The 'Mind the Paint' Girl by Arthur Wing Pinero (i am malala young readers edition TXT) 📖

forward and addressing Mrs. Upjohn. I’ve called in to ask Lily whether she’ll come out to supper with me to-night, to Catani’s, to celebrate her birthday. Luigi’s decorating a table for me specially. Mr. and Mrs. Linthorne’ll come, and Jack Wethered. To Roper. Are you free, Roper? Mrs. Upjohn sits uneasily on the settee by the piano and Roper finds some object to interest him near the tea-table. I suppose it’s no good asking you, Mrs. Upjohn?

Mrs. Upjohn.

N-n-o, thank you, Captain, and I—I’m afraid——

Jeyes.

Afraid——?

Mrs. Upjohn.

I’m afraid Lil can’t manage it either.

Jeyes.

Why not?

Mrs. Upjohn.

I—I’m surprised she didn’t mention it to you ’erself when you brought ’er ’ome last night.

Jeyes.

Mention what?

Mrs. Upjohn.

They’re givin’ ’er a supper to-night at the theatre.

Jeyes.

The theatre?

Roper.

Advancing. Yes, Carlton’s standing a little spread in the foyer, in honour of the occasion. Sitting at the tea-table. Quite right too; she’s his best asset, and chance it.

Jeyes.

When was it fixed up?

Roper.

Late last night.

Jeyes.

The fact is, Lily and I had a slight tiff coming home last night. Sitting on the settee in front of the writing-table. Ha! I suppose she kept it from me to pay me out. Sharply. Who’s invited?

Roper.

Er—only the principal members of the Company, I understand.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Moistening her lips with her tongue. Yes, only the members of the Company, Lil says.

Roper.

With Morrie Cooling and Vincent Bland thrown in.

Jeyes.

Looking at Roper. You seem to know a lot about it, Roper.

Roper.

I was behind when Morrie was going round to the dressing-rooms.

Jeyes.

To Roper, suspiciously. Are you asked?

Roper.

Taken aback. E—eh?

Jeyes.

Are you asked?

Roper.

With an attempt at airiness. Oh, yes, they’ve dragged me into it.

Jeyes.

Since when have you been a member of the Company?

Roper.

No, but—dash it, I’ve done business for Carlton in the City for twenty years or more——!

Jeyes.

That doesn’t make you one.

Roper.

And I’m an old friend of Lil’s.

Jeyes.

Not older than I. Violently. Why the blazes doesn’t Smythe invite me?

Roper.

Extending his arms. My dear Nicko, I’m not giving the party. Really, you do jump down a man’s throat——!

Jeyes.

Sorry, sorry, sorry. Leaning back and thrusting his hands into his pocket. Well, I’ll put Jack and the Linthornes off. They don’t want to sup with me; I shouldn’t amuse ’em. Gazing at the carpet. Her birthday, though! It’ll be the first time I shall have been out of that for—how many years?—six years. I—— Raising his head, he detects Mrs. Upjohn and Roper eyeing each other uncomfortably. Anything the matter?

Roper.

T-t-the matter?

Jeyes.

Taking his hands from his pockets and sitting upright. Any game on?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Game?

Jeyes.

At my expense?

Mrs. Upjohn.

I dun’no wot you’re drivin’ at, Captain.

Jeyes.

Harshly. How long’s Lily sitting this afternoon?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Till five.

Jeyes.

Looking at his watch. What’s Morgan’s number in Fitzroy Street?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Sixty.

Jeyes.

Rising. I’ll fetch her.

As he makes a movement towards the door, it is thrown open and Lily Parradell enters with a rush—an entrancing vision of youth, grace, and beauty. She is followed by Jimmie Birch, a petite, bright-eyed girl in an extremely chic costume.

Lily.

Tearing off her gloves as she enters. Wh-e-e-w! I’m dead! Giving her hand to Jeyes carelessly. Ah, Nicko! To Mrs. Upjohn. I couldn’t stand the heat in the studio any longer, mother. Finding Roper beside her, she offers her cheek to him and he kisses it. Mon Oncle!

Jimmie.

Closing the door. That young man Morgan ought to paint the infernal regions.

Lily.

Taking her scarf from her shoulder. He might finish with the angels first, though. To Jeyes, softly, as Roper turns to shake hands with Jimmie. You in a better temper to-day?

Jeyes.

In her ear. You drove me wild last night.

Lily.

Making a face at him. Served you right. Passing him. For God’s sake, let me lie down. She throws herself upon the settee in front of the writing-table, and Jeyes moves away as Mrs. Upjohn and Roper go to her. Don’t come near me. Give me my fan. Jimmie, where’s my fan?

Jimmie.

Oh, I’ve left it in Fitzroy Street!

Lily.

Beast!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Hurrying to the writing-table. There’s one ’ere, among your presents.

Lily.

Unpinning her hat. Uncle Lal, what an adorable ring that is you’ve sent me!

Roper.

Taking the fan from Mrs. Upjohn. Ring! A brooch!

Lily.

Somebody’s sent me a ring.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Sitting in the chair at the end of the settee by the writing-table. There’s three rings.

Lily.

Of course! One of them’s from Nicko! To Jeyes. Did you get my sweet telegram, Nicko?

Jeyes.

Who has greeted Jimmie and is now seated in the chair on the extreme left—sulkily. I had your telegram, but it’s a pendant I sent you.

Jimmie.

Sitting upon the settee by the piano and pulling off her gloves. Ha, ha, ha!

Lily.

You shut up, Jimmie. Snatching the fan from Roper. How on earth am I to remember! Fanning herself. Who’s given me this pretty thing?

Mrs. Upjohn.

Mr. Monty Levine.

Lily.

Bless him! He’s a dear little man, though he does bite his nails. Gladys appears with Vincent Bland, who saunters in after her. Seeing Lily, Gladys advances to her. Hallo, Vincent!

Bland.

A thin, delicate looking man of eight-and-thirty, not over smartly dressed, wearing an eye-glass—nodding to Lily casually. You needn’t have cut me, almost on your door-step. To Jimmie and Jeyes. H’lo, Jimmie! H’lo, Nicko!

Gladys.

Viewing Lily with an elevation of the brows. Oh, are you home?

Lily.

Returning Gladys’s stare. Apparently.

Gladys.

I’ll whistle up to Maud.

Lily.

Don’t, if it’s too severe a strain on you.

Mrs. Upjohn.

To Gladys, as the girl moves to the door. Gladys, we’ll ’ave tea.

Gladys.

At the door. You can’t till it’s ready.

Lily.

Calmly. Cheek!

Gladys retires.

Bland.

Who has strolled across to Lily, indolently. Why do you retain the services of that tousled-headed hussy?

Lily.

With conviction. Oh, she’s a little under the weather, but she’s a perfect servant.

Bland.

To Mrs. Upjohn. Ma, you look blooming.

Mrs. Upjohn.

Wish I could return the compliment, Mr. Bland.

Bland.

To Roper, who is wearing a waistcoat of rather a pronounced pattern. Congratulations on your waistcoat, Lal.

Roper.

Joining Jimmie, annoyed. Now, no personalities.

Lily.

Giving Bland her hand. Vincent, yours is one of the loveliest presents I’ve had to-day. Remerciement! How’s that for a French accent?

Bland.

Dropping his eyeglass. You cat!

Lily.

Why——?

Bland.

You know I’ve given you nothing, not even a penny nosegay.

Jimmie.

Ha, ha, ha!

Lily.

Raising herself on her elbow. On my honour—! Vincent dear, I swear I thought——!

Bland.

The funds are too low. Replacing his eyeglass. I did go so far as to price a bangle at Sellby’s, but that was before a certain event yesterday.

Jimmie.

What horses did you back, Vincent? I won a fiver, through Jerry Grimwood.

Roper.

To Bland. You are a patent ass. Why don’t you leave betting alone?

Bland.

To Roper, flaring up. Why don’t you leave your City muck alone?

Lily.

Putting her feet to the floor, imperiously. That’ll do. Be quiet, you two! I won’t have any wrangling in my house. Run away and play, all of you. I want to speak to Vincent for a minute privately. With a gesture. Uncle Lal—Jimmie—Nicko— To Mrs. Upjohn. Scoot, mother!

Mrs. Upjohn.

Oh, dear, wot a child!

Roper, Jimmie, Jeyes, and Mrs. Upjohn move away and Lily beckons to Bland.

Lily.

Vin.

Bland.

Close to her, with a wry face. Mercy!

Lily.

In a low voice. You’ve broken your word to me, then? Through her teeth. Those damned horses!

Bland.

Cooling had a tip from the stable——

Lily.

Cooling! Morrie Cooling has no children; only a fat wife. You’ve a darling little wife and three kiddies. How much did you drop yesterday?

Bland.

Shan’t say.

Lily.

Rising and touching his arm. Oh, Vincent!

She looks round, to assure herself that she is unobserved. Mrs. Upjohn and Roper are seated at the tea-table with their heads together, talking; Jimmie is at the piano, fingering out a piece of music; Jeyes is half hidden in the arm-chair facing the settee at the back. Lily tiptoes to the writing-table and seats herself there as Gladys reappears showing in the Baron von Rettenmayer.

Von Rettenmayer.

A tall, fair young man of three-and-thirty, speaking in thick, guttural tones—advancing to Lily. Aha, goddess! Gladys withdraws. Many habby returns of the day!

Lily.

H’sh! I’m busy for a moment, Baron.

Von Rettenmayer.

To Lily—shaking hands with Bland. A thousand bardons.

Lily.

Talk to mother and Jimmie.

Von Rettenmayer.

With bleasure. Going to Mrs. Upjohn and Roper and shaking hands with them. How are you, my dear Ma? How are you, Jimmie? Waving a hand to Roper and Jeyes. My dear Rober! My dear Neegolas!

Jimmie.

To Von Rettenmayer, mimicking him. Rober! Neegolas! Why don’t they provide you with throat lozenges at the Embassy, Baron?

Von Rettenmayer laughs. Lily has quickly opened a drawer in the writing-table and produced a cheque-book. After another glance over her shoulder, she sweeps the presents aside and writes. Then she replaces the cheque-book, rises, and returns to Bland. Again there is a loud guffaw from Von Rettenmayer in response to some sally of Jimmie’s.

Lily.

To Bland, folding a cheque and slipping it into his hand. Promise—promise you won’t make another bet.

Bland.

Unfolding the cheque. Your cheque?

Lily.

Hastily. Put it in your pocket.

Bland.

A blank one.

Lily.

In a whisper. Don’t fill it in for more than you can help. I’m not over flush.

He deliberately tears the cheque into four pieces and, looking at her steadily, puts them into his waistcoat-pocket.

Bland.

As he does so. I’ll keep those, Lil, for as long as I keep anything.

Lily.

Hotly. You fool, Vincent!

Bland.

My dear, as if——!

Lily.

Such ridiculous pride! Stamping her foot. Lord, what I owe to you!

Gladys enters with Sam de Castro. Gladys is carrying a lace-edged table-cloth which, assisted by Mrs. Upjohn, she proceeds to lay upon the tea-table.

Bland.

Moving away to join the others—to De Castro. Ha, Sam!

De Castro.

A stout, coarse, but genial-looking gentleman of forty, of marked Jewish appearance, speaking with a lisp—shaking hands with Lily. How are you to-day, Lil? Many happy returnth, wunth more.

Lily.

Thanks, dear old boy. Sitting on the settee in front of the writing-table. Did I send you a wire this morning?

De Castro.

Not you; not a thix-pen’north.

Lily.

I ought to have done so, to acknowledge your—what was it?

De Castro.

A ring—diamondth and thapphires.

Lily.

Ah, yes; beautiful.

De Castro.

It ith rather a nithe ring. Lowering his voice. But I thay.

Lily.

What?

De Castro.

Mind you don’t go and tell Gabth, on any account.

Lily.

With a great assumption of ignorance, raising her eyebrows. Gabs?

De Castro.

Gabrielle—Mith Kato.

Lily.

Why shouldn’t I?

De Castro.

Nonsenth; you know very well. Urgently. You won’t, will you?

Lily.

Shrugging her shoulders. I won’t if I remember not to.

De Castro.

Alarmed. Ah, now, don’t be thtupid! Whath the good o’ making mithchief! Lily shows him the tip of her tongue. Oh, Lil! Gladys goes out.