TROTTER. [wearily] And naturally, here we are all talking about him. For heaven's sake, let us change the subject.

VAUGHAN. Still, my articles about Shaw--

GUNN. Oh, stow it, Vaughan. Drop it. What Ive always told you about Shaw is--

BANNAL. There you go, Shaw, Shaw, Shaw! Do chuck it. If you want to know my opinion about Shaw--

TROTTER.

No, please, we dont.

VAUGHAN.

Shut your head, Bannal.

[yelling]

GUNN.

Oh, do drop it.

_The deafened Count puts his fingers in his ears and flies from the centre of the group to its outskirts, behind Vaughan._

BANNAL. [sulkily] Oh, very well. Sorry I spoke, I'm sure.

TROTTER.

Shaw--

[beginning again VAUGHAN.

Shaw--

simultaneously]

GUNN.

Shaw--

_They are cut short by the entry of f.a.n.n.y through the curtains. She is almost in tears._

f.a.n.n.y. [coming between Trotter and Gunn] I'm so sorry, gentlemen. And it was such a success when I read it to the Cambridge Fabian Society!

TROTTER. Miss O'Dowda: I was about to tell these gentlemen what I guessed before the curtain rose: that you are the author of the play.

[General amazement and consternation].

f.a.n.n.y. And you all think it beastly. You hate it. You think I'm a conceited idiot, and that I shall never be able to write anything decent.

_She is almost weeping. A wave of sympathy carries away the critics._

VAUGHAN. No, no. Why, I was just saying that it must have been written by Pinero. Didnt I, Gunn?

f.a.n.n.y. [enormously flattered] Really?

TROTTER. I thought Pinero was much too popular for the Cambridge Fabian Society.

f.a.n.n.y. Oh yes, of course; but still--Oh, did you really say that, Mr Vaughan?

GUNN. I owe you an apology, Miss O'Dowda. I said it was by Barker.

f.a.n.n.y. [radiant] Granville Barker! Oh, you couldnt really have thought it so fine as that.

BANNAL. _I_ said Bernard Shaw.

f.a.n.n.y. Oh, of course it would be a little like Bernard Shaw. The Fabian touch, you know.

BANNAL. [coming to her encouragingly] A jolly good little play, Miss O'Dowda. Mind: I dont say it's like one of Shakespear's--Hamlet or The Lady of Lyons, you know--but still, a firstrate little bit of work. [He shakes her hand].

GUNN. [following Bannal's example] I also, Miss O'Dowda. Capital.

Charming. [He shakes hands].

VAUGHAN [with maudlin solemnity] Only be true to yourself, Miss O'Dowda.

Keep serious. Give up making silly jokes. Sustain the note of pa.s.sion.

And youll do great things.

f.a.n.n.y. You think I have a future?

TROTTER. You have a past, Miss O'Dowda.

f.a.n.n.y. [looking apprehensively at her father] Sh-sh-sh!

THE COUNT. A past! What do you mean, Mr Trotter?

TROTTER. [to f.a.n.n.y] You cant deceive me. That bit about the police was real. Youre a Suffraget, Miss O'Dowda. You were on that Deputation.

THE COUNT. f.a.n.n.y: is this true?

f.a.n.n.y. It is. I did a month with Lady Constance Lytton; and I'm prouder of it than I ever was of anything or ever shall be again.

TROTTER. Is that any reason why you should stuff naughty plays down my throat?

f.a.n.n.y. Yes: itll teach you what it feels like to be forcibly fed.

THE COUNT. She will never return to Venice. I feel now as I felt when the Campanile fell.

_Savoyard comes in through the curtains._

SAVOYARD. [to the Count] Would you mind coming to say a word of congratulation to the company? Theyre rather upset at having had no curtain call.

THE COUNT. Certainly, certainly. I'm afraid Ive been rather remiss. Let us go on the stage, gentlemen.

_The curtains are drawn, revealing the last scene of the play and the actors on the stage. The Count, Savoyard, the critics, and f.a.n.n.y join them, shaking hands and congratulating._

THE COUNT. Whatever we may think of the play, gentlemen, I'm sure you will agree with me that there can be only one opinion about the acting.

THE CRITICS. Hear, hear! [They start the applause].

AYOT ST. LAWRENCE, March 1911.