THE YOUNG LADY My name is Ellie Dunn.

THE CAPTAIN Dunn! I had a boatswain whose name was Dunn. He was originally a pirate in China. He set up as a ship’s chandler[296] with stores which I have every reason to believe he stole from me. No doubt he became rich. Are you his daughter?

ELLIE [indignant] No, certainly not. I am proud to be able to say that though my father has not been a successful man, nobody has ever had one word to say against him. I think my father is the best man I have ever known.

THE CAPTAIN He must be greatly changed. Has he attained the seventh degree of concentration?

ELLIE I don’t understand.

THE CAPTAIN But how could he, with a daughter? I, madam, have two daughters. One of them is Hesione Hushabye, who invited you here. I keep this house: she upsets it. I desire to attain the seventh degree of concentration: she invites visitors and leaves me to entertain them. [NURSE GUINNESS returns with the tea-tray, which she places on the teak table.] I have a second daughter who is, thank God, in a remote part of the Empire with her numskull of a husband. As a child she thought the figure-head of my ship, the Dauntless, the most beautiful thing on earth. He resembled it. He had the same expression: wooden yet enterprising. She married him, and will never set foot in this house again.

NURSE GUINNESS [carrying the table, with the tea-things on it, to ELLIE’s side] Indeed you never were more mistaken. She is in England this very moment. You have been told three times this week that she is coming home for a year for her health. And very glad you should be to see your own daughter again after all these years.

THE CAPTAIN I am not glad. The natural term of the affection of the human animal for its offspring is six years. My daughter Ariadne was born when I was forty-six. I am now eighty-eight. If she comes, I am not at home. If she wants anything, let her take it. If she asks for me, let her be informed that I am extremely old, and have totally forgotten her.

NURSE GUINNESS That’s no talk to offer to a young lady. Here, ducky, have some tea; and don’t listen to him [she pours out a cup of tea].

THE CAPTAIN [rising wrathfully] Now before high heaven they have given this innocent child Indian tea: the stuff they tan their own leather insides with. [He seizes the cup and the tea-pot and empties both into the leathern bucket.]

ELLIE [almost in tears] Oh, please! I am so tired. I should have been glad of anything.

NURSE GUINNESS Oh, what a thing to do! The poor lamb is ready to drop.

THE CAPTAIN You shall have some of my tea. Do not touch that fly-blown[297] cake: nobody eats it here except the dogs. [He disappears into the pantry.]

NURSE GUINNESS There’s a man for you! They say he sold himself to the devil in Zanzibar before he was a captain; and the older he grows the more I believe them.

A WOMAN’ S VOICE [in the hall] Is anyone at home? Hesione! Nurse! Papa! Do come, somebody; and take in my luggage. Thumping heard, as of an umbrella, on the wainscot.

NURSE GUINNESS My gracious! It’s Miss Addy, Lady Utterword, Mrs Hushabye’s sister: the one I told the captain about. [Calling.] Coming, Miss, coming.

She carries the table back to its place by the door and is hurrying out when she is intercepted by LADY UTTERWORD, who bursts in much flustered. LADY UTTERWORD, a blonde, is very handsome, very well dressed, and so precipitate in speech and action that the first impression (erroneous) is one of comic silliness.

LADY UTTERWORD Oh, is that you, Nurse? How are you? You don’t look a day older. Is nobody at home? Where is Hesione? Doesn’t she expect me? Where are the servants? Whose luggage is that on the steps? Where’s papa? Is everybody asleep? [Seeing ELLIE.]Oh! I beg your pardon. I suppose you are one of my nieces. [Approaching her with outstretched arms.] Come and kiss your aunt, darling.

ELLIE I’m only a visitor. It is my luggage on the steps.

NURSE GUINNESS I’ll go get you some fresh tea, ducky. [She takes up the tray.]

ELLIE But the old gentleman said he would make some himself.

NURSE GUINNESS Bless you! he’s forgotten what he went for already. His mind wanders from one thing to another.

LADY UTTERWORD Papa, I suppose?

NURSE GUINNESS Yes, Miss.

LADY UTTERWORD [vehemently] Don’t be silly, Nurse. Don’t call me Miss.

NURSE GUINNESS [placidly] No, lovey [she goes out with the tea-tray].

LADY UTTERWORD [sitting down with a flounce on the sofa] I know what you must feel. Oh, this house, this house! I come back to it after twenty-three years; and it is just the same: the luggage lying on the steps, the servants spoilt and impossible, nobody at home to receive anybody, no regular meals, nobody ever hungry because they are always gnawing bread and butter or munching apples, and, what is worse, the same disorder in ideas, in talk, in feeling. When I was a child I was used to it: I had never known anything better, though I was unhappy, and longed all the time — oh, how I longed! — to be respectable, to be a lady, to live as others did, not to have to think of everything for myself. I married at nineteen to escape from it. My husband is Sir Hastings Utterword, who has been governor of all the crown colonies in succession. I have always been the mistress of Government House. I have been so happy: I had forgotten that people could live like this. I wanted to see my father, my sister, my nephews and nieces (one ought to, you know), and I was looking forward to it. And now the state of the house! the way I’m received! the casual impudence of that woman Guinness, our old nurse! really Hesione might at least have been here: some preparation might have been made for me. You must excuse my going on in this way; but I am really very much hurt and annoyed and disillusioned: and if I had realized it was to be like this, I wouldn’t have come. I have a great mind to go away without another word [she is on the point of weeping].

ELLIE [also very miserable] Nobody has been here to receive me either. I thought I ought to go away too. But how can I, Lady Utterword? My luggage is on the steps; and the station fly[298] has gone.

The captain emerges from the pantry with a tray of Chinese lacquer and a very fine tea-set on it. He rests it provisionally on the end of the table; snatches away the drawing-board, which he stands on the floor against table legs; and puts the tray in the space thus cleared. ELLIE pours out a cup greedily.

THE CAPTAIN Your tea, young lady. What! another lady! I must fetch another cup [he makes for the pantry].

LADY UTTERWORD [rising from the sofa, suffused with emotion] Papa! Don’t you know me? I’m your daughter.

THE CAPTAIN Nonsense! my daughter’s upstairs asleep. [He vanishes through the half door.]

LADY UTTERWORD retires to the window to conceal her tears.

ELLIE [going to her with the cup] Don’t be so distressed. Have this cup of tea. He is very old and very strange: he has been just like that to me. I know how dreadful it must be: my own father is all the world to me. Oh, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. The captain returns with another cup.

THE CAPTAIN Now we are complete. [He places it on the tray.]

LADY UTTERWORD [hysterically] Papa, you can’t have forgotten me. I am Ariadne. I’m little Paddy Patkins. Won’t you kiss me? [She goes to him and throws her arms round his neck.]

THE CAPTAIN [woodenly enduring her embrace] How can you be Ariadne? You are a middle-aged woman: well preserved, madam, but no longer young.