JANE. Some families, finding themselves in our position, would seek to turn it to their own advantage. WE think only of your good.

f.a.n.n.y. Yes, that's what I feel--that you are worrying yourselves too much about me. You're too conscientious, all of you. You, in particular, Jane, because you know you're not strong. YOU'LL end up with a nervous breakdown. [Mrs. Bennet has entered. Honoria slips out. f.a.n.n.y turns to her aunt.] I was just saying how anxious I'm getting about Jane. I don't like the look of her at all. What she wants is a holiday. Don't you agree with me?

MRS. BENNET. There will be no holiday, I fear, for any of us, for many a long day.

f.a.n.n.y. But you must. You must think more of yourselves, you know.

YOU'RE not looking well, aunt, at all. What you both want is a month--at the seaside.

MRS. BENNET. Your object is too painfully apparent for the subject to need discussion. True solicitude for us would express itself better in greater watchfulness upon your own behaviour.

f.a.n.n.y. Why, what have I done?

Bennet enters, followed, unwillingly, by Ernest.

MRS. BENNET. Your uncle will explain.

BENNET. Shut that door. [Ernest does so. They group round Bennet-- Ernest a little behind. f.a.n.n.y remains near the desk.] Sit down.

[f.a.n.n.y, bewildered, speechless, sits.] Carry your mind back, please, to the moment when, with the Bradshaw in front of you, you were considering, with the help of your cousin Ernest, the possibility of your slipping out un.o.bserved, to meet and commune with a person you had surrept.i.tiously summoned to visit you during your husband's absence.

f.a.n.n.y. While I think of it, did he have anything to eat before he went? I told Ernest to--ask you to see that he had a gla.s.s of champagne and a -

BENNET [waves her back into silence]. Mr. Newte was given refreshment suitable to his station. [She goes to interrupt. Again he waves her back.] We are speaking of more important matters. Your cousin reminded you that you would have to pa.s.s the lodge, occupied by your Aunt Amelia. I state the case correctly?

f.a.n.n.y. Beautifully!

BENNET. I said nothing at the time, doubting the evidence of my own ears. The boy, however--where is the boy?--[Ernest is pushed forward]--has admitted--reluctantly--that he also heard it. [A pause. The solemnity deepens.] You made use of an expression -

f.a.n.n.y. Oh, cut it short. I said "d.a.m.n." [A shudder pa.s.ses.] I'm sorry to have frightened you, but if you knew a little more of really good society, you would know that ladies--quite slap-up ladies--when they're excited, do--.

MRS. BENNET [interrupting with almost a scream]. She defends it!

BENNET. You will allow ME to be the judge of what a LADY says, even when she is excited. As for this man, Newte -

f.a.n.n.y. The best friend you ever had. [She is "up" again.] You thank your stars, all of you, and tell the others, too, the whole blessed twenty-three of you--you thank your stars that I did "surrept.i.tiously" beg and pray him to run down by the first train and have a talk with me; and that Providence was kind enough to YOU to enable him to come. It's a very different tune you'd have been singing at this moment--all of you--if he hadn't. I can tell you that.

MRS. BENNET. And pray, what tune SHOULD we have been singing if Providence hadn't been so thoughtful of us?

f.a.n.n.y [she is about to answer, then checks herself, and sits again].

You take care you don't find out. There's time yet.

MRS. BENNET. We had better leave her.

BENNET. Threats, my good girl, will not help you.

MRS. BENNET [with a laugh]. She's in too tight a corner for that.

BENNET. A contrite heart is what your aunt and I desire to see. [He takes from his pocket a small book, places it open on the desk.] I have marked one or two pa.s.sages, on pages 93-7. We will discuss them together--later in the day.

They troop out in silence, the key turns in the lock.

f.a.n.n.y [takes up the book--turns to the cover, reads]. "The Sinner's Manual." [She turns to page 93.]

[CURTAIN]

ACT III

SCENE

The same.

Time.--A few days later.

A table is laid for tea. Ernest enters with the tea-urn. He leaves the door open; through it comes the sound of an harmonium, accompanying the singing of a hymn. f.a.n.n.y comes from her dressing- room. She is dressed more cheerfully than when we last saw her, but still "seemly." She has a book in her hand. She pauses, hearing the music, goes nearer to the open door, and listens; then crosses and takes her place at the table. The music ceases.

f.a.n.n.y. Another prayer meeting? [Ernest nods.] I do keep 'em busy.

ERNEST. D'ye know what they call you downstairs?

f.a.n.n.y. What?

ERNEST. The family cross.

f.a.n.n.y. I'm afraid it's about right.

ERNEST. What have you been doing THIS time? Swearing again?

f.a.n.n.y. Worse. I've been lying. [Ernest gives vent to a low whistle.] Said I didn't know what had become of that yellow poplin with the black lace flounces, that they've had altered for me. Found out that I'd given it to old Mother Potts for the rummage sale at the Vicarage. Jane was down there. Bought it in for half a crown.

ERNEST. You are risky. Why, you might have known -

Vernon comes in. He is in golfing get-up. He throws his cap on to the settee.

VERNON. h.e.l.lo, got a cup of tea there?

Ernest goes out.

f.a.n.n.y. Yes. Thought you were playing golf?

VERNON. Just had a telegram handed to me in the village--from your friend Newte. Wants me to meet him at Melton Station at five o'clock. [Looks at his watch.] Know what he wants?

f.a.n.n.y. Haven't the faintest idea. [She hands him his cup.] Is he coming HERE? Or merely on his way somewhere?

VERNON. I don't know; he doesn't say.