anyone."
"Don't talk to me in that showing-off way!" said Mathilda tartly. "It doesn't impress me!"
He laughed, and left her side, returning to his seat beside Nathaniel on the sofa. Paula was already talking about Roydon's play, her stormy eyes daring anyone to leave the room. Nathaniel was bored, and said: "If we've got to hear it, we've got to. Don't talk so much! I can judge your play without your assistance. Seen more good, bad, and indifferent plays in my time than you've ever dreamt of." He rounded suddenly on Roydon. "What category does yours come into?"
The only weapon to use against these Herriards, Mathilda knew, was a directness as brutal as their own. If Roydon were to reply boldly, Good! Nathaniel would be pleased. But Roydon was out of his depth, had been out of it from the moment Nathaniel's butler had first run disparaging eyes over him. He was wavering between the hostility born of an over-sensitive inferiority-complex and nourished by his host's rudeness, and a desire, which had its root only in his urgent need, to please. He said, stammering and flushing: "Well, really, that's hardly for me to say!"
"Ought to know whether you've done good work or bad," said Nathaniel, turning away.
"I'm quite sure we're all going to enjoy ourselves hugely," interposed Joseph, with his sunniest smile.
"So am I," drawled Stephen. "I've just told Mathilda I wouldn't miss it for worlds."
"You talk as though Willoughby were going to read you a lively farce!" Paula said. "This is a page out of life!"
"A problem-play, is it?" said Mottisfont, with his meaningless little laugh. "There used to be a great vogue for them at one time. You'll remember, Nat!"
This was said in propitiating accents, but Nathaniel, who seemed still to be cherishing rancorous thoughts about his business-partner, pretended not to hear.
"I don't write problems," said Roydon, in rather too high a voice. "And enjoyment is the last thing I expect anyone to feel! If I've succeeded in making you think, I shall be satisfied."
"A noble ideal," commented Stephen. "But you shouldn't say it as though you thought it unattainable. Not polite."
This sally not unnaturally covered Roydon with confusion. He flushed deeply, and floundered in a morass of disclaimers and explanations. Stephen lay back, and watched his struggles with the interest of a naturalist.
The entrance of Sturry, followed by a footman, to bear away the tea-things saved Roydon, but it was evident that Stephen's remark had shaken his already tottering balance. Paula rent Stephen verbally for several blistering minutes, and Valerie, feeling herself ignored, said that she couldn't see what there was to make such a fuss about. Joseph, divining by what Mathilda could only suppose to be a sixth sense that the play was in questionable taste, said that he was sure they were all broad-minded enough not to mind.
Nathaniel at once asserted that he was not at all broad-minded, if, by that elastic term, Joseph meant that he was prepared to stomach a lot of prurient nonsense, which was all any modern play seemed to consist of. For a minute or two, Mathilda indulged the hope that Roydon would feel himself sufficiently insulted to refuse to read the play at all; but although he did indeed show signs of rising anger, he allowed himself to be won over by Paula and Valerie, who both assured him, inaccurately, that everyone was longing to hear his masterpiece.
By this time, the butler and the footman had withdrawn, and the stage was clear. Joseph began to bustle about, trying to rearrange the chairs and sofas; and Paula, who had been hugging the typescript under one arm, gave it to Roydon, saying that he would find her word-perfect when he wanted her.
A chair and a table were placed suitably for the author, and he seated himself, rather white about the gills, but with a belligerent jut to his chin. He cleared his throat, and Nathaniel broke the expectant silence by asking Stephen for a match.
Stephen produced
"Don't talk to me in that showing-off way!" said Mathilda tartly. "It doesn't impress me!"
He laughed, and left her side, returning to his seat beside Nathaniel on the sofa. Paula was already talking about Roydon's play, her stormy eyes daring anyone to leave the room. Nathaniel was bored, and said: "If we've got to hear it, we've got to. Don't talk so much! I can judge your play without your assistance. Seen more good, bad, and indifferent plays in my time than you've ever dreamt of." He rounded suddenly on Roydon. "What category does yours come into?"
The only weapon to use against these Herriards, Mathilda knew, was a directness as brutal as their own. If Roydon were to reply boldly, Good! Nathaniel would be pleased. But Roydon was out of his depth, had been out of it from the moment Nathaniel's butler had first run disparaging eyes over him. He was wavering between the hostility born of an over-sensitive inferiority-complex and nourished by his host's rudeness, and a desire, which had its root only in his urgent need, to please. He said, stammering and flushing: "Well, really, that's hardly for me to say!"
"Ought to know whether you've done good work or bad," said Nathaniel, turning away.
"I'm quite sure we're all going to enjoy ourselves hugely," interposed Joseph, with his sunniest smile.
"So am I," drawled Stephen. "I've just told Mathilda I wouldn't miss it for worlds."
"You talk as though Willoughby were going to read you a lively farce!" Paula said. "This is a page out of life!"
"A problem-play, is it?" said Mottisfont, with his meaningless little laugh. "There used to be a great vogue for them at one time. You'll remember, Nat!"
This was said in propitiating accents, but Nathaniel, who seemed still to be cherishing rancorous thoughts about his business-partner, pretended not to hear.
"I don't write problems," said Roydon, in rather too high a voice. "And enjoyment is the last thing I expect anyone to feel! If I've succeeded in making you think, I shall be satisfied."
"A noble ideal," commented Stephen. "But you shouldn't say it as though you thought it unattainable. Not polite."
This sally not unnaturally covered Roydon with confusion. He flushed deeply, and floundered in a morass of disclaimers and explanations. Stephen lay back, and watched his struggles with the interest of a naturalist.
The entrance of Sturry, followed by a footman, to bear away the tea-things saved Roydon, but it was evident that Stephen's remark had shaken his already tottering balance. Paula rent Stephen verbally for several blistering minutes, and Valerie, feeling herself ignored, said that she couldn't see what there was to make such a fuss about. Joseph, divining by what Mathilda could only suppose to be a sixth sense that the play was in questionable taste, said that he was sure they were all broad-minded enough not to mind.
Nathaniel at once asserted that he was not at all broad-minded, if, by that elastic term, Joseph meant that he was prepared to stomach a lot of prurient nonsense, which was all any modern play seemed to consist of. For a minute or two, Mathilda indulged the hope that Roydon would feel himself sufficiently insulted to refuse to read the play at all; but although he did indeed show signs of rising anger, he allowed himself to be won over by Paula and Valerie, who both assured him, inaccurately, that everyone was longing to hear his masterpiece.
By this time, the butler and the footman had withdrawn, and the stage was clear. Joseph began to bustle about, trying to rearrange the chairs and sofas; and Paula, who had been hugging the typescript under one arm, gave it to Roydon, saying that he would find her word-perfect when he wanted her.
A chair and a table were placed suitably for the author, and he seated himself, rather white about the gills, but with a belligerent jut to his chin. He cleared his throat, and Nathaniel broke the expectant silence by asking Stephen for a match.
Stephen produced
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