ANNABELLE. That is really sweet of you, Jimmy! The blast of an auto-horn is heard outside.

JIMMY. (_bitterly_) And there's my taxi. Take that, too.

THE ANGEL. Farewell!

_He opens the door. Annabelle, at his side, turns and blows Jimmy a kiss. Stonily, Jimmy watches them go out. Then he picks up his suitcase and goes, with an air of complete finality, into the other room_.

_There is a moment's silence, and then the door opens softly, and the Angel looks in, enters surrept.i.tiously, seizes up the wings, and with them safely clasped to his bosom, vanishes again through the door_.

LEGEND

A ROMANCE

TO KIRAH MARKHAM

"Legend" was first produced, under the t.i.tle, "My Lady's Mirror," at the Liberal Club, in 1915, with the following cast:

He ............... Clement Wood She............... Kirah Markham

_A small room with a little table in the centre, and a chair on either side of it. At the back is the embrasure of a French window opening on a balcony. In another wall is the outer door. The room is lighted by tall candles. There is an image of the Virgin in a niche in the corner_.

HE. (_a cloaked figure, standing with hat and stick in one hand and holding in the other a large square parcel_) First of all, I have a present for you.

SHE. (_where she has just risen when he entered_) A present! Oh, thank you, Luciano!

HE. It is not me you have to thank for this present! (_He puts it on the table_.) It is some one else. I am only the bearer.

SHE. Who can it be? Who would send me a present?

HE. What a question, Donna Violante! Not a man in Seville, not a man in Spain, but would send you gifts if he dared. It is not "Who would?" but "Who could?"

SHE. No man, as you know, Luciano, has that right.

HE. Have you so soon forgotten your husband, Violante? He, surely, has that right! And it is thoughtful of him, too, to pause in the midst of his antiquarian researches in Rome, to think of his young wife and send her a gift. He appreciates you more than I imagined. Under his grizzled and scientific exterior, he is a human being. I respect him for it.

_He puts down his hat and stick_.

SHE. My husband! But why, then, do _you_ bring it?

HE. I was commissioned by him to do so. I received the package, this morning, with a letter. Shall I read it to you?

_He takes out the letter_.

SHE. Yes.... But why should he not send it direct to _me_?

HE. Your husband is a man of curious and perverse mind, Violante, and, in spite of his interest in dead things, not without some insight into the living soul. I think it gave him an obscure pleasure to think of _me_ the bearer of _his_ gift. But shall we let him speak for himself?

_He opens the envelope_.

SHE. Yes. Read the letter.

_She sits down to listen_.

HE. (_reading_) "My dear young friend: I am sending you a package, which I beg you, as a favour, to deliver to Donna Violante, my wife. It contains a gift of an unusual sort, which you as well as she will appreciate. As you know, it is the unusual which interests me--the unusual and the old. And yet, antiquarian though I am, I flatter myself that I understand the mind of a beautiful young woman, especially when that young woman is my wife. I have found her a mirror. Yes, a mirror!

Under this name it seems commonplace enough, but when you have seen it I do not think you will say so. It is not the kind of mirror that is ordinarily found in a lady's boudoir. Yet it will give to her a faithful reflection of her loveliness as it is in truth. I found it-- this will interest you--in the Catacombs. You would not think the early Christians had so much vanity! Yet it was a mirror into which the virgin-martyrs-to-be of the time of Nero looked each day. As they looked, let Donna Violante look. Say to her from me--'Look long and well into this mirror, and profit by what you see.'--Humbly your friend, Don Vincenzio." . . . Is not that a pleasant letter?

_He restores the letter to his pocket_.

SHE. There is something in it that makes me shiver.... Let us look.

_She takes the paper from the box and is about to open it when he stops her_.

HE. No. Not now. I want to talk to you.

SHE (_lapsing into a hostile coldness_) Yes.

HE. You know what I have to say. I have said it so often. I shall say it once more.

SHE. (_appealingly_) Luciano!

HE. No, let me speak. You are not happy. You do not love your husband.

And you are too young and beautiful to live without love.

SHE. Please!

HE. I love you. And you love me. Why do you not surrender yourself to love?

SHE. Why do you say such things? They hurt me.

HE. They are reality. Does reality hurt you? Are you living in a shadow-world, that you should flinch from the hard touch of truth? I say it again. I love you.

SHE. Before you started to talk like that, we were so happy together.

HE. Before I spoke out the truth of my own heart and yours. You didn't want it spoken out. You didn't want to be told you were in love. It was a thing too harsh and sweet. It frightened you to think of. You wanted us to sit for ever, like two lovers painted on a fan, fixed in an everlasting and innocuous bliss.

SHE. Well, you have succeeded in spoiling that. You have made me unhappy, if that gives you any pleasure.

HE. It was not I who have spoiled your shadow-world. It is love, coming like the dawn on wings of flame, and shattering the shadows with spears of gold. It is love that has made you unhappy. You tremble at its coming, and try to flee. But the day of love has come for you.

SHE. Ah, if it had only come before--before....

HE. Before you married that perverse old man. If it had come while you were still a maiden, free, with a right to give yourself up to it! Ah, you would have given yourself gloriously! It is beautiful--but it is a dream, and the time calls for a deed. We love each other. We can take our happiness now. Will you do it? Will you come away with me?