Waste.

by Granville Barker.

At Shapters, GEORGE FARRANT'S house in Hertfordshire. Ten o'clock on a Sunday evening in summer.

_Facing you at her piano by the window, from which she is protected by a little screen, sits_ MRS. FARRANT; _a woman of the interesting age, clear-eyed and all her face serene, except for a little pucker of the brows which shows a puzzled mind upon some important matters. To become almost an ideal hostess has been her achievement; and in her own home, as now, this grace is written upon every movement. Her eyes pa.s.s over the head of a girl, sitting in a low chair by a little table, with the shaded lamplight falling on her face. This is_ LUCY DAVENPORT; _twenty-three, undefeated in anything as yet and so unsoftened. The book on her lap is closed, for she has been listening to the music. It is possibly some German philosopher, whom she reads with a critical appreciation of his shortcomings. On the sofa near her lounges_ MRS. O'CONNELL; _a charming woman, if by charming you understand a woman who converts every quality she possesses into a means of attraction, and has no use for any others. On the sofa opposite sits_ MISS TREBELL. _In a few years, when her hair is quite grey, she will a.s.sume as by right the dignity of an old maid. Between these two in a low armchair is_ LADY DAVENPORT. _She has attained to many dignities. Mother and grandmother, she has brought into the world and nourished not merely life but character. A wonderful face she has, full of proud memories and fearless of the future.

Behind her, on a sofa between the windows, is_ WALTER KENT. _He is just what the average English father would like his son to be. You can see the light shooting out through the windows and mixing with moonshine upon a smooth lawn. On your left is a door. There are many books in the room, hardly any pictures, a statuette perhaps. The owner evidently sets beauty of form before beauty of colour. It is a woman's room and it has a certain delicate austerity. By the time you have observed everything_ MRS. FARRANT _has played Chopin's prelude opus 28, number 20 from beginning to end._

LADY DAVENPORT. Thank you, my dear Julia.

WALTER KENT. [_Protesting._] No more?

MRS. FARRANT. I won't play for a moment longer than I feel musical.

MISS TREBELL. Do you think it right, Julia, to finish with that after an hour's Bach?

MRS. FARRANT. I suddenly came over Chopinesque, f.a.n.n.y; ... what's your objection? [_as she sits by her._]

FRANCES TREBELL. What ... when Bach has raised me to the heights of unselfishness!

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Grimacing sweetly, her eyes only half lifted._] Does he?

I'm glad that I don't understand him.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Putting mere prettiness in its place._] One may prefer Chopin when one is young.

AMY O'CONNELL. And is that a reproach or a compliment?

WALTER KENT. [_Boldly._] I do.

FRANCES TREBELL. Or a man may ... unless he's a philosopher.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_To the rescue._] Miss Trebell, you're very hard on mere humanity.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Completing the reproof._] That's my wretched training as a schoolmistress, Lady Davenport ... one grew to fear it above all things.

LUCY DAVENPORT. [_Throwing in the monosyllable with sharp youthful enquiry._] Why?

FRANCES TREBELL. There were no text books on the subject.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Smiling at her friend._] Yes, f.a.n.n.y ... I think you escaped to look after your brother only just in time.

FRANCES TREBELL. In another year I might have been head-mistress, which commits you to approve of the system for ever.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_Shaking her wise head._] I've watched the Education fever take England....

FRANCES TREBELL. If I hadn't stopped teaching things I didn't understand...!

AMY O'CONNELL. [_Not without mischief._] And what was the effect on the pupils?

LUCY DAVENPORT. I can tell you that.

AMY O'CONNELL. Frances never taught you.

LUCY DAVENPORT. No, I wish she had. But I was at her sort of a school before I went to Newnham. I know.

FRANCES TREBELL. [_Very distastefully._] Up-to-date, it was described as.

LUCY DAVENPORT. Well, it was like a merry-go-round at top speed. You felt things wouldn't look a bit like that when you came to a standstill.

AMY O'CONNELL. And they don't?

LUCY DAVENPORT. [_With great decision._] Not a bit.

AMY O'CONNELL. [_In her velvet tone._] I was taught the whole duty of woman by a parson-uncle who disbelieved in his Church.

WALTER KENT. When a man at Jude's was going to take orders....

AMY O'CONNELL. Jude's?

WALTER KENT. At Oxford. The dons went very gingerly with him over bits of science and history.

[_This wakes a fruitful thought in_ JULIA FARRANT'S _brain._]

MRS. FARRANT. Mamma, have you ever discussed so-called anti-Christian science with Lord Charles?

FRANCES TREBELL ... Cantelupe?

MRS. FARRANT. Yes. It was over appointing a teacher for the schools down here ... he was staying with us. The Vicar's his fervent disciple. However, we were consulted.

LUCY DAVENPORT. Didn't Lord Charles want you to send the boys there till they were ready for Harrow?

MRS. FARRANT. Yes.

FRANCES TREBELL. Quite the last thing in Toryism!

MRS. FARRANT. Mamma made George say we were too _nouveau riche_ to risk it.

LADY DAVENPORT. [_As she laughs._] I couldn't resist that.

MRS. FARRANT. [_Catching something of her subject's dry driving manner._]

Lord Charles takes the superior line and says ... that with his consent the Church may teach the unalterable Truth in scientific language or legendary, whichever is easier understanded of the people.

LADY DAVENPORT. Is it the prospect of Disestablishment suddenly makes him so accommodating?

FRANCES TREBELL. [_With large contempt._] He needn't be. The majority of people believe the world was made in an English week.

LUCY DAVENPORT. Oh, no!