You Never Can Tell

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MRS. CLANDON. I did not blame him: I simply rescued myself and the
children from him.

McCOMAS. Yes: but you made hard terms, Mrs. Clandon. You had him at
your mercy: you brought him to his knees when you threatened to make the
matter public by applying to the Courts for a judicial separation.
Suppose he had had that power over you, and used it to take your
children away from you and bring them up in ignorance of your very name,
how would you feel? what would you do? Well, won't you make some
allowance for his feelings?---in common humanity.

MRS. CLANDON. I never discovered his feelings. I discovered his
temper, and his--- (she shivers) the rest of his common humanity.

McCOMAS (wistfully). Women can be very hard, Mrs. Clandon.

VALENTINE. That's true.

GLORIA (angrily). Be silent. (He subsides.)

McCOMAS (rallying all his forces). Let me make one last appeal.
Mrs. Clandon: believe me, there are men who have a good deal of feeling,
and kind feeling, too, which they are not able to express. What you
miss in Crampton is that mere veneer of civilization, the art of shewing
worthless attentions and paying insincere compliments in a kindly,
charming way. If you lived in London, where the whole system is one of
false good-fellowship, and you may know a man for twenty years without
finding out that he hates you like poison, you would soon have your eyes
opened. There we do unkind things in a kind way: we say bitter things
in a sweet voice: we always give our friends chloroform when we tear
them to pieces. But think of the other side of it! Think of the people
who do kind things in an unkind way---people whose touch hurts, whose
voices jar, whose tempers play them false, who wound and worry the
people they love in the very act of trying to conciliate them, and yet
who need affection as much as the rest of us. Crampton has an
abominable temper, I admit. He has no manners, no tact, no grace.
He'll never be able to gain anyone's affection unless they will take his
desire for it on trust. Is he to have none---not even pity---from his
own flesh and blood?

DOLLY (quite melted). Oh, how beautiful, Finch! How nice of you!

PHILIP (with conviction). Finch: this is eloquence---positive
eloquence.

DOLLY. Oh, mamma, let us give him another chance. Let us have him
to dinner.

MRS. CLANDON (unmoved). No, Dolly: I hardly got any lunch. My dear
Finch: there is not the least use in talking to me about Fergus. You
have never been married to him: I have.

McCOMAS (to Gloria). Miss Clandon: I have hitherto refrained from
appealing to you, because, if what Mr. Crampton told me to be true, you
have been more merciless even than your mother.

GLORIA (defiantly). You appeal from her strength to my weakness!

McCOMAS. Not your weakness, Miss Clandon. I appeal from her
intellect to your heart.

GLORIA. I have learnt to mistrust my heart. (With an angry glance
at Valentine.) I would tear my heart and throw it away if I could. My
answer to you is my mother's answer. (She goes to Mrs. Clandon, and
stands with her arm about her; but Mrs. Clandon, unable to endure this
sort of demonstrativeness, disengages herself as soon as she can without
hurting Gloria's feelings.)

McCOMAS (defeated). Well, I am very sorry---very sorry. I have done
my best. (He rises and prepares to go, deeply dissatisfied.)

MRS. CLANDON. But what did you expect, Finch? What do you want us
to do?

McCOMAS. The first step for both you and Crampton is to obtain
counsel's opinion as to whether he is bound by the deed of separation or
not. Now why not obtain this opinion at once, and have a friendly
meeting (her face hardens)---or shall we say a neutral meeting? ---to
settle the difficulty---here---in this hotel---to-night? What do you
say?

MRS. CLANDON. But where is the counsel's opinion to come from?

McCOMAS. It has dropped down on us out of the clouds. On my way
back here from Crampton's I met a most eminent Q.C., a man whom I
briefed in the case that made his name for him. He has come down here
from Saturday to Monday for the sea air, and to visit a relative of his
who lives here. He has been good enough to say that if I can arrange a
meeting of the parties he will come and help us with his opinion. Now
do let us seize this chance of a quiet friendly family adjustment. Let
me bring my friend here and try to persuade Crampton to come, too.
Come: consent.

MRS. CLANDON (rather ominously, after a moment's consideration).
Finch: I don't want counsel's opinion, because I intend to be guided by
my own opinion. I don't want to meet Fergus again, because I don't like
him, and don't believe the meeting will do any good. However (rising),
you have persuaded the children that he is not quite hopeless. Do as
you please.

McCOMAS (taking her hand and shaking it). Thank you, Mrs. Clandon.
Will nine o'clock suit you?

MRS. CLANDON. Perfectly. Phil: will you ring, please. (Phil rings
the bell.) But if I am to be accused of conspiring with Mr. Valentine,
I think he had better be present.

VALENTINE (rising). I quite agree with you. I think it's most
important.

McCOMAS. There can be no objection to that, I think. I have the
greatest hopes of a happy settlement. Good-bye for the present. (He
goes out, meeting the waiter; who holds the door for him to pass
through.)

MRS. CLANDON. We expect some visitors at nine, William. Can we have
dinner at seven instead of half-past?

WAITER (at the door). Seven, ma'am? Certainly, ma'am. It will be a
convenience to us this busy evening, ma'am. There will be the band and
the arranging of the fairy lights and one thing or another, ma'am.

DOLLY. The fairy lights!

PHILIP. The band! William: what mean you?

WAITER. The fancy ball, miss---

DOLLY and PHILIP (simultaneously rushing to him). Fancy ball!

WAITER. Oh, yes, sir. Given by the regatta committee for the
benefit of the Life-boat, sir. (To Mrs. Clandon.) We often have them,
ma'am: Chinese lanterns in the garden, ma'am: very bright and pleasant,
very gay and innocent indeed. (To Phil.) Tickets downstairs at the
office, sir, five shillings: ladies half price if accompanied by a
gentleman.

PHILIP (seizing his arm to drag him off). To the office, William!

DOLLY (breathlessly, seizing his other arm). Quick, before they're
all sold. (They rush him out of the room between them.)

MRS. CLANDON. What on earth are they going to do? (Going out.) I
really must go and stop this--- (She follows them, speaking as she
disappears. Gloria stares coolly at Valentine, and then deliberately
looks at her watch.)

VALENTINE. I understand. I've stayed too long. I'm going.

GLORIA (with disdainful punctiliousness). I owe you some apology,
Mr. Valentine. I am conscious of having spoken somewhat sharply---
perhaps rudely---to you.

VALENTINE. Not at all.

GLORIA. My only excuse is that it is very difficult to give
consideration and respect when there is no dignity of character on the
other side to command it.

VALENTINE (prosaically). How is a man to look dignified when he's
infatuated?

GLORIA (effectually unstilted). Don't say those things to me. I
forbid you. They are insults.

VALENTINE. No: they're only follies. I can't help them.

GLORIA. If you were really in love, it would not make you foolish:
it would give you dignity---earnestness---even beauty.

VALENTINE. Do you really think it would make me beautiful? (She
turns her back on him with the coldest contempt.) Ah, you see you're
not in earnest. Love can't give any man new gifts. It can only
heighten the gifts he was born with.

GLORIA (sweeping round at him again). What gifts were you born with,
pray?

VALENTINE. Lightness of heart.

GLORIA. And lightness of head, and lightness of faith, and lightness
of everything that makes a man.

VALENTINE. Yes, the whole world is like a feather dancing in the
light now; and Gloria is the sun. (She rears her head angrily.) I beg
your pardon: I'm off. Back at nine. Good-bye. (He runs off gaily,
leaving her standing in the middle of the room staring after him.)

END OF ACT III

Act IV

The same room. Nine o'clock. Nobody present. The lamps are
lighted; but the curtains are not drawn. The window stands wide open;
and strings of Chinese lanterns are glowing among the trees outside,
with the starry sky beyond. The band is playing dance-music in the
garden, drowning the sound of the sea.

The waiter enters, shewing in Crampton and McComas. Crampton looks
cowed and anxious. He sits down wearily and timidly on the ottoman.

WAITER. The ladies have gone for a turn through the grounds to see
the fancy dresses, sir. If you will be so good as to take seats,
gentlemen, I shall tell them. (He is about to go into the garden
through the window when McComas stops him.)

McCOMAS. One moment. If another gentleman comes, shew him in
without any delay: we are expecting him.

WAITER. Right, sir. What name, sir?

McCOMAS. Boon. Mr. Boon. He is a stranger to Mrs. Clandon; so he
may give you a card. If so, the name is spelt B.O.H.U.N. You will not
forget.

WAITER (smiling). You may depend on me for that, sir. My own name
is Boon, sir, though I am best known down here as Balmy Walters, sir.
By rights I should spell it with the aitch you, sir; but I think it best
not to take that liberty, sir. There is Norman blood in it, sir; and
Norman blood is not a recommendation to a waiter.

McCOMAS. Well, well: "True hearts are more than coronets, and simple
faith than Norman blood."

WAITER. That depends a good deal on one's station in life, sir. If
you were a waiter, sir, you'd find that simple faith would leave you
just as short as Norman blood. I find it best to spell myself B.
double-O.N., and to keep my wits pretty sharp about me. But I'm taking
up your time, sir. You'll excuse me, sir: your own fault for being so
affable, sir. I'll tell the ladies you're here, sir. (He goes out into
the garden through the window.)

McCOMAS. Crampton: I can depend on you, can't I?

CRAMPTON. Yes, yes. I'll be quiet. I'll be patient. I'll do my
best.

McCOMAS. Remember: I've not given you away. I've told them it was
all their fault.

CRAMPTON. You told me that it was all my fault.

McCOMAS. I told you the truth.

CRAMPTON (plaintively). If they will only be fair to me!

McCOMAS. My dear Crampton, they won't be fair to you: it's not to be
expected from them at their age. If you're going to make impossible
conditions of this kind, we may as well go back home at once.

CRAMPTON. But surely I have a right---

McCOMAS (intolerantly). You won't get your rights. Now, once for
all, Crampton, did your promises of good behavior only mean that you
won't complain if there's nothing to complain of? Because, if so---
(He moves as if to go.)

CRAMPTON (miserably). No, no: let me alone, can't you? I've been
bullied enough: I've been tormented enough. I tell you I'll do my
best. But if that girl begins to talk to me like that and to look at
me like--- (He breaks off and buries his head in his hands.)

McCOMAS (relenting). There, there: it'll be all right, if you will
only bear and forbear. Come, pull yourself together: there's someone
coming. (Crampton, too dejected to care much, hardly changes his
attitude. Gloria enters from the garden; McComas goes to meet her at
the window; so that he can speak to her without being heard by
Crampton.) There he is, Miss Clandon. Be kind to him. I'll leave you
with him for a moment. (He goes into the garden. Gloria comes in and
strolls coolly down the middle of the room.)

CRAMPTON (looking round in alarm). Where's McComas?

GLORIA (listlessly, but not unsympathetically). Gone out---to leave
us together. Delicacy on his part, I suppose. (She stops beside him
and looks quaintly down at him.) Well, father?

CRAMPTON (a quaint jocosity breaking through his forlornness). Well,
daughter? (They look at one another for a moment, with a melancholy
sense of humor.)

GLORIA. Shake hands. (They shake hands.)

CRAMPTON (holding her hand). My dear: I'm afraid I spoke very
improperly of your mother this afternoon.

GLORIA. Oh, don't apologize. I was very high and mighty myself; but
I've come down since: oh, yes: I've been brought down. (She sits on the
floor beside his chair.)

CRAMPTON. What has happened to you, my child?

GLORIA. Oh, never mind. I was playing the part of my mother's
daughter then; but I'm not: I'm my father's daughter. (Looking at him
funnily.) That's a come down, isn't it?

CRAMPTON (angry). What! (Her odd expression does not alter. He
surrenders.) Well, yes, my dear: I suppose it is, I suppose it is.
(She nods sympathetically.) I'm afraid I'm sometimes a little
irritable; but I know what's right and reasonable all the time, even
when I don't act on it. Can you believe that?

GLORIA. Believe it! Why, that's myself---myself all over. I know
what's right and dignified and strong and noble, just as well as she
does; but oh, the things I do! the things I do! the things I let other
people do!!

CRAMPTON (a little grudgingly in spite of himself). As well as she
does? You mean your mother?

GLORIA (quickly). Yes, mother. (She turns to him on her knees and
seizes his hands.) Now listen. No treason to her: no word, no thought
against her. She is our superior---yours and mine---high heavens above
us. Is that agreed?

CRAMPTON. Yes, yes. Just as you please, my dear.

GLORIA (not satisfied, letting go his hands and drawing back from
him). You don't like her?

CRAMPTON. My child: you haven't been married to her. I have. (She
raises herself slowly to her feet, looking at him with growing
coldness.) She did me a great wrong in marrying me without really
caring for me. But after that, the wrong was all on my side,
I dare say. (He offers her his hand again.)

GLORIA (taking it firmly and warningly). Take care. That's a
dangerous subject. My feelings---my miserable, cowardly, womanly
feelings---may be on your side; but my conscience is on hers.

CRAMPTON. I'm very well content with that division, my dear. Thank
you. (Valentine arrives. Gloria immediately becomes deliberately
haughty.)

VALENTINE. Excuse me; but it's impossible to find a servant to
announce one: even the never failing William seems to be at the ball. I
should have gone myself; only I haven't five shillings to buy a ticket.
How are you getting on, Crampton? Better, eh?

CRAMPTON. I am myself again, Mr. Valentine, no thanks to you.

VALENTINE. Look at this ungrateful parent of yours, Miss Clandon! I
saved him from an excruciating pang; and he reviles me!

GLORIA (coldly). I am sorry my mother is not here to receive you,
Mr. Valentine. It is not quite nine o'clock; and the gentleman of whom
Mr. McComas spoke, the lawyer, is not yet come.

VALENTINE. Oh, yes, he is. I've met him and talked to him. (With
gay malice.) You'll like him, Miss Clandon: he's the very incarnation
of intellect. You can hear his mind working.

GLORIA (ignoring the jibe). Where is he?

VALENTINE. Bought a false nose and gone into the fancy ball.

CRAMPTON (crustily, looking at his watch). It seems that everybody
has gone to this fancy ball instead of keeping to our appointment here.

VALENTINE. Oh, he'll come all right enough: that was half an hour
ago. I didn't like to borrow five shillings from him and go in with
him; so I joined the mob and looked through the railings until Miss
Clandon disappeared into the hotel through the window.

GLORIA. So it has come to this, that you follow me about in public
to stare at me.

VALENTINE. Yes: somebody ought to chain me up.

Gloria turns her back on him and goes to the fireplace. He takes the
snub very philosophically, and goes to the opposite side of the room.
The waiter appears at the window, ushering in Mrs. Clandon and McComas.

MRS. CLANDON (hurrying in). I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.

A grotesquely majestic stranger, in a domino and false nose, with
goggles, appears at the window.

WAITER (to the stranger). Beg pardon, sir; but this is a private
apartment, sir. If you will allow me, sir, I will shew you to the
American bar and supper rooms, sir. This way, sir.

He goes into the gardens, leading the way under the impression that
the stranger is following him. The majestic one, however, comes
straight into the room to the end of the table, where, with impressive
deliberation, he takes off the false nose and then the domino, rolling
up the nose into the domino and throwing the bundle on the table like a
champion throwing down his glove. He is now seen to be a stout, tall
man between forty and fifty, clean shaven, with a midnight oil pallor
emphasized by stiff black hair, cropped short and oiled, and eyebrows
like early Victorian horsehair upholstery. Physically and spiritually,
a coarsened man: in cunning and logic, a ruthlessly sharpened one. His
bearing as he enters is sufficiently imposing and disquieting; but when
he speaks, his powerful, menacing voice, impressively articulated
speech, strong inexorable manner, and a terrifying power of intensely
critical listening raise the impression produced by him to absolute
tremendousness.

THE STRANGER. My name is Bohun. (General awe.) Have I the honor of
addressing Mrs. Clandon? (Mrs. Clandon bows. Bohun bows.) Miss
Clandon? (Gloria bows. Bohun bows.) Mr. Clandon?

CRAMPTON (insisting on his rightful name as angrily as he dares). My
name is Crampton, sir.

BOHUN. Oh, indeed. (Passing him over without further notice and
turning to Valentine.) Are you Mr. Clandon?

VALENTINE (making it a point of honor not to be impressed by him).
Do I look like it? My name is Valentine. I did the drugging.

BOHUN. Ah, quite so. Then Mr. Clandon has not yet arrived?

WAITER (entering anxiously through the window). Beg pardon, ma'am;
but can you tell me what became of that--- (He recognizes Bohun, and
loses all his self-possession. Bohun waits rigidly for him to pull
himself together. After a pathetic exhibition of confusion, he recovers
himself sufficiently to address Bohun weakly but coherently.) Beg
pardon, sir, I'm sure, sir. Was---was it you, sir?

BOHUN (ruthlessly). It was I.

WAITER (brokenly). Yes, sir. (Unable to restrain his tears.) You
in a false nose, Walter! (He sinks faintly into a chair at the table.)
I beg pardon, ma'am, I'm sure. A little giddiness---

BOHUN (commandingly). You will excuse him, Mrs. Clandon, when I
inform you that he is my father.

WAITER (heartbroken). Oh, no, no, Walter. A waiter for your father
on the top of a false nose! What will they think of you?

MRS. CLANDON (going to the waiter's chair in her kindest manner). I
am delighted to hear it, Mr. Bohun. Your father has been an excellent
friend to us since we came here. (Bohun bows gravely.)

WAITER (shaking his head). Oh, no, ma'am. It's very kind of you---
very ladylike and affable indeed, ma'am; but I should feel at a great
disadvantage off my own proper footing. Never mind my being the
gentleman's father, ma'am: it is only the accident of birth after all,
ma'am. (He gets up feebly.) You'll all excuse me, I'm sure, having
interrupted your business. (He begins to make his way along the table,
supporting himself from chair to chair, with his eye on the door.)

BOHUN. One moment. (The waiter stops, with a sinking heart.) My
father was a witness of what passed to-day, was he not, Mrs. Clandon?

MRS. CLANDON. Yes, most of it, I think.

BOHUN. In that case we shall want him.

WAITER (pleading). I hope it may not be necessary, sir. Busy
evening for me, sir, with that ball: very busy evening indeed, sir.

BOHUN (inexorably). We shall want you.

MRS. CLANDON (politely). Sit down, won't you?

WAITER (earnestly). Oh, if you please, ma'am, I really must draw the
line at sitting down. I couldn't let myself be seen doing such a thing,
ma'am: thank you, I am sure, all the same. (He looks round from face to
face wretchedly, with an expression that would melt a heart of stone.)

GLORIA. Don't let us waste time. William only wants to go on taking
care of us. I should like a cup of coffee.

WAITER (brightening perceptibly). Coffee, miss? (He gives a little
gasp of hope.) Certainly, miss. Thank you, miss: very timely, miss,
very thoughtful and considerate indeed. (To Mrs. Clandon, timidly but
expectantly.) Anything for you, ma'am?

MRS. CLANDON Er---oh, yes: it's so hot, I think we might have a jug
of claret cup.

WAITER (beaming). Claret cup, ma'am! Certainly, ma'am.

GLORIA Oh, well I'll have a claret cup instead of coffee. Put some
cucumber in it.

WAITER (delighted). Cucumber, miss! yes, miss. (To Bohun.)
Anything special for you, sir? You don't like cucumber, sir.

BOHUN. If Mrs. Clandon will allow me---syphon---Scotch.

WAITER. Right, sir. (To Crampton.) Irish for you, sir, I think,
sir? (Crampton assents with a grunt. The waiter looks enquiringly at
Valentine.)

VALENTINE. I like the cucumber.

WAITER. Right, sir. (Summing up.) Claret cup, syphon, one Scotch
and one Irish?

MRS. CLANDON. I think that's right.

WAITER (perfectly happy). Right, ma'am. Directly, ma'am. Thank
you. (He ambles off through the window, having sounded the whole gamut
of human happiness, from the bottom to the top, in a little over two
minutes.)

McCOMAS. We can begin now, I suppose?

BOHUN. We had better wait until Mrs. Clandon's husband arrives.

CRAMPTON. What d'y' mean? I'm her husband.

BOHUN (instantly pouncing on the inconsistency between this and his
previous statement). You said just now your name was Crampton.

CRAMPTON. So it is.

MRS. CLANDON } (all four { I---

GLORIA } speaking { My---

McCOMAS } simul- { Mrs.---

VALENTINE } taneously). { You---

BOHUN (drowning them in two thunderous words). One moment. (Dead
silence.) Pray allow me. Sit down everybody. (They obey humbly.
Gloria takes the saddle-bag chair on the hearth. Valentine slips around
to her side of the room and sits on the ottoman facing the window, so
that he can look at her. Crampton sits on the ottoman with his back to
Valentine's. Mrs. Clandon, who has all along kept at the opposite side
of the room in order to avoid Crampton as much as possible, sits near
the door, with McComas beside her on her left. Bohun places himself
magisterially in the centre of the group, near the corner of the table
on Mrs. Clandon's side. When they are settled, he fixes Crampton with
his eye, and begins.) In this family, it appears, the husband's name is
Crampton: the wife's Clandon. Thus we have on the very threshold of the
case an element of confusion.

VALENTINE (getting up and speaking across to him with one knee on the
ottoman). But it's perfectly simple.

BOHUN (annihilating him with a vocal thunderbolt). It is. Mrs.
Clandon has adopted another name. That is the obvious explanation which
you feared I could not find out for myself. You mistrust my
intelligence, Mr. Valentine--- (Stopping him as he is about to protest.)
No: I don't want you to answer that: I want you to think over it when
you feel your next impulse to interrupt me.

VALENTINE (dazed). This is simply breaking a butterfly on a wheel.
What does it matter? (He sits down again.)

BOHUN. I will tell you what it matters, sir. It matters that if
this family difference is to be smoothed over as we all hope it may be,
Mrs. Clandon, as a matter of social convenience and decency, will have
to resume her husband's name. (Mrs. Clandon assumes an expression of
the most determined obstinacy.) Or else Mr. Crampton will have to call
himself Mr. Clandon. (Crampton looks indomitably resolved to do nothing
of the sort.) No doubt you think that an easy matter, Mr. Valentine.
(He looks pointedly at Mrs. Clandon, then at Crampton.) I differ from
you. (He throws himself back in his chair, frowning heavily.)

McCOMAS (timidly). I think, Bohun, we had perhaps better dispose of
the important questions first.

BOHUN. McComas: there will be no difficulty about the important
questions. There never is. It is the trifles that will wreck you at
the harbor mouth. (McComas looks as if he considered this a paradox.)
You don't agree with me, eh?

McCOMAS (flatteringly). If I did---

BOHUN (interrupting him). If you did, you would be me, instead of
being what you are.

McCOMAS (fawning on him). Of course, Bohun, your specialty---

BOHUN (again interrupting him). My specialty is being right when
other people are wrong. If you agreed with me I should be of no use
here. (He nods at him to drive the point home; then turns suddenly and
forcibly on Crampton.) Now you, Mr. Crampton: what point in this
business have you most at heart?

CRAMPTON (beginning slowly). I wish to put all considerations of
self aside in this matter---

BOHUN (interrupting him). So do we all, Mr. Crampton. (To Mrs.
Clandon.) Y o u wish to put self aside, Mrs. Clandon?

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