If Only etc.

(SCENE I. TEMPENNY'S _Studio Doors R.L. and in Flat. As Curtain rises a knocking is heard at D.R_.)

MRS. TEMPENNY (_off_).

Rembrandt--Rembrandt!

(_Door opens, enter_ MRS. TEMPENNY; _followed by_ MRS. SYLVESTER.)

Mrs. Tempenny. He isn't here. Come in, dear; I am sure he will be pleased to see you--we will wait.

Mrs. Sylvester. _My_ husband hates to be disturbed in his studio. He says he can never work again all day.

Mrs. Tempenny. Artists are so different; Mr. Sylvester is more highly strung than Rembrandt, I sometimes think. Rembrandt likes to see his friends in his studio. I wonder where he has gone.

Mrs. Sylvester. Gone to have a drink, I daresay.

Mrs. Tempenny. Adelaide!

Mrs. Sylvester. He does drink, doesn't he--when he's thirsty anyhow? And artists are so often thirsty. Charles is often thirsty. He says it is a characteristic feature of the artistic temperament. Ah! my dear.

Mrs. Tempenny. Why that sigh?

MRS. SYLVESTER (_sighing again_).

Heigh ho!

MRS. TEMPENNY (_affectionately_).

Adelaide?

Mrs. Sylvester. Eugenia!

(_They touch each other's hands sympathetically_.)

Mrs. Tempenny. Aren't you happy, Adelaide?

Mrs. Sylvester. I am married to an artist, Euna! I wouldn't say as much to anybody else, but we were girls at school together.

Mrs. Tempenny. But, dear Addie, everybody knows you are married to an artist.

Mrs. Sylvester. I mean I would not say to anybody else that I am not entirely happy.

MRS. TEMPENNY (_enthusiastically_).

Do tell me all about it.

Mrs. Sylvester. I am jealous.

Mrs. Tempenny. Of whom?

Mrs. Sylvester. Oh no one--of everybody; of my husband's past, which I know--of his life to-day, which is too circumspect to be sincere.

MRS. TEMPENNY (_with misgiving_).

But--but Rembrandt's life is also circumspect.

Mrs. Sylvester. Poor child.

Mrs. Tempenny. You pity me?

Mrs. Sylvester. Horribly. To be married to a painter--what a fate! To have a husband who is shut up alone all day with a creature who--who wears--

Mrs. Tempenny. Rembrandt's models _do_--.

Mrs. Sylvester. Wear--?

Mrs. Tempenny. Plenty!

MRS. SYLVESTER (_gloomily_).

Clothes sometimes cover a multitude of sins. They are no guarantee. Rosaline wore them!

Mrs. Tempenny. Rosaline?

Mrs. Sylvester. You have not heard of Rosaline?

Mrs. Tempenny. No. A model?

Mrs. Sylvester. A serpent!

Mrs. Tempenny. The wretch. Pretty of course?

Mrs. Sylvester. Serpents are always pretty. One day, not long after we were married, I came across her photograph--I was tidying up an old desk of Charles', a photo, my dear, with an inscription that left no doubt what their relations had been. I tore it up before his face; and for a time, excepting for the girlish illusions he had shattered, that was an end of the matter.

Mrs. Tempenny. But only for a time?

MRS. SYLVESTER (_impressively_).

Two years ago I went into his studio, and found her there.

Mrs. Tempenny. Horrible.

Mrs. Sylvester. You may well say so. She was sitting on a table drinking brandy and soda as bold as brass. Of course he swore that he needed her for a picture he was going to work on--and, I don't know, perhaps it was true. Still considering what had been, her presence there was an outrage, and I shall never forget the quarrel there was between Charles and me. That was the last I have seen of Rosaline--she went flying.

Mrs. Tempenny. And was it the last that Mr. Sylvester has seen of her?

Mrs. Sylvester. So far as I know. But there is always the lurking, horrid doubt. You know now why I am not the light-hearted girl you remember, and why I distrust artists as a class.

_Pause_.

MRS. TEMPENNY (_meditatively_).

I don't see why you should distrust Mr. Tempenny because Mr. Sylvester is not steady.

Mrs. Sylvester. Are you quite contented?

Mrs. Tempenny. No--we are too hard up, but I believe Rembrandt loves me, and I love him.

MRS. SYLVESTER (_heavily_).

Poor child.

(_Enter_ REMBRANDT TEMPENNY _door in flat. He wears long hair, and a brown velveteen jacket, and is smoking a short pipe_.)

Rembrandt Tempenny. Eugenia? And Mrs. Sylvester? Why, bless my soul, how nice, what a surprise! Don't move--don't. (_Stands peering at them with his hands over his eyes._) What a charming effect of light on your profile, Mrs. Sylvester--how rich--how transcendental! Glorious! (_Comes down._) Well, well, well, and so you ladies have come to pay me a visit. Can I offer you anything?

Mrs. Tempenny. I called on Mrs. Tempenny to inquire whether you would dine with us to-night, and she said she could not answer without consulting you.

Mrs. Tempenny. You have no engagement, Rembrandt?

Rembrandt Tempenny. I am quite at liberty, Eugenia, quite. I shall be most pleased and delighted. (_Aside._) Another confoundedly dull evening, I know! (_Aloud._) Sylvester is well?

Mrs. Sylvester. Sylvester is always well.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Happy Sylvester! Myself, I am a wreck.

Mrs. Tempenny. I want some money, Rembrandt.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_disconcerted._)

Eh? Oh! (_To_ MRS. SYLVESTER.) And working hard I have no doubt.

Mrs. Sylvester. I believe so--he is out all day.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Admirable--what industry!

Mrs. Tempenny. (_Aside to_ REMBRANDT TEMPENNY.) Rembrandt, I want some money--have you got a couple of pounds you can let me have?

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_affecting not to hear_).

The hardest working people under the sun are artists, I always say so. Hard worked--hard worked! (_Fills his pipe_).

Mrs. Sylvester. May I look round your studio, Mr. Tempenny?

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_waving his hand_).

Charmed, positively!

(MRS. SYLVESTER _moves up_.)

MRS. TEMPENNY (_insistently_).

Rembrandt, all the neighbourhood knows the butcher summoned us, and none of the tradespeople will serve us with anything unless we pay cash.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Well, we're going out to dinner.

Mrs. Tempenny. Oh, you drive me wild with your improvident, Bohemian ways. There's to-morrow.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Sufficient for the day is the dinner thereof. Don't be greedy.

MRS. SYLVESTER (_looking round_).

You have sold most of your canvasses, I see, Mr. Tempenny.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_aside_).

I thought she wouldn't find the gallery extensive, I must really do something to-day, I must indeed! (_Aloud_.) Sold? Yes, yes. I am starting on a fresh commission now. There's a little sketch up there you may fancy;--a mere impression, but full of tenderness, I think, and rapture.

Mrs. Sylvester. Rapture?

Rembrandt Tempenny. It is the newest word by which we explain the inexplicable. "Rapture!" It says everything, does it not?

MRS. SYLVESTER (_vaguely_).

Yes--yes, indeed.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_aside_).

I made it up myself on the spot.

Mrs. Tempenny. (_Laying her hand on his arm earnestly_). Rembrandt--

Rembrandt Tempenny. Yes, dear, I know what you're going to say. The other tradespeople know we haven't paid the butcher and you want two pounds. I'll give it you this evening--(_Aside_.) If I can borrow it.

MRS. SYLVESTER (_coming down_).

Then we shall see you this evening at seven sharp, Mr. Tempenny? I am going to take Eugenia round to the house with me now, to spend the afternoon. You'll find her there when you come.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Good. (_Aside_.) I wish they'd go! (_Aloud_.) You don't mean to run away yet?

MRS. SYLVESTER (_doubtfully_).

I think so.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_with alacrity_).

Well, if you really must--

(_Opens door_ D.F.)

Mrs. Sylvester. Till seven o'clock.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Till seven.

Mrs. Tempenny. Au revoir, dear. (_Aside to him_.) You won't forget the--?

Rembrandt Tempenny. (_Aside to_ MRS. TEMPENNY.) The two pounds, and the butcher; I won't forget 'em. I only hope the _butcher_ may forget _me_.

(_Exit_ MRS. SYLVESTER.)

Mrs. Tempenny. By-bye, sweetheart.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Ta, ta, Duckie.

Mrs. Tempenny. Don't do too much--remember your precious health.

Rembrandt Tempenny. All right, my love.

MRS. TEMPENNY (_blowing a kiss_).

There.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_blowing a kiss_).

There.

Mrs. Tempenny. My own darling husband!

Rembrandt Tempenny. My angel.

(_Exit_ MRS. TEMPENNY.)

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_with a deep sigh of relief_).

Thank heaven! (_Sinks into armchair, and puts his feet on the mantelpiece_) The corner is getting tight, Rembrandt. This sort of thing won't boil the pot. It won't, sonny, I assure you! Where's the sketch of my _magnum opus_. 'Pon my word, I haven't seen the thing for a month or more. (_Gets up and rummages in a portfolio_.) Ah, here we have it! (_Holds up and contemplates a small charcoal sketch_.) "Susannah before the Elders" beautiful! composition charming! Rembrandt, old pal,--I congratulate you! But where's the picture of it? "Oh where, and oh where!" Rembrandt, you're developing into a thorough-paced loafer. You always had a talent that way, but of late you've broken your own record. I'll turn over a new leaf; I will, I'll be a new man. Why not? We've the new woman; why not the new man? Excellent idea. Rembrandt Tempenny, the new man--the coming man--by George the GREAT man! I'm in earnest, I'm in a fever. I bubble over with noble resolutions. I wish the tradespeople didn't want cash--tradespeople who want cash are so damping to noble resolutions!

(_Gets out Easel and canvas, and takes off coat_.)

(_Door in Flat is kicked open. Enter_ ROBERT ADDISON.)

Robert Addison. Hullo!

Rembrandt Tempenny. Hullo!

Robert Addison. How are you, old chap?

Rembrandt Tempenny. I'm the new man.

Robert Addison. The devil you are! What does it feel like?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Unfamiliar--like somebody's else's boots. I say, dear boy, can you lend me a couple of thick 'uns.

Robert Addison. Eh?

Rembrandt Tempenny. It's for the tradespeople.

Robert Addison. Oh really--on principle you know--I never pay tradespeople.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Well, not to put too fine a point upon it, it's for my wife.

Robert Addison. I warned you not to marry. Now you see how right I was--she wants two thick 'uns.

Rembrandt Tempenny. I know it's rough on you.

Robert Addison. It is. I'm a sociable chap by nature, and I'm rapidly being left without a friend to bless myself with.

Rembrandt Tempenny. I don't grasp!

Robert Addison. They all borrow my money, and then they say they're out the next time I call.

Rembrandt Tempenny. I have got a big thing on, only temporarily I'm in a hole.

Robert Addison. I never knew a fellow in a hole who hadn't a big thing on. What is it?

Rembrandt Tempenny. The hole?

Robert Addison. No, the big thing--the stable tip?

Rembrandt Tempenny. It's nothing to do with the turf. Look here, Schercl--you know Schercl?

Robert Addison. I know him.

Rembrandt Tempenny. He gave me a commission for a picture six weeks ago; he's going to pay three hundred for it. He advanced a century when I accepted the offer.

Robert Addison. They are wonderful terms, Tempenny, for _you_.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Seems rather funny, doesn't it,--but it's a fact. "Nobody more astonished than the striker," I confess.

ROBERT ADDIS ON.

Well, where's the picture?

Rembrandt Tempenny. (_Turning round the big blank canvas_). There!

ROBERT ADDISON (_with a whistle_).

Oh my sainted mother! How does Schercl like it?

Rembrandt Tempenny. It's good work, isn't it? Fine colour and tone! How do the harmonies strike you--correct?

Robert Addison. Unbosom, what does it mean?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Dear boy, it means it was a royal order, and that I've been on the royal loaf on the strength of it; and, now that I repent me, I haven't got a model.

Robert Addison. No model?

Rembrandt Tempenny. The subject is to be Susannah--Susannah before the Elders. You know the kind of thing--(_whispers_).

Robert Addison. Yes, of course, and I suppose--? (_whispers_).

Rembrandt Tempenny. Yes, and--(_touches his arms and chest, signifying a fine woman_--_whispers_).

Robert Addison. Exactly. I think I can recommend the very model you want.

Rembrandt Tempenny. You? Where did you meet her--on a racecourse?

Robert Addison. I know her--and she's worth backing.

Rembrandt Tempenny. My dear friend, you have saved me! Where is she?

Robert Addison. I'll look her up.

Rembrandt Tempenny. To-day?

Robert Addison. Now if you like. Her name is Rosaline, and she's a ripper.

Rembrandt Tempenny. "Rosaline the Ripper," Robert, fetch her. No wait a moment, I can't do the picture here; I daren't.

Robert Addison. Why not?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Well, you see, my wife wouldn't approve, and I blush to say that in the exuberance of early matrimony I encouraged her in an inconvenient habit of running into my studio at all hours. I'll have to work in a pal's.

Robert Addison. All right, I'll send her there.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Well, you might bring her now, if you can, and I'll arrange the sittings with her. Does she hang out in the neighbourhood?

Robert Addison. Over a coffee-shop in Golden Street.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Go! And I'll stand you a swagger supper when the picture's done, and Schercl parts. By the way--

Robert Addison. Yes?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Touching the two quid?

ROBERT ADDISON (_giving the money_).

Here you are.

Rembrandt Tempenny. I do touch 'em. Ecstasy! Bob, you're a brick; now cut along and get back with the damsel sharp. (_Knock heard at_ D.F.) Hullo, whom have we here? Come in. (_Knock repeated_.) Come in. (_Knock again_.) Come in, you fat-headed, lop-sided, splay-footed, bandy-legged jay; come in!

(_Enter_ SCHERCL).

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_aside_).

Schercl! Good Lord! He's come to see the work.

Robert Addison. (_Aside to_ REMBRANDT TEMPENNY). I'm off.

Rembrandt Tempenny. (_Aside to_ ROBERT ADDISON). No, I say, Bob, wait and see me through it.

Robert Addison. Rosaline may go out--I must hurry. See you again in half an hour.

Rembrandt Tempenny. (_Aside to_ ROBERT ADDISON). What shall I do?

Robert Addison. (_Aside to_ REMBRANDT TEMPENNY). Lie! Ta-ta. I say--! You don't think it possible old Schercl has made a mistake and taken you for Tempenny the R.A.?

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_staggered_).

What!!

Robert Addison. It would explain the terms, that's all, dear boy. Au revoir. (_Exit_ ROBERT ADDISON D.F.)

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_aside_).

Good Lord! (_Aloud, blandly_). My dear Mr. Schercl, this is a pleasure indeed.

Henrich Schercl. I do not know dat it is a great bleasure, but pusiness must be attended to, hein? Vell, my friendt, and how is the bicture, eh! Let us see how it has brogressed.

Rembrandt Tempenny. The picture is going well--well, very well,--excellently. I am a modest man--

Henrich Schercl. Humph! (_Aside_.) This is a very boor blace for zo famous a bainter. I do not understand it! But I have certainly done goot business mid him!

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_disconcerted_).

I say I am a modest man, Mr. Schercl, but I feel safe in declaring that you will be satisfied with your bargain.

Henrich Schercl. "Bargain?" I do not tink dat ven I pay tree hundred bounds for a bicture it should be called a "pargain." Tree hundred bounds is very large brice; I shall have not made a pargain.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Er--quite so. You misunderstand me. I should have said your "contract"--you will be satisfied with your contract.

Henrich Schercl. If you should have said "gontract," vy did you say "Pargain." Vell, vell, let us see the bicture.

Rembrandt Tempenny. (_With a desperate attempt to throw enthusiasm in his voice_.) It is the best work I have done. I look to "Susannah" to advance my position enormously. People will talk about "Susannah." It is--er--full of rapture.

Henrich Schercl. "Rapture?" Vat is "Rapture?"

Rembrandt Tempenny. _You_ know what "rapture" is. It is the term best understood by the movement of to-day. It is our watchword, our ideal. "Rapture!"

Henrich Schercl. (_Puzzled, but not wishing to appear ignorant_.) Oh "Rapture," I did not understand you. Of course I know what rapture is.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Of course you do. Well, "Susannah" brims over with it.

Henrich Schercl. Goot, goot.

Rembrandt Tempenny. It is the very apotheosis of rapture.

Henrich Schercl. I gongratulate you.

Rembrandt Tempenny. It exudes with rapture.

Henrich Schercl. Is dat so?

Rembrandt Tempenny. It is bathed in rapture. (_Aside_.) I can't go on much longer.

Henrich Schercl. Now show it to me.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_with feigned surprise_).

Show it to you? I can't show it to you--it isn't here.

Henrich Schercl. Vat is dat you say? Not here?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Certainly not. I am working on it in a friend's studio, not my own. The light here is not nearly good enough for a work like that.

Henrich Schercl. You have always found it goot enough, I pelieve?

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_with enthusiasm_).

But not for "Susannah"--not nearly good enough for "Susannah," "Susannah" demands so much; she is exacting--she must be humoured.

Henrich Schercl. Vell, I am very disappointed; I came expressly to see how you had brogressed. Will you make me an abbointment?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Certainly I will. I will write you to-morrow. I am anxious to have your opinion.

Henrich Schercl. Who is the friend in whose studio you vork?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Eh? In Mr. Sylvester's--Charles Sylvester. You should hear him talk about it. By Jove, he does think a lot of it. I blush to repeat what he says. He considers it magnificent.

(_Enter_ SYLVESTER.)

Charles Sylvester. Afternoon, Rembrandt. Ah, Mr. Schercl, how-d'ye do.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Sylvester himself--the devil. (_Aloud_.) Dear old man, we were talking of you! I was just telling Mr. Schercl what you are kind enough to say of "Susannah."

(_Kicks him aside_.)

Henrich Schercl. You think it goot, Mr. Sylvester, yes?

Rembrandt Tempenny. He thinks it superb, so far as it has gone.

(_Kicks him again_.)

Charles Sylvester. What's that? Who is "Susannah?"

Rembrandt Tempenny. "Who is Susannah!" (_With a sickly laugh_.) What a chap to chaff you are. "Who is Susannah?" Ha, ha, ha.

Henrich Schercl. But in pusiness I do not like the chokes. Let us be serious if you please. What is your opinion, Mr. Sylvester, of the vork?

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_desperately_).

Yes, I quite agree with you, Mr. Schercl, I quite agree--there is a time for all things. Tell Mr. Schercl what you think of it, Charlie, do.

(_Kicks him savagely_.)

CHARLES SYLVESTER (_aside to_ TEMPENNY).

You'll break my ankle directly, hang you. What do you want?

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_aside to_ SYLVESTER).

Intelligence. I'll break your neck in another minute, you born fool! (_Aloud suavely_.) Mr. Schercl is naturally anxious to hear how the picture he had given me a commission for is getting along. I was telling him how much you think of it but he would like to hear your views from your own mouth.

Charles Sylvester. Oh--oh!--now I know what you're talking about! Well, I have a very high opinion of the work indeed, Mr. Schercl--a very high opinion. (_Aside to_ TEMPENNY.) What's the subject?

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_aside to_ SYLVESTER).

"Susannah before the Elders"--pitch it strong.

Charles Sylvester. The conception of Susannah, and in fact the entire treatment if I may say so, is bold in the extreme. He makes a school, our friend here. You will be surprised when you see the work, and impressed.

Henrich Schercl. Vell, we will make the abbointment soon, Mr. Tempenny. I am sorry I could not see it to-day. So I shall be imbressed? That is goot. Gootday, gentlemen. We will make the abbointment very soon.

(_Exit_ SCHERCL.)

Rembrandt Tempenny. (_Calling after him from open door_.) Mind the bottom step, it's awkward. Got it?

HENRICH SCHERCL (_off_).

It is so dark your staircase.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Yes, it is dark, isn't it? Good afternoon. (_Closes door.)(To_ SYLVESTER.) Phew! You couldn't have arrived at a worse time.

Charles Sylvester. Thanks.

Rembrandt Tempenny. I don't mean to be inhospitable, but the ice was thin.

Charles Sylvester. Have you done anything to "Susannah?"

Rembrandt Tempenny. Not a stroke, but I commence to-morrow in earnest. I've a model coming this afternoon, and if you'll let me use your studio, I shall knock in enough in a week for old Schercl to see when he calls again.

Charles Sylvester. Why do you want my studio--what's the matter with this?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Well, the fact is my wife is always popping in here, and if she found me with a model posed as Susannah she'd go into hysterics. You understand me?

Charles Sylvester. Understand you. I'm a married man.

(TEMPENNY _looks at him silently, and then puts out his hand_. SYLVESTER _grasps it_.)

Rembrandt Tempenny. I don't want to gush, but--I feel for you, old chap.

CHARLES SYLVESTER (_gratefully_).

I know--I know.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_offering pouch_).

Smoke?

CHARLES SYLVESTER (_producing pipe_).

Thanks.

(_They fill their pipes without speaking and puff sympathetically_.)

Charles Sylvester. Not but what she is a good sort--I don't want to say anything against her.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Of course not.

Charles Sylvester. But--I suppose she's too fond of me.

Rembrandt Tempenny. It's a way wives have--they repay the superabundance of your devotion during the courtship.

Charles Sylvester. Exactly. She's jealous.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Of whom?

Charles Sylvester. Of nobody--of everyone. Of my past, which was rather more decent than most fellows--of my life to-day, which is a pattern for a County Councillor.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Poor beggar.

Charles Sylvester. You're sorry for me?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Devilishly. To be married to a jealous woman!--what a fate.

CHARLES SYLVESTER (_with a groan_).

Ah! Tempenny, there was a girl I used to know when I was a bachelor--she was a model. My wife found her likeness one day after we were married. A likeness, nothing more--I thought I had destroyed it. Well, if you'd have heard the ructions she made; you'd have thought she'd found a harem.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Ah!

Charles Sylvester. A year or two ago the girl turned up again--walked into my studio, and wanted to sit to me. As it happened I could have used her very well. Just as I had given her a drink who should march in too, but my wife.

Rembrandt Tempenny. The devil.

Charles Sylvester. I _said_ my wife--but--

Rembrandt Tempenny. Yes, go on.

Charles Sylvester. She recognised my visitor in a moment from the photograph--abused her, insulted me, and raised a royal row. The girl cleared out like a shot, and I pledge you my word I have never seen her since, but from that hour to this not a day passes without Mrs. Sylvester making some allusion to the incident. I am the most moral man alive, and I'm watched and suspected as if I were a criminal.

Rembrandt Tempenny. We must see more of each other than we have of late. When I work in your studio we shall be company for each other.

Charles Sylvester. I shall be very glad. Well, I'll be off, now. See you to-morrow then?

Rembrandt Tempenny. To-morrow! Au revoir, dear boy.

(_Exit_ SYLVESTER.)

Rembrandt Tempenny. Poor old Sylvester! Had no idea Mrs. Sylvester was such a termagant. I must cheer him up a bit. So there was a girl, was there, and Mrs. Sylvester is jealous of her? Wonder who she was! Nice girl I daresay--Sylvester's taste was always good excepting when he married. Where is Bob with my model?--time he was back! (_Goes to window_.) There goes Sylvester--funny thing you can always tell a married man by his walk. There is a solidity about it--a sort of resignation. (_Turns looking off the other way_.) And here comes a pretty girl.--What a pretty girl--Funny thing you can always tell a pretty girl by her walk. There is a consciousness about it--a thanksgiving. She is stopping here. Lovely woman stopping here!

(_Throws up window, and leans out more and more till gradually only a small section of his legs remain on the stage_)

ROSALINE (_off_).

Is this Mr. Tempenny's studio?

Rembrandt Tempenny. It is. I am Mr. Tempenny. Come up do.

Rosaline. No kid?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Not yet--I am recently married.

Rosaline. I mean you are really Mr. Tempenny.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Really and truly. (_Withdraws from window, wreathed in smiles_.) How do I look? (_Smoothes his hair before mirror_.) Perhaps she is a buyer--I had better appear busy--or inspired. (_Seats himself and adopts a far-away engrossed expression_.) "Rembrandt Tempenny at Home."

_Knock at door. Enter_ ROSALINE.

Rosaline. May I come in?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Enter pray. An idea has struck me. May I beg you to sit down a moment,--In a moment I shall be at your service.

ROSALINE _sits_. REMBRANDT TEMPENNY _stares raptly before him as if lost in composition. (Business.) He starts up and rushes to small canvas, making violent sketch upon it. Then brushes his hand across his brow, and turns to her_.

Rembrandt Tempenny. I dared not lose it--my idea! Forgive me--I have it down now, it is saved. What can I do for you?

Rosaline. Mr. Addison sent me. He said you wanted a model.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Oh--you are Rosaline?

Rosaline. You have guessed it in once. He could not come back with me, so he sent me here alone.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Oh!

Rosaline. What do you think of me?

Rembrandt Tempenny. I think you a charming young lady.

Rosaline. Then what is the matter?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Well, I thought you were somebody else, that is all. So you are Rosaline.

Rosaline. You keep telling me I am Rosaline--I know I am. The question is how do I do?

Rembrandt Tempenny. How do you do?

Rosaline. You misunderstand me. The question is how do I suit you?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Quite so--you bring me to the point. You suit me entirely. Mr. Addison perhaps explained to you the subject of my picture?

Rosaline. "Susannah." Susannah is a very ugly name--.

Rembrandt Tempenny. But she will be a very pretty girl, won't she?

Rosaline. Oh, go away with you.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Humour, only my humour! You musn't think any familiarity was intended. I am not that sort of man at all.

Rosaline. No?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Not a bit. As I told you out of the window, I'm married.

Rosaline. Well, I am sorry to hear it.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Now you are flattering me--now _I_ must say, "go away with you."

Rosaline. I am sorry to hear it because I prefer sitting to single artists. Wives sometimes make rumpuses.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Oh, you have found that?

Rosaline. I have indeed. I shall never forget one of my experiences as long as I live.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Really? You interest me.

ROSALINE _(sentimentally)_.

I loved a man with all my soul, and _he_ loved _me_. He married! No, you must not blame him for it--he was weak, and the temptation came. "To err is human,"--he married. Oh, my heart! (_She presses her hand to her side_.) Forgive me while I shed a tear.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Shed two.

Rosaline. I forgave him; I struggled to subdue the rage within me. I forgave him, and went to see him again. I had conquered my scorn--my better nature had triumphed--I went to him with all the old tenderness that I had lavished on him in the days gone by. He was startled, even cold, but still I feel I should have won him back to me had not something happened.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Something so often happens. It is an aggravating way of something.

Rosaline. His wife came between us. All was over.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Designing wretch!

Rosaline. I have never seen him since; I have banished his image from my mind. But that time has left its mark on me for ever. It transformed a simple credulous girl into a hardened worldly woman. I shall never feel a liking for wives again.

Rembrandt Tempenny. One cannot blame you.

Rosaline. I felt you would say that. (_Presses her handkerchief to her eyes_.) It was cruel.

Rembrandt Tempenny. But in my case you will not be troubled by my wife. The sittings won't take place here, and so she will not see you.

Rosaline. How is that?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Well, it is very odd, but Mrs. Tempenny has the same objection to models that you have to wives. It is ridiculous, in fact it is wicked of her, but I find it best to humour her prejudices. Will you go to-morrow to Sycamore Place, Number five?

Rosaline. I'll be there--on one condition. No wives, or I throw up the job.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_alarmed_).

For Heaven's sake don't talk of doing that--my whole life hangs on the picture. If you don't sit to me I'm a ruined man. Rosaline, I swear to you no wives shall cross your path.

MRS. TEMPENNY (_off_).

Rembrandt, Rembrandt.

Rosaline. Who's that?

Rembrandt Tempenny. Mrs. Tempenny, but I won't let her in.

ROSALINE (_angrily_).

Wives already!--Everywhere--wives.

MRS. TEMPENNY (_off_).

Rembrandt, I must see you. Where are you--quick!

Rosaline. Here, I know the pattern of this! Let me go!

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_alarmed_).

No. No. I'll get rid of her. (_Runs to window, and leans out--calling_.) Don't wait, my dear. I'm busy. I'll be with you soon.

ROSALINE (_contemptuously_).

Why, you're scared out of your life of her I can see! I have had enough of this,--I don't want the job. (_As if to go_.)

Rembrandt Tempenny. (_Leaving window and running back to her_). I tell you if you don't sit to me I'm a ruined man. Rosaline, I implore you!

MRS. TEMPENNY (_off_).

I am coming up at once.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_rushing to window again_).

On no account, my darling, I can't be disturbed.

Rosaline. I'm off. Ta-ta.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_back to her again_).

You shan't go--I'll lock you in first. There! (_Locks door, and takes out key_.)

MRS. TEMPENNY (_off_).

Rembrandt, I must come up. Something is the matter.

Rembrandt Tempenny. No, no, no. Go home, and see the tradespeople, catch! (_Takes out the two sovereigns, and runs to window again: in his excitement he throws with the wrong hand--throwing out key_.) Good Lord! I've thrown her the key. (_Leans out of the window_.) She is coming upstairs. Skip inside there till she goes. Hurry! (_Motions_ ROSALINE _off R_.)

ROSALINE (_scornfully_).

Wives, wives, wives!

(_Exit Rosaline_.)

Mrs. Tempenny. Rembrandt! Why did you keep me waiting--there's a sheriff's officer on his way here with a warrant. He has been at the house, and the servant ran round to Sylvester's to tell me. You must escape.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Escape?

Mrs. Tempenny. Fly!

Rembrandt Tempenny. I can't fly--I am not built for flying.

Mrs. Tempenny. Then you must hide.

Rembrandt Tempenny. Where?

Mrs. Tempenny. (_Pointing to room where Rosaline is concealed_.) There!

Rembrandt Tempenny. No, no, Hark!

(_Very heavy steps are heard ascending stairs_.)

Rembrandt Tempenny. I hear a footfall.

MRS. TEMPENNY (_in terror_).

Hide yourself--quick.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_in terror_).

I can't.

Mrs. Tempenny. Why not?

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_loftily_).

A hero never hides. Ah, I have it. I'll jump from the window.

(_Struggles into his coat and hat_.)

Mrs. Tempenny. There is the conservatory underneath.

Rembrandt Tempenny. I'll jump clear of it. Don't let him in for a minute.

(_He plants a lay-figure in front of canvas, with its back to door in flat, then proceeds to dress it up to resemble himself at work. Brush in hand, etc_.)

GROGGINS (_off_).

Mr. Tempenny!

(_Knocks at door_.)

Mrs. Tempenny. Who's there?

(_She goes to door, half opening it, so that_ GROGGINS _has a partial view of lay-figure_.)

Groggins. I have a warrant here for Mr. Rembrandt Tempenny--matter of forty pun'.

Mrs. Tempenny. Sh! He is painting.

Groggins. I can't help whether he's painting or not, marm. The question is whether he is paying or not.

Mrs. Tempenny. Man, my husband cannot be disturbed. Don't you see?--he is inspired.

Groggins. Well, he'll be in--Wandsworth if he don't part.

Mrs. Tempenny. Sh! talk softly. Your voice will jar upon him.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_aside_).

Now for it. (_At window_.) One--two--three--I don't like the look of that glass-house much.

_(Hesitates)._

GROGGINS (_decisively_).

I must come in, marm--out of the way if _you_ please.

REMBRANDT TEMPENNY (_aside_).

Oh! It's now or never.

(_Jumps out. A tremendous crash of broken glass is heard_.)

MRS. TEMPENNY (_with a shriek_).

Ah!

GROGGINS (_pushing her aside_).

What's that? (_Aside_.) Oh, there he is. (_Aloud_.) Here you Mr. Tempenny, sir, I've a warrant 'ere on a judgment summons.--Suit of Cole the butcher. (_Addressing lay-figure_.) Do you pay up, or come along o' me?

MRS. TEMPENNY (_at window--aside_).

He's picked himself up--he waves his hand--all is well.

Groggins. Which is it, sir? I allus likes to do business pleasant, only you must make up your mind, you know. Pay up, or lock up--take your choice.

Mrs. Tempenny. (_At window. Excitedly aside_.) He disappears--he's lost to view--the danger's past.

Groggins. Well, if you _won't_ speak, you _won't_, of course! I've done my 'umble best to do my dooty affable, and since you're sulky, why--(_Going up to lay-figure_) Mr. Rembrandt Tempenny, I've a warrant for your arrest.

(_He slaps the lay-figure on the shoulder, it collapses with a crash_).

GROGGINS (_falling back in terror_).

Got 'em again, as I'm a sinner!

(MRS. TEMPENNY _runs to_ D.F. _as if to go_. ROSALINE _half opens_ R.D. _and pops her head out with an ejaculation_.)

_Act drop, quick_.