. Madam, I obey you; but —

Luc. (going towards door). Thanks, sir, and don’t forget my lecture.

Cha. (entering his room). In thinking of you, madam, I shall always remember it.

[Exit. Lucy opens door.

Eliz. (entering 2 E. L.). Why, the key’s fallen out. (Aside.) She’s been up to something, I know.

[Replaces it.

Luc. (still upset). You must be tired, Elizabeth. Go to bed, my good girl, go.

[Reseats herself, and takes up book.

Eliz. (takes off tea things). I tired! Oh, no, mum! (Returns.) Surely thirty waltzes or quadrilles wouldn’t tire me much; and there’s only two hours to sleep. It’s not worth while going to bed: so, if you please, mum, I’ll sit up with you.

[Sits on sofa.

Luc. It must, then, be that nephew, the son of his sister, of whom Mr. Mortimer always avoided speaking to me.

Cha. (in next room, uneasy). What on earth made her so anxious to know my name?

Luc. At any rate, I have his promise: that’s some consolation. By the way, Elizabeth, did you know Mr. Mortimer’s nephew?

Eliz. Well, yes, – little Charley Devereux. Oh, yes! I recollect; and I – I – (falling asleep and dreaming) thank you, sir: I don’t dance any more.

Cha. And to think she’ll leave without my seeing her face! It’s abominable!

[Rises.

Luc. (Looking at Elizabeth). She’s asleep, poor thing! She’ll catch cold.

[Covers her with her cloak.

Cha. Ah, this window! Perhaps there’s a veranda.

[Goes to window.

Luc. How can I ascertain for certain that he is Mr. Mortimer’s nephew? I must know it somehow.

Cha. No road here; perhaps by the other staircase. I shall just go in without knocking, as if I had forgotten; that’s it: here goes.

[Exit, slamming door.

Luc. That noise was in his room. I think he’s gone out. If I was certain that dressing-case he spoke of would tell me! (At door.) Sir, Mr. King! No answer. What have I to fear?

[Enters room, closing door.

Cha. (gently opening 2 E. L. door). Yes, this is the room. (Looking round.) She sleeps; my handkerchief too. Now, my charming girl, let me see your face. (Takes candle, starts back.) Confound it! Well, there’s the end of my dream.

[Heaves a sigh, and goes out.

Eliz. (starting up). There’s somebody in the room. (Goes to door at back, and looks in.) I knew she was up to something: I’ll find it out, see if I don’t.

[Exit 1 L. E.

Luc. (searching). Ah, here it is at last, – Charles Devereux. It’s he, it’s he! (She returns hastily, and bolts door.) Ah, how my heart beats! what shall I do now? (Thinking.) The fact is, he’s very nice, notwithstanding his nickname.

Cha. (entering, and falling into arm-chair). Another dream, that takes itself off to the land of dreams. (Striking table.) No, it’s always the same. If you were to go to a masked ball where there was only one woman – oh, love! oh, frenzy! the mask falls, ugh! no more love, no more frenzy. The woman’s ninety, and ugly as – heaven knows what.

Luc. He’s come in. (Calling at door.) Mr. King!

Cha. And such a voice!

Luc. Sir.

Cha. Woke her up, I suppose. Madam —

Luc. Sir, I should like to have a few words of explanation with you.

Cha. (running to fasten door). Oh, by jingo!

Luc. He’s locked himself in. (Aloud.) Pardon me, sir, for troubling you; but – but – if I mistake not, you are Mr. Charles Devereux, the nephew of Mr. Mortimer.

Cha. I suppose you mean, madam, that that gentleman was my uncle. I don’t dispute the fact. (Aside.) How the mischief did she find that out? Ah! it’s that confounded landlord told her.

Luc. Well, sir, I’ve a most important communication to make to you from his adopted child.

Cha. But I don’t want to hear what she’s got to say, madam. You know her?

Luc. Yes, sir, I know her; and I also know that she has been seeking you for a long time, in order to give you up a fortune which by right belongs to you.

Cha. What you propose, madam, is ridiculous. I could never accept a farthing.

Luc. But suppose in seeing her you happen to like her, and that —

Cha. I shall never like her.

Luc. Perhaps you might. If she were like me, for instance?

Cha. Never, madam. I’m sworn celibacy, – a knight of Malta, in fact.

Luc. (aside). What an extraordinary change! (Aloud.) Mr. King, I’m in the greatest danger, and you alone can save me.

Cha. Madam, I’ve saved you twice to-night, and I distinctly refuse to do it any more.

Luc. (aside). He’s absolutely getting impertinent. Sir, I have something to return to you that belongs to you, – a pocket-handkerchief.

Cha. Thanks: I’ve got it, – one with a monogram. I really believe I must barricade my door.

[Puts furniture against door.

Luc. He’s got it! Why, he must have come in here, then; and – and – of course he saw Elizabeth with my cloak round her. I see. Ha, ha, ha!

Cha. Confound her, she’s laughing! She laughs too as if she was only twenty.

Luc. So, sir, you refuse to open the door?

Cha. Quite impossible, madam. I’m gone, I’m a long way off, I’m on my road to Baden.

Luc. Pleasant journey, sir. (Aside.) It can’t be helped, I must have recourse to more violent means.

[Exit L. D.

Cha. I verily believe she’s going to burst the door in: I’d better bolt. The devil! this is becoming serious. It almost reminds me of my adventure amongst the savages in Africa, where the daughter of a king, with rings in her nose, took a violent fancy to me. The king favored the marriage, and told me quietly that I had the choice, if I didn’t marry his daughter he’d eat me. I at once answered, “Your Majesty, I prefer to enter your family to your mouth; I’ll marry your daughter to-morrow.” And during the night I escaped to the coast. Let us do the same, and escape to the coast.

[Makes for door.

Pri. (appearing at door drunk). Miss Lucy Mortimer wishes to have the honor of seeing you, sir.

Cha. Miss who, did you say?

Pri. Well, sir, beg pardon, it’s your cousin’s uncle or your uncle’s cousin.

Cha. Ask the lady to walk in, wretched man.

Pri. (announcing Lucy, who is in Elizabeth’s cloak with a thick veil on). Miss Lucy Mortimer.

Cha. (advancing, confused). Madam, I thought I —

Luc. (speaking to him in a disguised voice, and throwing back veil). Well, sir, what do you think of me?

Cha. Ah, madam! Even the most confused man in the world could but confess that you are charming. (Aside.) If my neighbor were only half as pretty! Charming is not the word; but, excuse me, you come here at five in the morning, and ask me what I think of you. Well, that’s all right, I suppose; but pardon me if I go further, and venture to ask in the most humble manner in the world a little question.

Luc. (same voice). I’m listening.

Cha. I scarcely know how to put it, but by what curious coincidence do you come to know my name?

Luc. (in ordinary voice). Because, sir, I found out. (Points to dressing-case.) Because it’s the name of a kind, frank, brave young fellow, whom I really don’t find too lazy for any thing, and whom I’ve also learned to know as too honorable to misinterpret.

Cha. That voice! impossible. (Points to L. H.) It can’t be you. Who could I have seen there just now?

Luc. My maid, who was asleep whilst I was here, reading your name.

Cha. Why, it’s like a dream. But your husband, madam —

Luc. He too has gone to that land of rest.

Cha. You are then —

Luc. Miss Lucy Mortimer, your cousin, who can no longer retain the fortune that so justly belongs to you.

Cha. (confused). But I absolutely refuse to —

Luc. Ah, if you refuse me, I shall ask you to give me back my sprig of May.

Cha. (kneeling). Never. I will keep it to the last moment of my life, and with it the hand I now hold.

[Sinks on his knee. Door opens.

Luc. Get up: here’s some one coming.

Enter Prichard, R. 2 E

Pri. Madam, sir, the postilions are harnessed: I mean the horses.

Cha. Confound that landlord! – Come here, landlord. (Takes Pri. up C.) Did you ever hear that this hotel of yours was infected with a malady of the most infectious character?

Pri. Sir, I beg most distinctly to state that —

Cha. Landlord, you’re very drunk.

[Pushes him through door into next room, where he falls on sofa.

Luc. Oh, Charles, dear! I hope we sha’n’t catch it.

Cha. Don’t be afraid, dear: the malady which I allude to is one from which we are both of us suffering, and it is one that has but one remedy for its cure. (To audience.) Dear friends, the malady is love: the remedy is marriage. If any of you are suffering from some of the premonitory symptoms of this insidious disease, you will, I feel sure, accord us your utmost sympathy. But if there should be any here who have not yet been attacked, and who wish to avoid contagion, let me strongly recommend them to avoid, upon any pretence whatever, a conversation with a lady which is to be carried on

UNDER A VEILCurtain