You Never Can Tell: A Comedy in Four Acts by George Bernard Shaw

Author:George Bernard Shaw
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Children -- Drama, Wives -- Drama, England -- Drama, Runaway husbands -- Drama, Fathers -- Drama, Comedies
Publisher: Standard Ebooks
Published: 2024-11-25T21:10:59+00:00

Act III

The Clan­dons’ sit­ting room in the ho­tel. An ex­pen­sive apart­ment on the ground floor, with a French win­dow lead­ing to the gar­dens. In the cen­tre of the room is a sub­stan­tial ta­ble, sur­round­ed by chairs, and draped with a ma­roon cloth on which op­u­lent­ly bound ho­tel and rail­way guides are dis­played. A vis­i­tor en­ter­ing through the win­dow and com­ing down to this cen­tral ta­ble would have the fire­place on his left, and a writ­ing ta­ble against the wall on his right, next the door, which is fur­ther down. He would, if his taste lay that way, ad­mire the wall dec­o­ra­tion of Lin­crus­ta Wal­ton in plum col­or and bronze lac­quer, with da­do and cor­nice; the or­molu con­soles in the cor­ners; the vas­es on pil­lar pedestals of veined mar­ble with bases of pol­ished black wood, one on each side of the win­dow; the or­na­men­tal cab­i­net next the vase on the side near­est the fire­place, its cen­tre com­part­ment closed by an in­laid door, and its cor­ners round­ed off with curved panes of glass pro­tect­ing shelves of cheap blue and white pot­tery; the bam­boo tea ta­ble, with fold­ing shelves, in the cor­re­spond­ing space on the oth­er side of the win­dow; the pic­tures of ocean steam­ers and Land­seer’s dogs; the sad­dle­bag ot­toman in line with the door but on the oth­er side of the room; the two com­fort­able seats of the same pat­tern on the hearthrug; and fi­nal­ly, on turn­ing round and look­ing up, the mas­sive brass pole above the win­dow, sus­tain­ing a pair of ma­roon rep cur­tains with dec­o­rat­ed bor­ders of staid green. Al­to­geth­er, a room well ar­ranged to flat­ter the oc­cu­pant’s sense of im­por­tance, and rec­on­cile him to a charge of a pound a day for its use.

Mrs. Clan­don sits at the writ­ing ta­ble, cor­rect­ing proofs. Glo­ria is stand­ing at the win­dow, look­ing out in a tor­ment­ed revery.

The clock on the man­tel­piece strikes five with a sick­ly clink, the bell be­ing un­able to bear up against the black mar­ble ceno­taph in which it is im­mured.

Mrs. Clan­don Five! I don’t think we need wait any longer for the chil­dren. The are sure to get tea some­where.

Glo­ria Weari­ly. Shall I ring?

Mrs. Clan­don Do, my dear. Glo­ria goes to the hearth and rings. I have fin­ished these proofs at last, thank good­ness!

Glo­ria Strolling list­less­ly across the room and com­ing be­hind her moth­er’s chair. What proofs?

Mrs. Clan­don The new edi­tion of Twen­ti­eth Cen­tu­ry Wom­en.

Glo­ria With a bit­ter smile. There’s a chap­ter miss­ing.

Mrs. Clan­don Be­gin­ning to hunt among her proofs. Is there? Sure­ly not.

Glo­ria I mean an un­writ­ten one. Per­haps I shall write it for you—when I know the end of it. She goes back to the win­dow.

Mrs. Clan­don Glo­ria! More enig­mas!

Glo­ria Oh, no. The same enig­ma.

Mrs. Clan­don Puz­zled and rather trou­bled; af­ter watch­ing her for a mo­ment.

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