Scene:—A room in the Town
Hall, Poplar. A high, bare,
cold room, unfurnished except for cane-bottomed chairs
ranged against the walls. French windows right give
on to a balcony overlooking the street. Door in back
opens upon a stone passage. A larger door opens into
another room, through which one passes to reach the room
in which the counting of the votes is taking place.
A fire burns—or rather tries to burn.
The room is lighted from the centre of the ceiling by an
electric sun. A row of hat-pegs is on the wall
between the two doors. The time is about 9
p.m.
(People entering from the street wear coats or cloaks,
&c., the season being early spring. If
passing through or staying in the room, they take off
their outdoor things and hang them up, putting them on
again before going out.)
(Jawbones is coaxing the
reluctant fire by using a newspaper as a blower. He
curses steadily under his breath. The door
opens. Ginger enters;
she is dressed in cheap furs.)
Jawbones. Shut the door,
can’t yer!
Ginger. Don’t yer want
a draught?
Jawbones. No, I
don’t. Not any more than I’ve got.
Ginger. (She shuts the
door.) ’Ave they begun counting the votes?
Jawbones. Been at it for the
last three-quarters of an hour.
Ginger. Who’s going to
win?
Jawbones. One of
’em.
(Lady Mogton
has entered. She has come from the room where
they are counting the votes.)
Shut that door! (He glances over his shoulder,
sees his mistake.) Beg pardon! (To
himself.) Thought ’twas the other fool!
Lady Mogton. (She shuts
the door. To Ginger.) Have you seen Mrs.
Chilvers?
Ginger. Not since the
afternoon, your ladyship.
Lady Mogton. She is coming, I
suppose?
Ginger. I think so, your
ladyship.
Lady Mogton. It’s very
cold in here, Gordon.
Jawbones. Yes, my lady.
Not what I call a cosy room.
Lady Mogton. (To Ginger.) Jump into a cab. See if
you can find her. Perhaps she has been detained at one of
the committee-rooms. Tell her she ought to be here.
Ginger. Yes, your
ladyship. (She crosses, opens door.)
Jawbones. Shut the door.
Ginger. Oh, shut—
(She finds herself face to face with
a Messenger carrying a
ballot-box.)
I beg yer pardon! (She goes out, closes
door.)
Lady Mogton. (To the
Messenger.) Is that the
last?
Messenger. Generally
is. Isle of Dogs!
(He goes into the other
room.)
Lady Mogton. (To Jawbones.) Do you know where Mr.
Chilvers is?
(There comes a bloodthirsty yell from the
crowd outside.)
Jawbones. Not unless
that’s ’im. (He finishes for the time being
with the fire. Rises.)
(Janet
enters.)
Lady Mogton. Was that you
they were yelling at?
Janet. No, it’s Mr.
Sigsby.
(Another yell is heard. Out of it a shrill
female voice—“Mind ’is fice; yer
spoiling it!”)
The Woman’s Laundry Union have taken such a strong
dislike to him.
(A final yell. Then a
voice: “That’s taken some of the starch out of
him!” followed by a shriek of laughter.)
Jawbones. ’E only
suggested as ’ow there was enough old washerwomen in
Parliament as it was.
Lady Mogton. A most
unnecessary remark. It will teach him—
(Sigsby
enters, damaged. His appearance is
comic. Lady Mogton makes
no effort to repress a grim smile.)
Sigsby. Funny, ain’t
it?
Lady Mogton. I am sorry.
Sigsby. (He
snarls.) “The Mother’s Hand shall Help
Us!” One of your posters, I think.
Lady Mogton. You
shouldn’t have insulted them—calling them old
washerwomen!
Sigsby. Insult!
Can’t one indulge in a harmless jeu
d’esprit—(he pronounces it according to his
own ideas)—without having one’s clothes torn off
one’s back? (Fiercely.) What do you mean
by it—disgracing your sex?
Lady Mogton. Are you
addressing me?
Sigsby. All of you.
Upsetting the foundations upon which society has been
reared—the natural and lawful subjection of the woman to
the man. Why don’t you read St. Paul?
Lady Mogton. St. Paul was
addressing Christians. When men behave like Christians
there will be no need of Votes for Women. You read St. Paul
on men. (To Janet.)
I shall want you!
(She goes out, followed
by Janet.)
(Sigsby
gives vent to a gesture.)
Jawbones. Getting saucy,
ain’t they?
Sigsby.
Over-indulgence. That’s what the modern woman is
suffering from. Gets an idea on Monday that she’d
like the whole world altered; if it isn’t done by Saturday,
raises hell! Where’s the guv’nor?
Jawbones. Hasn’t been
here.
Sigsby. (Hands Jawbones his damaged hat.) See
if they can do anything to that. If not, get me a new
one. (He forks out a sovereign.) Sure to be
some shops open in the High Street.
(Lamb
and St. Herbert
enter.)
Lamb. Hallo! have they been
mauling you?
Sigsby. (He snatches the
damaged hat from Jawbones, to
hand it back the next moment; holds it out.)
Woman’s contribution to politics. Get me a collar at
the same time—sixteen and a half.
(Jawbones
takes his cap and goes out. The men hang up their
overcoats.)
Sigsby. Where’s it all
going to end? That’s what I want to know!
St. Herbert. Where most
things end. In the millennium, according to its
advocates. In the ruin of the country, according to its
opponents. In mild surprise on the part of the next
generation that ever there was any fuss about it.
Sigsby. In amazement, you
mean, that their fathers were so blind as not to see where it was
leading. My boy, this is going to alter the whole
relationship between the sexes!
St. Herbert. Is it so perfect
as it is?
(A silence.)
Might it not be established on a more workable, a more
enduring basis if woman were allowed a share in the shaping of
it?
(Some woman in the crowd starts the
refrain, “We’ll hang old Asquith on a sour
apple tree.” It is taken up with quiet
earnestness by others.)
Sigsby. Shaping it!
Nice sort of shape it will be by the time that lot (with a
gesture, including the crowd, Lady
Mogton & Co.) have done
knocking it about. Wouldn’t be any next generation to
be surprised at anything if some of them had their way.
St. Herbert. The
housebreakers come first—not a class of work demanding much
intelligence; the builders come later. Have you seen
Chilvers?
Lamb. I left him at the
House. He couldn’t get away.
Sigsby. There’s your
object-lesson for you. We don’t need to go far.
A man’s whole career ruined by the wife he nourishes.
St. Herbert. How do you mean,
“ruined?”
Sigsby. So it is. If
she wins the election and claims the seat. Do you think the
Cabinet will want him? Their latest addition compelled to
appeal to the House of Commons to fight for him against his own
womenfolk. (Grunts.) He’ll be the
laughing-stock of the whole country.
St. Herbert. Do you know for
certain that they mean to claim the seat?
Sigsby. “Wait and
see” is their answer.
Lamb. Hasn’t Chilvers
any idea?
Sigsby. Can’t get him
to talk. Don’t think he’s seen her since that
shindy over the Deputation.
Lamb. Humph!
Sigsby. Even if she herself
wished to draw back, the others would overrule her.
Lamb. I’m not so sure
of that. She’s got a way of shutting her mouth that
reminds me of my old woman.
Sigsby. The arrangement, as
he explained it to me, was that the whole thing was to end with
the polling. It was to have been a mere joke, a mere
ballon d’essai. The mistake he made was
thinking he could depend on her.
Lamb. Guess she made the same
mistake. You can fight and shake hands afterwards; it
doesn’t go with kissing.
Sigsby. Man and woman were
not made to fight. It was never intended.
(The woman’s
“Marseillaise” has been taken up by the
crowd. The chorus has been reached.)
Oh, damn your row! (He slams to the window; it
was ajar.)
(Jawbones has entered, with his
purchases.)
(Turning from window he sees Jawbones, goes to meet him.)
Couldn’t they do anything?
Jawbones. (He has bought a
new hat; has also brought back the remains.
He shakes his head.) No good for anything else but a
memento.
Sigsby. (With a grunt he
snatches the thing and flings it into a corner.
Tries on the new one.)
Jawbones. ’Ow’s
it feel?
(Sigsby, with
the help of Jawbones, attends
to his appearance.)
Lamb. (To St. Herbert.) No use talking to her, I
suppose?
St. Herbert. (Shrugs his
shoulders.) She’ll do what she imagines to be her
duty. Women are so uncivilised.
(A burst of cheering is heard.
A shrill male voice: “Three cheers for Winston
Churchill!” It is followed by an explosion of
yells.)
St. Herbert. Who’s
that?
Lamb. (He has opened the
window.) Phoebe Mogton!
Sigsby. What a family!
(Janet
has entered.)
Janet. Is that Mrs.
Chilvers? (To Lamb
and St. Herbert.) Good
evening.
St. Herbert. Good
evening.
Lamb. No; it’s her
sister.
Janet. I wonder she
doesn’t come.
Sigsby. What are the latest
figures? Do you know?
(Phoebe
enters.)
Janet. I forget the
numbers. Mrs. Chilvers is forty ahead.
Phoebe. Forty ahead!
(To Janet.) Did you order
the band?
Lamb. (To Sigsby.) The Dock division was against
him to a man; that Shipping Bill has upset them.
Janet. No. I
didn’t think we should want the band.
Phoebe. Not want it! My
dear girl—
Janet. Perhaps Lady Mogton
has ordered it, I’ll ask her.
(She goes out.)
Sigsby. Hadn’t you
better “Wait and see”? It isn’t over
yet.
Phoebe. We may as well have
it! It can play the Dead March in “Saul” if you
win. (She laughs.)
Sigsby. (Grunts.
To Lamb.) Are you
coming?
(He goes out.)
Lamb. Yes. (To
St. Herbert.) Are you
coming?
St. Herbert. Hardly worth
while; nearly over, isn’t it?
Lamb. It generally takes an
hour and a half. (He looks at his watch.)
Another forty minutes. Perhaps less.
(He goes out.)
Phoebe. I do love to make him
ratty. Wish it wasn’t poor old Geoff we were
fighting.
St. Herbert. When I marry, it
will be the womanly woman.
Phoebe. No chance for me
then?
St. Herbert. I don’t
say that. I can see you taking your political opinions from
your husband, and thinking them your own.
Phoebe. Good heavens!
St. Herbert. The brainy woman
will think for herself. And then I foresee some lively
breakfast tables.
Phoebe. Humph! No fear,
I suppose, of a man taking his views from his wife and thinking
them his own?
St. Herbert. That may be the
solution. The brainy woman will have to marry the manly
man.
(Ginger
enters.)
Jawbones. (He is on his
knees blowing the fire. In a low growl.)
Shut the door!
Ginger. Can’t till
I’m inside, can I? (Shuts it.)
Where’s Lady Mogton?
Jawbones. I don’t
know.
Phoebe. What do you want her
for?
Ginger. Only to tell her that
I can’t find Chilvers.
Phoebe. Isn’t she
here?
Ginger. Not unless
she’s come while I’ve been out.
(Janet
enters.)
Janet. Oh, Lady
Mogton—
Phoebe. (Interrupting
her.) Isn’t Annys here?
Janet. No. (To
Ginger.) Haven’t you found
her?
Ginger. (Shakes her
head.) Been everywhere I could think of.
Phoebe. (To
herself.) She couldn’t have gone home? Is
there a telephone here?
Janet. The room’s
locked up.
Jawbones. There’s one
at 118, High Street. Shall I go, miss?
Phoebe. No, thanks.
I’ll go myself. Oh, what about the band?
Janet. Lady Mogton says
she’d like it. If it isn’t too tired.
Ginger. It’s at
Sell’s Coffee-’ouse in Piggott Street. I
’eard them practising.
Phoebe. Good. I
shan’t be more than a few minutes.
St. Herbert. I’ll come
with you, if I may? I’ve got some news that may be of
use to you.
Phoebe. Do. (To
Ginger.) Stop here, I may want
you.
(Phoebe and St. Herbert go out.)
Janet. How was Mrs. Chilvers
seeming this afternoon?
Ginger. Never ’eard
’er speak better, miss.
Janet. Did you stop to the
end?
Ginger. Not quite. Mrs.
Spender wanted some shopping done.
(Janet
goes out.)
Ginger. Can I ’elp
yer?
Jawbones. Yer might hold the
piper while I blow.
(The fire begins to
burn.)
Ginger. It’s getting
brighter.
Jawbones. That’s caught
it.
Ginger. Wonderful what a
little coaxing will do.
Jawbones. (He is still
squatting on his heels, folding up the paper.
He looks up.) Ain’t yer ever thought of that,
instead of worrying about the vote?
Ginger. (She moves
away.) You don’t understand us wimmin.
Jawbones. (He has
risen. He pauses in his folding of the
paper.) Don’t say that.
Ginger. Why should we coax
yer—for our rights?
Jawbones. Because it’s
the easiest way of getting ’em.
Ginger. (She has become
oratorical.) Our appeal is not to man (with upraised
hand) but to Justice!
Jawbones. Oh! And what
does the lidy say?
Ginger.
(Descending.) ’Ow do yer mean?
Jawbones. To your
appeal. Is she goin’ to give ’em to yer?
You tike my tip: if yer in a ’urry, you get a bit on
account—from Man. ’Ere. (He dives into
his pocket, produces, wrapped up in tissue
paper, a ring, which he exhibits to her.)
That’s a bit more in your line.
Ginger. (Her eyes
sparkle. She takes the ring in her hand.
Then problems come to her.) Why do yer want me,
William?
Jawbones. Because, in spite
of all, I love yer.
Ginger. (She looks into
the future.) What will I be? A general servant,
without wages.
Jawbones. The question, as it
seems to me, is, which of us two is the biggest fool?
Instead of thirty bob a week in my pocket to spend as I
like—guess I’ll ’ave to be content with three
’alf-crowns.
Ginger. Seven an’
six! Rather a lot, Bill, out o’ thirty bob.
Don’t leave much for me an’ the children.
Jawbones. I shall ’ave
to get my dinners.
Ginger. I could mike yer
somethin’ tasty to tike with yer. Then with,
say—three shillings—
Jawbones.
’Ere—(He is on the point of snatching back the
ring. He encounters her eyes. There is
a moment’s battle. The Eternal Feminine
conquers.) Will yer always look as sweet as yer do
now?
Ginger. Always, Bill.
So long as yer good to me!
(She slips the ring over her finger,
still with her eyes drawing him. He catches her
to him in fierce passion, kisses her.)
(A loud shrill female cheer comes from
the crowd. The cheer is renewed and
renewed.)
Jawbones. (He breaks away
and goes to the window.) ’Ullo! What are
they shoutin’ about now? (He looks out.)
It’s the Donah!
Ginger. Mrs. Chilvers?
Jawbones. Yus. Better
not get wearin’ it—may shock their feelings.
Ginger. (She gazes
rapturously at the ring as she draws it off.) It is a
beauty! I do love yer, Bill.
(There enter Annys and Elizabeth. Annys is excited; she is laughing
and talking.)
Annys. (Laughing while she
rearranges her hat and hair.) A little
embarrassing. That red-haired girl—she carried me
right up the steps. I was afraid she would—
(Jawbones has
been quick enough to swing a chair into place just in time to
receive her.)
(She recovers herself.) Thank you.
Elizabeth. (She hands
Annys a smelling-bottle.
To Jawbones.) Open the
window a few inches.
(He does so. Some woman,
much interrupted, is making a speech.)
(Janet opens
the door a little way and looks in.)
Janet. Oh, it is you! I
am glad!
(She goes out again.)
Elizabeth. Are the others all
here?
Ginger. ’Er ladyship is
watching the counting. Miss Phoebe ’as just gone
out—
(Phoebe
enters.)
Oh, ’ere she is.
Phoebe. Hullo! (She
is taking off her things.) Wherever have you
been? We’ve been scouring the
neighbourhood—
(Lady
Mogton enters, followed by Janet.)
I say, you’re looking jolly chippy.
Elizabeth. We had an extra
enthusiastic meeting. She spoke for rather a long
time. I made her come home with me and lie down. I
think she is all right now.
Lady Mogton. Would you like
to see a doctor?
Phoebe. There is a very good
man close here. (She turns to Jawbones, who is still near the
window.) Gordon—
Annys.
(Interrupting.) No. Please don’t.
I am quite all right. I hate strange doctors.
Phoebe. Well, let me send for
Whitby; he could be here in twenty minutes.
Annys. I wish you would all
leave me alone. There’s absolutely nothing to fuss
about whatever. We pampered women—we can’t
breathe the same air that ordinary mortals have to. We
ought to be ashamed of ourselves.
Phoebe. (To
herself.) Obstinate pig.
(She catches Jawbones’ eye; unnoticed by
the others, she takes him aside. They
whisper.)
Annys. How is it going?
Lady Mogton. You must be
prepared for winning. (She puts again the question
that Annys has frequently been
asked to answer during the last few days.) What are you
going to do?
(Mrs.
Mountcalm-Villiers enters, as usual in a flutter
of excitement.)
Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. Am I
late?
(They brush her back into
silence. Elizabeth takes
charge of her.)
Annys. (She has
risen.) You think it wise tactics, to make it
impossible for Geoffrey to be anything else in the future but our
enemy?
Lady Mogton.
(Contemptuously.) You are thinking of him, and not
of the cause.
Annys. And if I were!
Haven’t I made sacrifice enough?—more than any of you
will ever know. Ay—and would make more, if I felt it
was demanded of me. I don’t! (Her burst of
anger is finished. She turns,
smiling.) I’m much more cunning than you
think. There will be other elections we shall want to
fight. With the Under-Secretary for Home Affairs in
sympathy with us, the Government will find it difficult to
interfere. Don’t you see how clever I am?
(Jawbones,
having received his instructions from Phoebe, has slipped out
unobserved. He has beckoned to Ginger; she has followed him.
Phoebe has joined the
group.)
Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers.
There’s something in that.
Janet. Is Mr. Chilvers still
in sympathy with us?
Phoebe. Of course he
is. A bit rubbed up the wrong way just at present;
that’s our fault. When Annys goes down, early next
mouth, to fight the Exchange Division of Manchester, we shall
have him with us.
(A moment.)
Lady Mogton. Where do you get
that from?
Phoebe. From St.
Herbert. The present member is his cousin. They say
he can’t live more than a week.
Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. It
really seems like Providence.
Annys. (Has taken the
opportunity of giving Phoebe a
grateful squeeze of the hand.)
Lady Mogton. You will fight
Manchester?
Annys. Yes.
(Laughs.) And make myself a public nuisance if I
win.
Lady Mogton. Well, must be
content with that, I suppose. Better not come in; the
room’s rather crowded. I’ll keep you informed
how things are going.
(She goes out, followed
by Janet.)
Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers.
I’ll stay with you, dear.
Phoebe. I want you to come
and be photographed for the Daily Mirror. The man’s
waiting downstairs.
Elizabeth. I’ll stop
with Annys.
Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers.
I’m not quite sure, you know, that I take well by
flashlight.
Phoebe. You wait till
you’ve seen mamma! We must have you. They want
you for the centre of the page.
Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers.
Well, if it’s really—
Phoebe. (To the
others.) Shall see you again. (She
winks. Then to Mrs.
Mountcalm-Villiers.) We mustn’t keep them
waiting. They are giving us a whole page.
(Phoebe
takes Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers
out. Elizabeth has
followed to the door; she closes it. Annys has reseated herself, facing
the fire.)
Elizabeth. When did you see
your husband last?
Annys. Not
since—Tuesday, wasn’t it, that we went round to his
rooms. Why?
Elizabeth. I’m thinking
about Manchester. What was it he said to you?
Annys. Oh, we were, both of
us, a little over-excited, I suppose. He has—(she
hesitates, finally answers)—he has always been
so eager for children.
Elizabeth. Yes. So many
men are; not having to bear the pain and inconvenience
themselves.
Annys. Oh, well, they have to
provide for them when they do come. That’s fair
enough division, I su— (Suddenly she turns
fiercely.) Why do you talk like that? As if we
women were cowards. Do you think if God sent me a child I
should grudge Him the price!
Elizabeth. Do you want Him
to?
Annys. I don’t know;
prayed Him to, once.
Elizabeth. (She lays her
hand upon her.) It isn’t a few more mothers that
the world has need of. It is the women whom God has
appointed—to whom He has given freedom, that they may
champion the cause of the mothers, helpless by reason of their
motherhood.
(A moment. Geoffrey enters.)
Geoffrey. Good evening.
Annys. (Rises; a
smile struggles for possession. But he only shakes
hands, and it dies away.)
Elizabeth. Good evening.
(They shake hands.)
Geoffrey. You are not
interested in the counting?
Annys. The room is rather
crowded. Mamma thought I would be better out here.
How have you been?
Geoffrey. Oh, all
right. It’s going to be a very near thing, they tell
me.
Annys. Yes, I shall be glad
when it’s over.
Geoffrey. It’s always a
trying time. What are you going to do, if you win?
(Lady
Mogton looks in.)
Lady Mogton. (Seeing
Geoffrey.) Oh, good evening.
Geoffrey. Good evening.
Lady Mogton. Chilvers,
2,960—Annys Chilvers, 2,874.
(She disappears—closes
door.)
Annys. Perhaps I’m not
going to win. (She goes to him,
smiling.) I hope you’ll win. I would so
much rather you won.
Geoffrey. Very kind of
you. I’m afraid that won’t make it a
certainty.
Annys. (His answer has
hardened her again.) How can I? It would not be
fair. Without your consent I should never have entered upon
it. It was understood that the seat, in any case, would be
yours.
Geoffrey. I would rather you
considered yourself quite free. In warfare it doesn’t
pay to be “fair” to one’s enemy.
Annys. (Still
hardening.) Besides, there is no need. There will
be other opportunities. I can contest some other
constituency. If I win, claim the seat for that.
(A moment.)
Geoffrey. So this is only the
beginning? You have decided to devote yourself to a
political career?
Annys. Why not?
Geoffrey. If I were to ask
you to abandon it, to come back to your place at my
side—helping me, strengthening me?
Annys. You mean you would
have me abandon my own task—merge myself in you?
Geoffrey. Be my wife.
Annys. It would not be
right. I, too, have my work.
Geoffrey. If it takes you
away from me?
Annys. Why need it take me
away from you? Why cannot we work together for common ends,
each in our own way?
Geoffrey. We talked like that
before we tried it. Marriage is not a partnership; it is a
leadership.
Annys. (She looks at
him.) You mean—an ownership.
Geoffrey. Perhaps
you’re right. I didn’t make it. I’m
only—beginning to understand it.
Annys. And I too. It is
not what I want.
Geoffrey. You mean its duties
have become irksome to you.
Annys. I mean I want to be
the judge myself of what are my duties.
Geoffrey. I no longer
count. You will go your way without me?
Annys. I must go the way I
think right.
Geoffrey. (He flings
away.) If you win to-night you will do well to make the
most of it. Take my advice and claim the seat.
Annys. (Looks at him
puzzled.)
Elizabeth. Why?
Geoffrey. Because (with a
short, ugly laugh) the Lord only knows when
you’ll get another opportunity.
Elizabeth. You are going to
stop us?
Geoffrey. To stop women from
going to the poll. The Bill will be introduced on
Monday. Carried through all its stages the same week.
Elizabeth. You think it will
pass?
Geoffrey. The Whips assure me
that it will.
Annys. But they cannot, they
dare not, without your assent. The— (The
light breaks in upon her.) Who is bringing it in?
Geoffrey. I am.
Annys. (Is going to
speak.)
Geoffrey. (He stops
her.) Oh, I’m prepared for all
that—ridicule, abuse. “Chilvers’s Bill
for the Better Regulation of Mrs. Chilvers,” they’ll
call it. I can hear their laughter. Yours won’t
be among it.
Annys. But, Geoffrey!
What is the meaning? Merely to spite me, are you going to
betray a cause that you have professed belief in—that you
have fought for?
Geoffrey. Yes—if it is
going to take you away from me. I want you. No, I
don’t want a friend—“a
fellow-worker”—some interesting rival in well
doing. I can get all that outside my home. I want a
wife. I want the woman I love to belong to me—to be
mine. I am not troubling about being up to date; I’m
talking what I feel—what every male creature must have felt
since the protoplasmic cell developed instincts. I want a
woman to love—a woman to work for—a woman to fight
for—a woman to be a slave to. But mine—mine,
and nothing else. All the rest (he makes a gesture)
is talk.
(He closes the window, shutting
out the hubbub of the crowd.)
Annys. (A strange,
new light has stolen in. She is bewildered,
groping.) But—all this is new between
us. You have not talked like this for—not
since— We were just good friends—comrades.
Geoffrey. And might have
remained so, God knows! I suppose we’re made like
that. So long as there was no danger passion slept. I
cannot explain it. I only know that now, beside the thought
of losing you, all else in the world seems meaningless. The
Woman’s Movement! (He makes a gesture of
contempt.) Men have wrecked kingdoms for a woman before
now—and will again. I want you! (He comes to
her.) Won’t you come back to me, that we may
build up the home we used to dream of? Wasn’t the old
love good? What has this new love to give you? Work
that man can do better. The cause of the women—the
children! Has woman loved woman better than man? Will
the world be better for the children, man and woman
contending? Come back to me. Help me. Help me
to fight for all good women. Teach me how I may make the
world better—for our children.
Annys. (The light is in
her eyes. She stands a moment. Her
hands are going out to him.)
Elizabeth. (She comes
between them.) Yes, go to him. He will be very
good to you. Good men are kind to women, kind even to their
dogs. You will be among the pampered few! You will be
happy. And the others! What does it matter?
(They draw apart. She stands
between them, the incarnation of the spirit of sex
war.)
The women that have not kind owners—the dogs that have
not kind masters—the dumb women, chained to their endless,
unpaid drudgery! Let them be content. What are they
but man’s chattel? To be honoured if it pleases him,
or to be cast into the dust. Man’s pauper!
Bound by his laws, subject to his whim; her every hope, her every
aspiration, owed to his charity. She toils for him without
ceasing: it should be her “pleasure.” She bears
him children, when he chooses to desire them. They are his
to do as he will by. Why seek to change it? Our man
is kind. What have they to do with us: the women beaten,
driven, overtasked—the women without hope or joy, the
livers of grey lives that men may laugh and spend—the women
degraded lower than the beasts to pander to the beast in
man—the women outraged and abandoned, bearing to the grave
the burden of man’s lust? Let them go their
way. They are but our sisters of sorrow. And we who
could help them—we to whom God has given the weapons: the
brain, and the courage—we make answer: “I have
married a husband, and I cannot come.”
(A silence.)
Geoffrey. Well, you have
heard. (He makes a gesture.) What is
your answer?
Annys. (She comes to
him.) Don’t you love me enough to humour me a
little—to put up with my vexing ways? I so want to
help, to feel I am doing just a little, to make the world
kinder. I know you can do it better, but I want so to be
“in it.” (She laughs.) Let us
forget all this. Wake up to-morrow morning with fresh
hearts. You will be Member for East Poplar. And then
you shall help me to win Manchester. (She puts her hands
upon his breast: she would have him take her in his
arms.) I am not strong enough to fight alone.
Geoffrey. I want you.
Let Manchester find some one else.
Annys. (She draws away
from him.) And if I cannot—will not?
Geoffrey. I bring in my Bill
on Monday. We’ll be quite frank about it. That
is my price—you. I want you!
Annys. You mean it comes to
that: a whole cause dependent on a man and a woman!
Geoffrey. Yes, that is how
the world is built. On each man and woman. “How
does it shape my life, my hopes?” So will each make
answer.
(Lady
Mogton enters. She stands silent.)
Elizabeth. Is it over?
Lady Mogton. Annys Chilvers,
3,604—Geoffrey Chilvers, 3,590.
(Janet
enters.)
Janet. (She rushes to
Annys, embraces her.)
You’ve won, you’ve won! (She flies to the
window, opens it, and goes out on to the
balcony.)
(Phoebe
enters, followed by Mrs.
Mountcalm-Villiers.)
Phoebe. Is it true?
Lady Mogton. Pretty
close. Majority of 14.
Mrs. Mountcalm-Villiers. For
us?
Lady Mogton. For us.
(Janet by this
time has announced the figures. There is heard a
great burst of cheering, renewed again and again.)
Janet.
(Re-entering.) They want you! They want
you!
(Mingled with the cheering come cries
of “Speech! Speech!”)
Lady Mogton. You must say
something.
(The band strikes up “The
Conquering Hero.” The women crowd round
Annys, congratulating
her. Geoffrey stands
apart.)
Phoebe. (Screaming above
the din.) Put on your cloak.
Janet. (Rushes and gets
it.)
(They wrap it round
her.)
(Annys goes
out on to the balcony, followed by the other
women. Elizabeth, going
last, fires a parting smile of triumph at Geoffrey.)
(A renewed burst of cheering announces
their arrival on the balcony. The crowd bursts
into “For She’s a Jolly Good
Fellow”—the band, making a quick
change, joins in. Geoffrey remains centre.)
(Jawbones
enters unobserved. The singing ends with three
cheers. Annys is
speaking. Geoffrey turns
and sees Jawbones.)
Geoffrey. (With a
smile.) Give me down my coat, will you?
Jawbones. (He is
sympathetic. He helps him on with it.)
Shall I get you a cab, sir?
Geoffrey. No, thanks.
I’ll pick one up. (He goes towards the door,
then stops.) Is there any other way out—not
through the main entrance?
Jawbones. Yes, sir.
There’s a side door opening on Woodstock Road.
I’ll show it you.
Geoffrey. Thanks.
(He follows Jawbones
out.)
(A burst of cheering comes from
the crowd.)
Curtain.
