Classic Audiobook Collection - Mrs. Warren’s Profession by George Bernard Shaw ~ Full Audiobook [drama]

Episode Date: January 13, 2023

Mrs. Warren’s Profession by George Bernard Shaw audiobook. Genre: drama In Mrs. Warren's Profession, George Bernard Shaw turns a drawing-room visit into a razor-sharp confrontation with the economics of respectability. Vivie Warren is young, brilliant, and determined to build an independent life through hard work and clear thinking. But when she finally spends time with her mother, Kitty Warren, the polished story of success that has always hovered at the edge of their relationship begins to crack. A few well-placed acquaintances gather around them - including the charming, unreliable Frank Gardner; his prudent father, the Reverend Samuel Gardner; and the wealthy, predatory Sir George Crofts - and each brings a different version of what society calls virtue, ambition, and survival. As secrets are forced into the open, Vivie must decide what kind of adult she will be, and what she owes to family, money, and a world built on double standards. Bold, witty, and unsettling, Shaw's play examines how poverty, power, and hypocrisy can shape lives, especially for women, and asks whether moral judgment is ever separable from the conditions that make certain choices seem inevitable. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:40:11) Chapter 02 (01:31:02) Chapter 03 (02:07:05) Chapter 04 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

mrs warren's profession by george bernard shaw act one summer afternoon in a cottage garden on the eastern slope of a hill a little south of hailsmire in surrey looking up the hill the cottages seen in the left-hand corner of the garden with its thatched roof and porch and a large latticed window to the left of the porch a paling completely shuts in the garden except for a gate on the right The common rises uphill beyond the paling to the skyline. Some folded canvas garden chairs are leaning against the side bench in the porch. A lady's bicycle is propped against the wall under the window. A little to the right of the porch a hammock is slung from two posts. A big canvas umbrella stuck in the ground keeps the sun off the hammock in which a young lady is reading and making notes.

Her head towards the cottage and her feet towards the, the gate. In front of the hammock and within reach of her hand is a common kitchen chair with a pile of serious looking books and a supply of writing paper on it. A gentleman walking on the commons comes into sight from behind the cottage. He is hardly past middle age, with something of the artist about him, unconventionally but carefully dressed and clean-shaven except for a moustache with an eager, susceptible face and very amiable and considerate manners.

He has silky black hair with waves of gray and white in it. His eyebrows are white. His mustache is black. He seems not certain of his way. He looks over the palings, takes stock of the place, and sees the young lady. The gentleman, taking off his hat, I beg your pardon, can you direct me to hind-head view,

Mrs. Allison's? The young lady, glancing up from her book, "'This is Mrs. Allison's.' She resumes her work. "'The gentleman. Indeed, perhaps, may I ask, are you Miss Vivy Warren?' The young lady, sharply as she turns on her elbow, to get a good look at him. Yes, the gentleman, daunted and conciliatory.

I am afraid I appear intrusive. My name is prayed. Vivie at once throws her books upon the chair and gets out of the hammock. Oh, pray, don't let me disturb you. Vivy striding to the gate and opening it for him. Come in, Mr. Prade. He comes in. Glad to see you.

She proffers her hand and takes his with a resolute and hearty grip. She is an attractive specimen of the sensible, able, highly educated young middle-class Englishwoman, age twenty-two prompt strong confident self-possessed plain business-like dress but not doughty she wears a chatelaine at her belt with a fountain-pin and a paper-knife among its pendants prayed very kind of you indeed miss warren she shuts the gate with a vigorous slam he passes into the middle of the garden exercising his fingers which are slightly numbed by her greeting "'Has your mother arrived?' "'Vivie,' quickly, evidently, senting aggression. "'Is she coming?' "'Prayed.

Surprised. "'Didn't you expect us?' "'Vivvy. "'No.' "'Prayed, "'Now, goodness me, I hope I've not mistaken the day. "'That would be just like me, you know. "'Your mother arranged that she was to come down from London

"'and that I was to come over from Horsham to be introduced. to you." Vivie. Not at all pleased. Did she? Hmm. My mother has rather a trick of taking me by surprise. To see how I behave myself while she's away, I suppose.

I fancy I shall take my mother very much by surprise one of these days if she makes arrangements that concern me without consulting me beforehand. She hasn't come. Prayed, embarrassed. I'm really very sorry. Vivie, throwing off her displeasure, "'It's not your fault, Mr. Prade, is it? And I'm very glad you've come.

You are the only one of my mother's friends I have ever asked her to bring to see me.' "'Prayed, relieved and delighted. Oh, now, this is really very good of you, Miss Warren.' Vivie, will you come indoors, or would you rather sit out here and talk?' "'Prayed. "'It will be nicer out here, don't you think?' Vivie. "'Then I'll go and get you a chair.'

She goes to the porch for a garden chair. Prayed, following her. "'Oh, pray, pray, allow me!' He lays hands on the chair. Vivie, letting him take it. "'Take care of your fingers. They are rather dodgy things, those chairs.' She goes across to the chair with the books on it,

pitches them into the hammock, and brings the chair forward with one swing. Prade, who has just unfolded his chair. Oh, now do let me take that hard chair. I do like hard chairs. Vivy, so do I. Sit down, Mr. Prade. This invitation she gives with a genial primptoriness, his anxiety to please her, clearly striking her as a sign of weakness of character on his part. But he does not immediately obey. "'Prayed. By the way, though, hadn't we better go to the station to meet your mother?'

Vivie, coolly. Why, she knows the way?' "'Prayed, disconcerted. "'Are I suppose she does.' He sets down. Vivie, do you know you are just like what I expected? I hope you are disposed to be friends with me.' "'Prayed, again, beaming. "'Thank you, my dear Miss Warren.' Thank you.

Dear me, I'm so glad your mother hasn't spoiled you. Vivie. How? Prayed. Well, in making you too conventional. You know, my dear Miss Warren, I am a born anarchist. I hate authority. It spoils the relations between parent and child, even between mother and daughter.

Now I was always afraid that your mother would strain her authority to make you very conventional. It's such a relief to find you very conventional. It's such a relief to find that she hasn't. Vivy. Oh, have I been behaving unconventionally? Prayed. Oh, no. Oh, dear no.

At least not conventionally, unconventionally, you understand. She nods and sits down. He goes on with a cordial outburst. But it was so charming of you to say that you were disposed to be friends with me. You modern young ladies are splendid, perfectly splendid. Vivie dubiously. A? Watching him with dawning disappointment as to the quality of his brains and character.

Prayed. When I was your age young men and women were afraid of each other, there was no good fellowship, nothing real, only gallantry copied out of novels, and as vulgar and affected as it could be. Maidenly reserve, gentlemanly chivalry, always saying, know when you meant, yes, simple purgatory for shy and sincere souls. Vivy. Yes, I imagine there must have been a frightful waste of time, especially women's time.

Prayed. Oh, waste of life, waste of everything, but things are improving. Do you know? I have been in a positive state of excitement about meeting you ever since your magnificent achievements at Cambridge. A thing unheard of in my day. It was perfectly splendid. You're tying with the third wrangler?

Just the right place, you know. The first wrangler is always a dreamy, morbid fellow, in whom the thing is pushed to the length of a disease. Vivy. It doesn't pay. I wouldn't do it again for the same money. Prayed. Agast.

The same money? Vivvy. Yes, fifty pounds. Perhaps you don't know how it was. Mrs. Latham, my tutor at Newman, told my mother that I could distinguish myself in the mathematical tripos if I went in for it in earnest. The papers were full just then of Philippa Summers beating the first Wrangler. You remember about it, of course?"

Prade shakes his head energetically. Vivie. Well, anyhow, she did, and nothing would please my mother but that I should do the same thing. I said flatly that it was not worth my while to face it. the grind since I am not going in for teaching, but I offered to try for fourth Wrangler or thereabouts for fifty pounds. She closed with me at that, after a little grumbling, and I was better than my bargain. But I wouldn't do it again for that.

Two hundred pounds would have been nearer the mark. Prayed, much damped. Lord, bless me, that's a very practical way of looking at it. Vivie, did you expect to find me an unpractical. practical person?" Prade. But surely it's practical to consider not only the work these honors cost, but also the culture they bring."

Vivie. Culture! My dear Mr. Prade. Do you know what the mathematical tripos means? It means grind, grind, grind for six to eight hours a day at mathematics and nothing but mathematics. I'm supposed to know something about science, but I know nothing except the mathematics it involves. I can make calculations for engineers, electricians, insurance companies, and so on.

But I know next to nothing about engineering or electricity or insurance. I don't even know arithmetic well. Outside mathematics, lawn tennis, eating, sleeping, cycling, and walking, I'm a more ignorant barbarian than any woman could possibly be who hasn't gone in for the tripos. Praed, revolted. What a monstrous, wicked, rascally system! I knew it. I felt at once that it meant destroying all that makes womanhood beautiful.

Vivy. I don't object to it on that score in the least. I shall turn it to very good account, I assure you. Prayed. Poo! In what way? Vivie, I shall set up chambers in the city and work at actuarial calculations and conveyances. Under cover of that I shall do some law, with one eye on the stock exchange all the time.

I've come down here by myself to read law, not for a holiday as my mother imagines. I hate holidays. Prayed, You make my blood run cold. Are you to have no romance, no beauty in your life? Vivie. I don't care for either, I assure you. Prayed.

You can't mean that. Vivie. Oh, yes I do. I like working and getting paid for it. When I'm tired of working I like a comfortable chair, a cigar, a little whiskey, and a novel with a good detective story in it. Prade. Rising in a frenzy of repudiation.

I don't believe it. I'm an artist, and I can't believe it. I refuse to believe it. It's only that you haven't discovered yet what a wonderful world art can open up to you. Vivi. Yes, I have. Last May I spent six weeks in London with Onoria Fraser. Mama thought we were doing a round of sightseeing together,

but I was really at Onoria's chambers in Chancery Lane every day, working away at actuarial calculations for her. helping her as well as a Greenhorn could. In the evenings we smoked and talked and never dreamt of going out except for exercise, and I never enjoyed myself more in my life. I cleared all my expenses and got initiated into the business without a fee in the bargain. Prayed, But bless my soul, Miss Warren, do you call that discovering art? Vivvy.

Wait a bit, that wasn't the beginning. I went up to town on an invitation from some artistic people in Fitzjohn's Avenue. One of the girls was a Newmanchum. They took me to the National Gallery, prayed approving. Ah! He sits down, much relieved. Vivie, continuing. To the opera, prayed still more pleased.

Good. Vivie. And to a concert where the man played all the evening. Bateshoven and Wagner and son. on, I wouldn't go through that experience again for anything you could offer me. I held out for civility's sake until the third day, and then I said, plump out that I couldn't stand any more of it and went off to Chancery Lane. Now you know the sort of perfectly splendid modern young lady I am.

How do you think I shall get on with my mother?" Prade, startled. Well, I hope, Vivie. It's not so much what you hope as what you believe, that I want to know." Prayed. Well, frankly, I am afraid your mother will be a little disappointed. Not from any shortcoming on your part, you know. I don't mean that.

But you are so different from her ideal. Vivie. Her what? Prayed. Her ideal. Vivie. Do you mean her ideal of me? "'Prayed?'

"'Yes.' Vivie. "'What on earth is it like?' "'Prayed. "'Well, you must have observed, Miss Warren, "'that people who are dissatisfied with their own bringing up "'generally think that the world would be all right "'if everybody were to be brought up quite differently.

"'Now your mother's life has been, "'I suppose you know, Vivie. "'Don't suppose anything, Mr. Prade. "'I hardly know my mother.' since i was a child i have lived in england at school or at college or with people paid to take charge of me i have been boarded out all my life my mother has lived in brussels or vienna and never let me go to her I only see her when she visits England for a few days. I don't complain. It's been very pleasant, for people have been very good to me,

and there has always been plenty of money to make things smooth. But don't imagine I know anything about my mother. I know far less than you do. Prayed, very ill at ease. In that case, he stops quite at a loss. Then, with a forced attempt at gaiety, But what nonsense we are talking. Of course you and your mother will get on capitally.

He rises and looks abroad at the view. What a charming little place you have here. Vivy, unmoved. Rather a violent change of subject, Mr. Prade. Why won't my mother's life bear being talked about? Prade. Oh, you mustn't say that. Isn't it natural that I should have a certain delicacy in talking

to my old friend's daughter about her behind her back? You and she will have plenty of opportunity of talking about it when she comes. Vivie. No, she won't talk about it either. Rising. However, I dare say you have good reasons for telling me nothing. Only mind this, Mr. Prade. I expect there will be a battle royal when my mother hears of my Chancery Lane project.

Prayed ruefully. I'm afraid there will. Vivie. Well, I shall win because I want nothing but my fare to London to start there tomorrow earning my own living by deviling for Onoria. Besides, I have no mysteries to keep up, and it seems she has. I shall use that advantage over her if necessary." Prade greatly shocked. Oh, no, no, pray, you'd not do such a thing.

Vivie, then tell me why not. Prade, I really cannot. I appeal to your good feeling. She smiles at his sentimentality. Besides, you may be too bold. Your mother is not to be trifled with when she's angry. Vivy, you can't frighten me, Mr. Prade. In that month a chancery lane, I had opportunities of taking the measure of one or two women very like my mother. You may back me to win. But if I hit harder in my ignorance than I need, remember it is you who refuse to enlighten me. Now let us drop the subject. She takes her chair and replaces it near the hammock with the same vigorous swing as before.

Prayed, taking a desperate resolution. One word, Miss Warren, I had better tell you. It's very difficult, but— Mrs. Warren and Sir George Croft so much— arrive at the gate. Mrs. Warren is between forty and fifty, formerly pretty, showily dressed in a brilliant hat and a gay blouse fitting tightly over her bust, and flanked by fashionable sleeves. Rather spoilt and domineering, and decidedly vulgar, but on the whole a genial and fairly presentable old blackguard of a woman.

Crofts is a tall, powerfully built man of about fifty, fashionably dressed in the style of a young man. Nasal voice, readier than might be expected from his strong frame. Clean-shaven bulldog jaws, large flat ears, and thick-neck. Gentlemanly combination of the most brutal types of city-man, sporting man, and man-about-town. Vivvy. Here they are, coming to them as they enter the garden. How do, Mater?

Mr. Prade's been here this half-hour waiting for you. Mrs. Warren. Well, if you've been waiting, Prattie, it's your own fault. I thought you'd have had the gumption to know I was coming by the 310 train. Vivie, put your hat on, dear, you'll get sunburnt. Oh, I forgot to introduce you. Sir George Crofts, my little Vivie. Crofts advanced Vivie with his most courtly manner.

She nods and makes no motion to shake hands. Crofts, May I shake hands with a young lady whom I have known by reputation very, very long as the daughter of one of my oldest friends? Vivy, who has been looking him up and down sharply, If you like. She takes his tenderly proffered hand and gives it a squeeze that makes him open his eyes.

Then turns away and says to her mother, "'Will you come in, or shall I get a couple more chairs?' She goes into the porch for the chairs. Mrs. Warren, "'Well, George, what do you think of her?' Crofts, ruefully. She has a powerful fist. Did you shake hands with her, prayed?

Prayed. Yes, it will pass off presently. Crofts, I hope so. Vivy reappears with two more chairs. He hurries to her assistance. Allow me. Mrs. Warren patronizingly, let Sir George help you with the chairs, dear. Vivy, pitching them into his arms, here you are.

She dusts her hands and turns to Mrs. Warren. You like some tea, wouldn't you? Mrs. Warren, sitting in a praised chair and fanning herself, I'm dying for a drop to drink. Vivie, I'll see about it. She goes into the cottage. Sir George has by this time managed to unfold a chair and planted by Mrs. Warren on her left. He throws the other on the grass and sits down, looking dejected and rather foolish,

with the handle of his stick in his mouth. Prade, still very uneasy, fidgets around the garden on their right. Mrs. Warren, to Prade, looking at Crofts, Just look at him, Prattie. He looks cheerful, don't he? He's been worrying my life out these three years to have that little girl of mine shown to him, and now that I've done it he's quite out of continents. Briskly.

Come, sit up, George, and take your stick out of your mouth. Crofts sulkily obeys. Prayed. I think you know, if you don't mind my saying so, that we had better get out of the habit of thinking of her as a little girl. You see she has really distinguished herself, and I'm not sure, from what I've seen of her, that she is not older than any of us.

Mr. Warren, greatly amused. Only listen to him, George, older than any of us. Well, she has been so. stuffing you nicely with her importance. Prayed, but young people are particularly sensitive about being treated in that way. Mrs. Warren. Yes, and young people have to get all that nonsense taken out of them, and a good deal more besides. Don't you interfere, Prattie.

I know how to treat my own child as well as you do. Prade with a grave shake of his head, walks up the garden with his hands behind his back. Mrs. Warren pretends to laugh, but looks after he. him with perceptible concern. Then she whispers to Croft. What's the matter with him? What does he take it like that for? Crofts, morosely. You're afraid of preyed. Mrs. Warren. What? Me? Afraid of dear old Prattie. Why, a fly wouldn't be afraid of him? Crofts, you're afraid of him. Mrs. Warren, angry. I'll trouble you to mind your own

business and not try any of your sulks on me. I'm not afraid of you, anyhow. If you can't make yourself agreeable, you'd better go home." She gets up, turning her back on him, finds yourself face to face with Prade. "'Come, Prattie, I know it was only your tender-heartedness. You're afraid I'll bully her.' "'Prayed. My dear kitty, you think I'm offended. Don't imagine that. Prade, don't. But you know I often notice things that escape you, and though you never take my advice, you sometimes admit afterwards that you ought to have taken it." Mrs. Warren.

Well, what do you notice now?" Prayed. Only that Vivie is a grown woman. Pray, Kitty, treat her with every respect. Mrs. Warren, with genuine amazement. Respect. Treat my own daughter with a respect. What next, pray?

Vivy, appearing at the cottage door and calling to Mrs. Warren. Mother, will you come to my room before tea? Mrs. Warren. Yes, dearie. She laughs indulgently at Prade's gravity, and pats him on the cheek as she passes him on her way to the porch. Don't be cross, Prady. She follows Vivie into the cottage. Cross furtively.

I say, Pratt. Prade. Prade, yes? Crofts. I want to ask you a rather particular question. Prayed. Certainly. He takes Mrs. Warren's chair and sits close to Cross.

Cross. That's right. They might hear us from the window. Look here. Did Kitty ever tell you who that girl's father is? Prayed. Never. Cross.

Have you any suspicion of who it might be? be?" prayed. None. Crofts, not believing him. I know, of course, that you perhaps might feel bound not to tell if she has said anything to you, but it's very awkward to be uncertain about it now that we shall be meeting the girl every day.

We don't exactly know how we ought to feel towards her." Prayed. What difference can that make? We take her on her own merits. What does it matter who her father was? Crofts, suspiciously. "'Then you know who he was?' "'Prayed with a touch of temper.

"'I said no just now. Did you not hear me?' "'Crofts. "'Look here, Prade. "'I ask you as a particular favour. "'If you do know, movement of protests from Prade, "'I only say if you know you might at least set my mind at rest about her. "'The fact is I feel attracted.'

"'Prayed sternly. What do you mean?" Crofts. Oh, don't be alarmed. It's quite an innocent feeling. That's what puzzles me about it. Why, for all I know, I might be her father?" Prayed.

You? Impossible. Crofts catching him up cunningly. You know for certain that I'm not? Prade. I know nothing about it, I tell you, any more than you. But really, Crofts? Oh, no, it's out of the question.

There's not the least resemblance. Crofts. As to that, there's no resemblance between her and her mother that I can see. I suppose she's not your daughter, is she? Prade, rising indignantly. Really, Crofts? Crofts, no offense, Prade. Quite allowable is between two men of the world.

Prayed, recovering himself with an effort and speaking gently and gravely. Now, listen to me, my dear Cross. He sits down again. I have nothing to do with that side of Mrs. Warren's life and never had. She has never spoken to me about it, and of course I have never spoken to her about it. Your delicacy will tell you that a handsome woman needs some friends who are not, well, not on that footing with her. The effect of her own beauty would become a torment to her if she could not escape from it occasionally. You are probably on much more confidential terms with Kitty than I am.

Surely you can ask her the question yourself." Crofts. I have asked her often enough. But she's so determined to keep the child all to herself that she would deny it even had a father if she could. Rising. I'm thoroughly uncomfortable about it, prayed. Prayed, rising also. Well, as you are, at all events old enough.

to be her father, I don't mind agreeing that we both regard Miss Vivy in a parental way, as a young girl who we are bound to protect and help. What do you say?" Crofts aggressively. I'm no older than you, if you come to that. Prayed. Yes, you are, my dear fellow. You were born old.

I was born a boy. I've never been able to feel the assurance of a grown-up man in my life. He folds his chair and carries it. to the porch. Mrs. Warren, calling from within the cottage, Prady, George, T. Crofts hastily. She's calling us.

He hurries in. Praid shakes his head, boatingly, and is following Crofts, when he is hailed by a young gentleman who has just appeared on the common, and is making for the gate. He is pleasant, pretty, smartly dressed, cleverly good for nothing, not long turned twenty, with a short of a short, arming voice and agreeably disrespectful manners. He carries a light sporting magazine rifle.

The young gentleman, Hello, prayed. Prayed. Why, Frank Gardner. Frank comes in and shakes hands, cordially. What on earth are you doing here? Frank. Staying with my father?

Prayed. The Roman father? Frank. He's rector here. I'm living with my people this autumn for the sake of economy. Things came to a crisis in July. The Roman father had to pay my debts. He stony broke in consequence, and so am I.

What are you up to these parts? Do you know the people here? Prayed. Yes, I'm spending the day with a Miss Warren. Frank, enthusiastically. What? Do you know Vivi? Isn't she a jolly girl?

I'm teaching her to shoot with this, putting down the rifle. I'm so gritty. Glad she knows you. You're just the sort of fellow she ought to know." He smiles and raises the charming voice almost to a singing tone, as he exclaimed, "'It's ever so jolly to find you here, Prade.' "'I'm an old friend of her mother.' Mrs. Warren brought me over to make her daughter's acquaintance. Frank.

"'The mother! Is she here?' Prayed. "'Yes, inside at tea.' Mrs. Warren, calling from within. Prady! The tea-cakes will be cold. Prayed calling.

Yes, Mrs. Warren. In a moment, I've just met a friend here. Mrs. Warren. A what? Prayed, louder. A friend. Mrs. Warren. Bring him in.

Prayed. All right. To Frank. Will you accept the invitation? Frank, incredulous, but immensely amused. Is that Vivie's mother?" Prayed. Yes.

Frank. By Jove! What a lark! Do you think she'll like me? Prayed. I've no doubt you'll make yourself popular as usual. Come in and try, moving towards the house. Frank.

Stop a bit. Seriously. I want to take you into my confidence. Prayed. Pray don't. It's only some fresh folly like the bar made at Red Hill. Frank, it's ever so much more serious than that. You say you've only just met Vivy for the first time?

Prayed. Yes. Frank, rapistically. Then you can have no idea what a girl she is. Such character, such sense, and her cleverness. Oh, my eye prayed, but I can tell you she is clever, and, need I add, she loves me. Crofts, putting his head out of the world. window. I say, prayed, what are you about? Do come along? He disappears. Frank.

Hello? Sort of chap that would take a prize at a dog show, ain't he? Who's he? Prayed. Sir George Crofts, an old friend of Mrs. Warren's. I think we had better come in. On their way to the porch they are interrupted by a call from the gate, turning they see an elderly clergyman looking over it. The clergyman calling, Frank? Frank. Hello, to Prade. The Roman father. To the clergyman. Yes, Governor, all right, presently. To Prade, look here, Prade, you'd better go into tea. I'll join you directly. Prayed, very good. He goes into the cottage. The clergyman remains outside the gate with his hands on the top of it. The Reverend Samuel Garland

A beneficent clergyman of the established church is over fifty. Externally he is pretentious, booming, noisy, important. Really, he is the obsolescent phenomenon, the fool of the family duped on the church by his father the patron, clamorously asserting himself as father and clergyman without being able to command respect in either capacity. Reverend S. Well, sir, who are your friends here, if I may ask? Frank. Oh, it's all right, Governor.

Come in. Reverend S. No, sir, not until I know whose garden I am entering. Frank. It's all right. It's Miss Warren's. Reverend S. I have not seen her church since she came.

Frank. Of course not. She's a third wrangler. Ever so intellectual. Took a higher degree than you did. So why should she go to hear you preach? Reverend S. Don't be disrespectful, sir.

Frank. Oh, it don't matter. Nobody hears us. Come in. He opens the gate, unceremoniously pulling his father with it into the garden. I want to introduce you to her. Do you remember the advice you gave me last July, Governor?

Reverend S. severely. Yes, I advised you to conquer your idleness and flippancy. and to work your way into an honorable profession and live on it and not upon me." Frank. No, that's what you thought of afterwards. What you actually said was that since I had neither brains nor money, I'd better turn my good looks to account by marrying someone with both. Well, look here.

Miss Warren has brains. You can't deny that. Reverend S. Brains are not everything? Frank. No, of course not. There's the money." Reverend S. interrupting him austerely.

I was not thinking of money, sir. I was speaking of higher things. Social position, for instance. Frank. I don't care a rap about that. Reverend S. But I do, sir. Frank.

Well, nobody wants you to marry her. Anyhow, she has what amounts to a high Cambridge degree, and she seems to have as much money as she wants. Reverend S. Seeking into a feeble vein of humor, I greatly doubt whether she has as much money as you will want. Frank. Oh, calm, I haven't been so very extravagant.

I live ever so quietly. I don't drink. I don't bet much. And I never go regularly to the rassal-dazzle as you did when you were my age. Reverend S. Booming hollowly. Silence, sir. frank well you told me yourself when i was making ever such an ass of myself about the barmaid at redhill that you once offered a woman fifty pounds for the letters you wrote to her when reverend s terrified sh frank for heaven's sake

He looks round apprehensively. Seeing no one within earshot, he plucks up courage to boom again, but more subduedly. You are taking an ungentlemanly advantage of what I confided to you for your own good to save you from an error you would have repented all your lifelong. Take warning by your father's follies, sir, and don't make them an excuse for your own. Frank. Did you ever hear the story of the Duke of Wellington and his letters? Reverend S.

No, sir, and I don't want to hear it. Frank. The old Iron Duke didn't throw away fifty pounds, not he. He just wrote, Dear Jenny, publish and be damned. Yours affectionately, Wellington. That's what you should have done. Reverend S.

piteously. Frank, my boy, oh, when I wrote those letters, I put myself into that woman's power. When I told you about them, I put myself to, some extent, I am sorry to say, in your power. She refused my money with these words, which I shall never forget. Knowledge is power, she said, and I never sell power.

That's more than twenty years ago, and she has never made use of her power, or caused me a moment's uneasiness. You are behaving worse to me than she did, Frank. Frank. Oh, yes, I dare say. Did you ever preach at her the way you preach at me every day? Reverend S. wounded almost to tears. I leave you, sir. You are incorrigible.

He turns toward the gate. Frank, utterly unmoved. Tell them I shan't be home to tea, will you, governor, like a good fellow? He moves toward the cottage door, and is met by Prade and Vivie coming out. Vivie, to Frank. Is that your father, Frank? I do so want to meet him. Frank, certainly, calling after his father. "'Governor, you wanted!'

The parson turns at the gate, fumbling nervously at his hat. Prade crosses the garden to the opposite side, beaming in anticipation of civilities. "'My father, Mrs. Warren.' Vivvy, going to the clergyman in shaking hands. "'Very glad to see you here, Mr. Gardner,' calling to the cottage. "'Mother, come along, you're wanted.' Mrs. Warren appears on the threshold, and is immediately. immediately transfixed, recognizing the clergyman.

Vivie, continuing, Let me introduce, Mrs. Warren, swooping on the Reverend Samuel. Why, it's Sam Gardner, gone into the church. Well, I never. Don't you know a Sam? This is George Crofts as large as life and twice as natural. Don't you remember me? Reverend S. Very red.

Am I really? Uh, Mrs. Warren. Of course. course you do why i have a whole album of your letter still i came across them only the other day reverend s miserably confused miss vavasor i believe mrs warren correcting him quickly in a loud whisper tah nonsense mrs warren don't you see my daughter there end of act one two of mrs warren's profession this librivox recording is in the public Domain. Mrs. Warren's profession by George Bernard Shaw. Act 2. Inside the cottage after nightfall, looking eastward from within instead of westward

from without, the latticed window, with its curtains drawn, is now seen in the middle of the front wall of the cottage, with the porch door to the left of it. In the left-hand side wall is the door leading to the kitchen. Farther back against the same wall is a little bit of the cottage. a dresser with a candle and matches on it, and Frank's rifle standing between them, with the barrel resting in the plate rack. In the center a table stands with a lighted lamp on it. Vivvy's books and writing materials are on a table to the right of the window against the wall. The fireplace is on the right, with a settle. There is no fire. Two of the chairs are

set right and left of the table. The cottage door opens. showing a fine starlit night without, and Mrs. Warren, her shoulders wrapped in a shawl borrowed from Vivie, enters, followed by Frank, who throws his cap on the window seat. She has had enough of walking, and gives a gasp of relief as she unpins her hat, takes it off, sticks the pens through the crown, and puts it on the table. Mrs. Warren "'Oh, Lord! I don't know which is the worst of the country. the walking or the sitting at home with nothing to do.

I could do with the whiskey and soda now very well, if only they had such things in this place. Frank. Perhaps Vivy's got some. Mrs. Warren. Nonsense. What would a young girl like her be doing with such things? Never mind, it don't matter.

I wonder how she passes her time here. I'd a good deal rather be in Vienna. Frank. Let me take you there." He helps her to take off her shawl, gallantly giving her shoulders a very perceptible squeeze as he does so. Mrs. Warren. Ah, would you?

I'm beginning to think you're a chip off the old block. Frank. Like the governor, eh? He hangs the shawl on the nearest chair and sits down. Mrs. Warren, never you mind. What do you know about such things? things. You're only a boy. She goes to the hearth to be farther from temptation. Frank. Do come to Vienna with me. It'd be ever such larks?

Mrs. Warren. No, thank you. Vienna is no place for you, at least not until you're a little older. She nods at him to emphasize this piece of advice. He makes a mock, piteous face, belied by his laughing eyes. She looks at him, then comes back to him. Now look here, little boy, taking his face in her hands and turning it up to her. I know you through and through by your likeness to your father, better than you know yourself. Don't you go taking any silly ideas into your head above me, do you hear? Frank, gallantly wooing her with his voice.

"'Aunt help it, my dear Mrs. Warren, it runs in the family.' She pretends to box his ears, then looks at the pretty laughing upturned face for a moment, tempted. At last she kisses him and immediately turns away out of patience with herself. Mrs. Warren— There, I shouldn't have done that. I am wicked. Never you mind, my dear, it's only a motherly kiss.

Go and make love to Vivy. Frank. So I have. Mrs. Warren, turning on him with a sharp note of alarm in her voice, What? Frank. Vivie and I are ever such chums. Mrs. Warren.

What do you mean? Now, see here. I won't have any young scamp tampering with my little girl. Do you hear? I won't have it. Frank, quite unabashed. My dear Mrs. Warren, don't be alarmed. My intentions are honorable.

Ever so honorable. And your little girl is jolly well-able. to take care of herself. She don't need looking after, half as much as her mother. She ain't so handsome, you know. Mrs. Warren, taken aback by his assurance, Well, you have got a nice healthy two inches of cheek all over you. I don't know where you got it.

Not from your father, anyhow. Crofts in the garden. The gypsies, I suppose, Reverend S. replying. The broom squires are for worse. Mrs. Warren to Frank, Shh, remember, you had your warning. Crofts and the Reverend Samuel Gardner come in from the garden, the clergyman, continuing his conversation as he enters.

Reverend S. The perjury at the Winchester's Assisi's is deplorable. Mrs. Warren, Well, what became of you two? And where's Prady and Vivi? Crofts, putting his hat on the saddle, and his suss. Stick in the chimney corner. They went up the hill.

He went to the village. I wanted a drink. He sits down on the saddle, pulling his legs up along his seat. Mrs. Warren. Well, she oughtn't to go off like that without telling me. To Frank. Get your father a chair, Frank. Where are your manners?

Frank springs up and gracefully offers his father his chair. Then takes another from the wall and sits down at the table, in the middle, with this father on his right and Mrs. Warren on his left. "'George, where are you going to stay to-night? You can't stay here. And what's Prattie going to do?' "'Crofts.' "'Gardener will put me up.'

"'Mrs. Warren.' "'Oh, no doubt you've taken care of yourself. But what about Prady?' "'Crofts.' "'Don't know. I suppose he can sleep at the inn.' "'Mrs. Warren?' "'Haven't you room for him, Sam?'

Reverend S. Well, you see, as Rector here, I am not free to do as I like. What is Mr. Prade's social position? Mrs. Warren. Oh, he's all right. He's an architect. What an old stick in the mud you are, Sam? Frank.

Yes, it's all right, Governor. He built that place down in Wales for the Duke. Karen of Orne Castle, they call it. You must have heard of it. He winks with lightning smartness at Mrs. Warren and regards his father blandly. Reverend S. Oh, in that case, of course we shall only be too happy. I suppose he knows the Duke personally.

Frank. Oh, ever so intimately, we can stick him in Georgianosol room. Mrs. Warren. Well, that's settled. Now if those two would only come in and let us have supper, they've no right to. to stay out after dark like this." Crofts, aggressively. "'What harm are they doing you?'

"'Mrs. Warren.' "'Well, harm or not I don't like it.' "'Frank. "'Better not wait for them, Mrs. Warren. "'Prayed will stay out as long as possible. "'He has never known before what it is to stray over the heath on a summer night with my vivie.' "'Crofts, sitting up in some consternation.

"'I say you know, come!' Reverend S. rising, startled out of his professional manner into real force and sincerity. Frank, once and for all, it's out of the question Mrs. Warren will tell you that it's not to be thought of. Proffs. Of course not. Frank, with enchanting placidity. Is that so, Mrs. Warren? Mrs. Warren, reflectively,

Well, Sam, I don't know. If the girl wants to get married, no good can come of keeping. her unmarried?" Reverend S. astounded. "'But married to him? Your daughter to my son? Only think it's impossible.' "'Cross.

Of course it's impossible. Don't be a fool, kitty.' Mrs. Warren nettled. "'Why not? Isn't my daughter good enough for your son?' Reverend S. "'What, surely, my dear Mrs. Warren, you know the reasons. Mrs. Warren defiantly.

I know no reasons. If you know any, you can tell them to the lad, or to the girl, or to your congregation, if you like. Reverend S. collapsing helplessly into his chair. You know very well that I couldn't tell anyone the reasons, but my boy will believe me when I tell him there are reasons. Frank. Quite right, Dad. He will. But has your boy's conduct ever been influenced?

by your reasons?" Crofts. You can't marry her, and that's all about it. He gets up and stands on the hearth with his back to the fireplace frowning determinedly. Mrs. Warren, turning on him sharply. What have you got to do with it, pray?" Frank, with this prettiest lyrical cadence. Precisely what I was going to ask myself in my own graceful fashion.

To Mrs. Warren. I suppose you don't want to marry the girl to a man younger than herself, and without either a profession or two-pence to keep her on. Ask Sam, if you don't believe me. To the parson. How much more money are you going to give him? Reverend S. Not another penny.

He has had his patrimony, and he spent the last of it in July. Mrs. Warren's face falls. Crofts, watching her. There, I told you, he resumes his place on the settle and puts his legs on the seat again, as if the matter were finally disposed of. Frank, plaintively. This is ever so mercenary. Do you suppose Miss Warren's going to marry for money?

If we love one another— Mrs. Warren. Thank you. Your love's a pretty cheap commodity, my lad. If you have no means of keeping a wife that settles it, You can't have Vivy." Frank, much amused. What do you say, governor, eh?

Reverend S. I agree with Mrs. Warren. Frank. And good old Crofts has already expressed his opinion. Crofts, turning angrily on his elbow. Look here, I want none of your cheek. Frank pointedly. I'm ever so sorry to surprise you, Crofts, but you allow

yourself the liberty of speaking to me like a father a moment ago. One father is enough, thank you." Crofts contemptuously. Yach! He turns away again. Frank rising. Mrs. Warren, I cannot give my VIVY up even for your sake. Mrs. Warren muttering, young scamp.

Frank continuing, And as you no doubt intend to hold out other prospects to her, I shall lose no time in placing my case before her." They stare at him, and he begins to declaim gracefully. He either fears his fate too much, or his desserts are small, that dares not to put it to the touch, to gain or lose it all. The cottage door opens while he is reciting, and Vivy and Prade come in. He breaks off.

Prade puts his hat on the dresser. There is an immediate improvement. in the company's behavior. Crofts takes down his legs from the settle and pulls himself together as Prade joins him at the fireplace. Mrs. Warren loses her ease of manner and takes refuge in querulousness. Mrs. Warren. Where ever have you been, Vivie?

Vivie, taking off her hat and throwing it carelessly on the table. On the hill. Mrs. Warren. Well, you shouldn't go off like that without letting me know. How could I tell what it is? become of you, and night coming on, too. Vivie, going to the door of the kitchen and opening it, ignoring her mother. Now, about supper?

All rise except Mrs. Warren. We shall be rather crowded in here, I'm afraid. Mrs. Warren, did you hear what I said, Vivie? Vivie, quietly. Yes, mother. Reverting to the supper difficulty. How many are we? Counting one.

two, three, four, five, six. Well, two will have to wait until the rest are done. Mr. Allison has only plates and knives for four. Prade. Oh, it doesn't matter about me. I—Vivvy. You have had a long walk and are hungry, Mr. Prade. You shall have your supper at once. I can wait myself.

I want one person to wait with me. Frank, are you hungry? Frank. "'Not the least in the world—' "'Completely off my peck, in fact.' "'Mrs. Warren, two Crofts. "'Neither are you, George, you can wait.' "'Crofts.'

"'Oh, hang it. I've eaten nothing since tea-time. "'Can't Sam do it?' "'Frank. "'Would you starve my poor father?' "'Reverent S. testily. "'Allow me to speak for myself, sir. "'I am perfectly willing to wait.' Vivy decisively.

There's no need, only two are wanted. She opens the door to the kitchen. Will you take my mother in, Mr. Gardner? The parson takes Mrs. Warren, and they pass into the kitchen. Prade and Crofts follow. All except Prade clearly disapprove of the arrangement, but do not know how to resist it. Vivy stands at the door looking in at them. Can you squeeze past to that corner, Mr. Prade?

It's rather a tight. fit. Take care of your coat against the whitewash. That's right. Now, are you all comfortable?" Prade, within. Quite, thank you. Mrs. Warren, within. Leave the door open, dearie. Vrivee frowns, but Frank checks her with a gesture and steals to the cottage door, which he softly sets wide open. "'Oh, Lord, what a draft! You'd better shut it, dear!' Vivie shuts it with a slam, and then, noting with disgust that her mother's hat and shawl are lying about, takes them tidily to the window-seat, whilst Frank noiselessly shuts the cottage door. Frank exulting. Aha!

Got rid of them? Well, Vibhams, what do you think of my governor? Vivvy, preoccupied and serious. I've hardly spoken to him. He doesn't strike me as a particularly able person. Frank. Well, you know, the old man is. is not altogether such a fool as he looks.

You see, he was shoved into the church, rather, and in trying to live up to it he makes a much bigger ass of himself than he really is. I don't dislike him as much as you might expect. He means, well, how do you think you'll get on with him? Vivie, rather grimly. I don't think my future life will be much concerned with him or with any of that old circle of my mother's except perhaps prayed. She sits down on the settle.

"'What do you think of my mother?' "'Frank.' "'Really and truly?' Vivie. "'Yes, really and truly.' Frank. "'Well, she's ever so jolly, but she's rather a caution, isn't she?'

"'And Crofts. "'Oh, my, I, Crofts!' "'He sits beside her.' "'Vivie. "'What a lot, Frank.' "'Frank, what a crew.' Vivie, with intense contempt for them, If I thought that I was like that,

that I was going to be a wester shifting along from one meal to another with no purpose and no character and no grit in me, I'd open an artery and bleed to death without one moment's hesitation. Frank, oh, no, you wouldn't. Why should they take any grind when they can afford not to? I wish I had their luck. No, what I have done. object to is their form. It isn't the thing. It's slovenly, ever so slovenly.

Vivy, do you think your form will be any better when you're as old as Crofts if you don't work? Frank, of course I do. Ever so much better. Vivom's mustn't lecture. Her little boy's incorruptible. He attempts to take her face caressingly in his hands. Vivvy strike in his hands. Vivis strike in his down sharply. Off with you, Vivim's is not in a humor for petting her little boy this evening. She rises and comes forward to the other side of the room. Frank, following her. How unkind! Vivvy, stamping at him. Be serious. I'm serious. Frank. Good. Let us talk learnedly, Miss Warren.

Do you know that all the most advanced thinkers are agreed, that half the diseases of modern civilization are due to starvation of the affections of the young? Now I— Vivy, cutting him short, you are very tiresome. She opens the inner door. Have you room for Frank there? He's complaining of starvation. Mrs. Warren within. Here, Vivy, come on, you too, child. You must be famished. She enters, followed by Crofts, who holds the door open with marked deference.

She goes out without looking at him, and he shuts the door after her. "'Why, George, you can't be done. You've eaten nothing. Is there anything wrong with you?' Crofts. Oh, all I wanted was a drink. He thrusts his hands in his pockets and begins prowling about the room, restlessly and sulkily. Mrs. Warren. Well, I like enough to eat. But a little of that cold beef and cheese and lettuce. goes a long way. With the sigh of only half-repletions, she sits down lazily on the settle. Crofts, what do you go encouraging that young pup for?

Mrs. Warren, on the alert at once. Now see here, George. What are you up to about that girl? I've been watching your way of looking at her. Remember, I know you and what your looks mean. Cross, there's no harm in looking at her, is there? Mrs. Warren. I'd put you out and pack your bag to London pretty soon, if I saw any of your nonsense.

My girl's little finger is more to me than your whole body and soul. Crofts receives this with a sneering grin. Mrs. Warren, flushing a little at her failure to impose on him in the character of a theatrically devoted mother, adds in a lower key. Make your mind easy. The young pup has no more chance. than you have. Crofts.

May it a man take an interest in a girl? Mrs. Warren. Not a man like you. Crofts. How old is she? Mrs. Warren? Never you mind how old she is. Crofts.

Why do you make such a secret of it? Mrs. Warren? Because I choose. Crofts. Well, I'm not fifty yet, and my property is as good as it. ever was, Mrs. Warren, interrupting him. Yes, because you're as stingy as you are vicious. Crofts, continuing, and a baronet isn't to be picked up every day.

No other man in my position would put up with you for a mother-in-law. Why shouldn't she marry me? Mrs. Warren. You? Crofts. We three could live together quite comfortably. I'd die before her and leave her a bouncing widow with plenty of money. Why not? It's been growing in my mind all the time I've been walking with that fool

inside there." Mrs. Warren, revolted. "'Yes, it's the sort of thing that would grow in your mind.' He halts in his prowling, and the two look at one another. She steadfastly with a sort of awe behind her contemptuous disgust. He, stealthily, with a carnal gleam in his eye and a loose grin. Crofts, suddenly becoming anxious and urgent as he sees no sign of sympathy in her. "'Look here, Kitty! You're a sensible woman. You needn't put on any moral lairs. I'll ask no more questions, and you need answer none. I'll settle the whole property on her, and if you want to check for yourself on the wedding day, you can name any figure you like, in reason.'

Mrs. Warren. "'So it's come to that with you, George, like all the other worn-house. old creatures. Crofts savagely. Damn you! Before she can retort, the door of the kitchen is opened and the voices of the others are heard returning. Crofts, unable to recover his presence of mind, hurries out of the cottage.

The clergyman appears at the kitchen door. Reverend S. looking round, Where is Sir George? Mrs. Warren. Gone out to have a pipe. The clergyman takes his hat from the table and joins Mrs. Warren at the fireside. Meanwhile, Vivie comes in, followed by Frank, who collapses into the nearest chair with an air of extreme exhaustion.

Mrs. Warren looks round at Vivy and says, with her affectation of maternal patronage even more forced than usual, well, dearie, have you had a good supper? Vivy, you know what Mrs. Allison's suppers are. She turns to Frank and pets him. poor frank was all the beef gone it gets nothing but bread and cheese and ginger beer seriously as if she had done quite enough trifling for one evening her butter is really awful i must get some down from the stores frank do in heaven's name vivie goes to the writing-table and makes a memorandum to order the butter prayed comes in from the kitchen putting up his handkerchief which he goes to the writing-table and makes a memorandum to order the butter preyed comes in from the kitchen putting up his handkerchief which he has been using as a napkin. Reverend S.

Frank, my boy, it is time for us to be thinking of home. Your mother does not yet know we have visitors. Prayed. I'm afraid we're giving trouble. Frank, rising. Not the least in the world. My mother will be delighted to see you. She's a genuinely intellectual artistic woman,

and she sees nobody here from one years into another, except the governor. so you can imagine how jolly dull it pans out for her. To his father, You are not intellectual or artistic, are you, Potter? So take Prade home at once, and I'll stay here and entertain Mrs. Warren. You'll pick up Crofts in the garden. He'll be excellent company for the bullpup.

Prade, taking his hat from the dresser and coming close to Frank. Come with us, Frank. Mrs. Warren has not seen Miss Vivy for a long time, and we have prevented them from having a moment together yet. Frank, quite softened and looking at Prade with romantic admiration. Of course I forgot. Ever so thanks for reminding me. Perfect gentleman, pretty, always were.

My ideal through life. He rises to go, but pauses a moment between the two older men and puts his hand on Prade's shoulder. Ah, if you had only been my father and... instead of this unworthy old man. He puts his other hand on his father's shoulder. Reverend S. blustering. Silence, sir. Silence.

You are profane. Mrs. Warren, laughing heartily. You should keep him in better order, Sam. Good night. Here, take George his hat and stick with my compliments. Reverend S. taking them. Good night. They shake hands.

As he passes Vivie, he shakes. hands with her also, and bids her good night. Then, in booming command to Frank. Come along, sir, at once. He goes out. Mrs. Warren. Good-bye, Prady. Prayed. Good-bye, Kitty. They shake hands affectionately and go out together, she accompanying him to the garden gate. Frank to Vivie. Kiss'-hams? Vivie, fiercely. No, I hate you. she takes a couple of books and some paper from the writing-table and sits down with them at the middle table at the end next the fireplace frank grimacing sorry he goes for his cap and rifle mrs warren returns he takes her hand good-night dear mrs warren he kisses her hand she snatches it away her lips tightening and looks more than half disposed to box his ears

He laughs mischievously and runs off, clapping to the door behind him. Mrs. Warren, resigning herself to an evening of boredom now that the men are gone. Did you ever in your life hear anyone rattle on so? Isn't he a tease? She sits at the table. Now that I think of it, dearie, don't you go encouraging him? I'm sure he's a regular good-for-nothing. Vivy.

rising to fetch more books. I'm afraid so. Poor Frank. I shall have to get rid of him. But I shall feel sorry for him, though he's not worth it. That man Crofts does not seem to me to be good for much either, is he? She throws the books on the table rather roughly. Mrs. Warren, galled by Vivie's indifference,

What do you know of men, child, to talk that way of them? You'll have to make up your mind to see. a good deal of Sir George Crofts, as he's a friend of mine." Vivy, quite unmoved. Why? She sits down and opens a book. Do you expect that we shall be much together? You and I, I mean?"

Mrs. Warren staring at her. "'Of course, until you're married. You're not going back to college again.' Vivie. Do you think my way of life would suit you? I doubt it." Mrs. Warren. your way of life what do you mean vivie cutting a page of her book with a paper-knife on her chattelaine has it ever occurred to you mother that i have a way of life like other people

mrs warren what nonsense is this you're trying to talk do you want to show your independence now that you're a great little person at school don't be a fool child vivie indulgently that's all you have to have to be a little person at school don't be a fool child vivie indulgently that's all you have to be a to say on the subject, is it, mother?" Mrs. Warren, puzzled, then angry. Don't you keep on asking me questions like that, violently. Hold your tongue. Vivy works on losing no time and saying nothing. You and your way of life indeed. What next?"

She looks at Vivy again. No reply. Your way of life will be what I please so it will. pause. I've been noticing these airs in you ever since you got that tripos or whatever you call it. If you think I'm going to put up with them, you're mistaken, and the sooner you find it out, the better, muttering. All I have to say on the subject indeed.

Again, raising her voice angrily, do you know who you're speaking to, Miss? Vivvy, looking across at her without raising her head from her book. No, who are you? What are you? Mrs. Warren, rising breathlessly, you young imp. Vivie, everybody knows my reputation, my social standing, and the profession I intend to pursue. I know nothing about you. What is that way of life which you invite me to share with you and Sir George Croft's pray?

Mrs. Warren, take care. I shall do something I'll be sorry for after, and you. you, too. Vivy, putting aside her books with cool decision. Well, let us drop the subject until you are better able to face it. Looking critically at her mother. You want some good walks and the little lawn tennis to set you up. You are shockingly out of condition.

You are not able to manage twenty-yard uphill to-day without stopping to pant, and your wrists are mere rolls of fat. Look at mine. She holds out her wrists. Mr. Warren, after looking at her helplessly, begins to whimper. Vivie! Vivie, springing up sharply. Now pray don't begin to cry.

Anything but that. I really cannot stand whimpering. I will go out of the room if you do. Mrs. Warren, piteously, Oh, my darling, how can you be so hard on me? Have I no rights over you as your mother? Vivie. Are you my mother?

Mrs. Warren. Am I your mother? Oh, Vivie! Vivie. Then where are our relatives? My father? Our family friends? You claim the rights of a mother,

the right to call me fool and child, to speak to me as no woman in authority over me at college dare speak to me, to dictate my way of life, and to force on me the acquaintance of a brute whom anyone can see to be the most vicious sort of London man about town. Before I give myself the trouble to resist such claims, I may as well find out whether they have any real existence.

Mrs. Warren, distracted, throwing herself on her knees. Oh, no, no! Stop, stop. I am your mother, I swear it. Oh, you can't mean to turn on me. My own child, it's not natural. you believe me, don't you? Say you believe me. Vivie?

Who was my father? Mrs. Warren. You don't know what you're asking. I can't tell you. Vivie, determinedly. Oh, yes, you can, if you like. I have a right to know, and you know very well that I have that right. You can refuse to tell me if you please,

but if you do, you will see the last of me tomorrow morning. Mrs. Warren, Oh, it's too horrible to hear you talk like that. You wouldn't—you couldn't leave me— Vivy, ruthlessly. Yes, without a moment's hesitation, if you trifle with me about this. Shivering with disgust. How can I feel sure that I may not have the contaminated blood of that brutal

waste her in my veins. Mrs. Warren. Oh, no. On my oath, it's not he, nor any of the rest that you have ever met. I'm certain of that, at least. Vivie's eyes fastened sternly on her mother as the significance of this flashes on her. Vivy, slowly. You are certain of that, at least. Ah, you mean that that is all you are.

certain of. Thoughtfully. I see. Mrs. Warren buries her face in her hands. Don't do that, mother. You know you don't feel it a bit. Mrs. Warren takes down her hands and looks up deplorably at Vivie, who takes out her watch and says, Well, that is enough for tonight. At what hour would you like breakfast? Is half-past eight too early for you? Mrs. Warren, wildly, My God, what sort of woman are you? Vivie, coolly. The sort the world is mostly made of, I should hope.

Otherwise, I don't understand how it gets its business done. Come, taking her mother by the wrist and pulling her up pretty resolutely. Pull yourself together. That's right. Mrs. Warren, querulously. You're very rough with me, Vivie? Vivey, nonsense. What about bed?

It's past ten. Mrs. Warren. passionately. What's the use of going to bed? Do you think I could sleep? Vivy. Why not? I shall.

Mrs. Warren. Yes, you've no heart. She suddenly breaks out vehemently in her natural tongue, the dialect of a woman of the people, with all her affectations of maternal authority and conventional manners gone, and an overwhelming inspiration of true conviction and skimbing. and scorn in her. Oh, I won't bear it.

I won't put up with the injustice of it. What right have you to set yourself up above me like this? You boast of what you are to me, to me, who gave you a chance of being what you are. What chance had I? Shame on you for a bad daughter and a stuck of prude. Vivy, sitting down with a shrug, no longer confident for her replies,

which have sounded sensible and strong to her so far, now begin to rain rather woodenly and even priggishly against the new tone of her mother. Don't think for a moment I set myself above you in any way. You attacked me with a conventional authority of a mother. I defended myself with a conventional superiority of a respectable woman. Frankly, I'm not going to stand any of your nonsense. And when you drop it, I shall not expect you to stand any of my mother.

mine. I shall always respect your right to your own opinions and your own way of life. Mr. Warren, My own opinions and my own way of life? Listen to her talking. Do you think I was brought up like you, able to pick and choose my own way of life? Do you think I did what I did because I liked it or thought it right? I wouldn't rather have gone to college and been a lady if I'd had the chance. Vivy Everybody has some choice, mother

The poorest girl alive may not be able to choose between being Queen of England or Principal of Newman But she can choose between rag-picking and flower-selling According to her taste People are always blaming circumstances for what they are I don't believe in circumstances The people who get on in this world or the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want,

and if they can't find them, make them. Mrs. Warren. Oh, it's so easy to talk, isn't it? Here, would you like to know what my circumstances were? Vivvy. Yes, you had better tell me, won't you sit down? Mrs. Warren. Oh, I'll sit down.

Don't you be afraid. She plants her chair farther forward with brazen energy, and sits down. Vivie is impressed in spite of herself. Do you know what your grandmother was? Vivie, no. Mrs. Warren, no, you don't. I do.

She called herself a widow and had a fried fish shop down by the mint and kept herself and four daughters out of it. Two of us were sisters, that was me and Liz, and we were both good-looking and well-made. I suppose our father was a well-fed man. Mother pretended he was a gentleman, but I don't know. The other two were only half-sisters, undersized, ugly, starved-looking, hard-working, honest, poor creatures. Liz and I would have half-murdered them if Mother hadn't half-murdered us to keep our hands off them.

They were the respectable ones. Well, what did they get by their respectability? I'll tell you. One of them worked in a white-led factory twelve hours a day for nine shillings a week until he, she died of lead poisoning. She only expected to get her hands a little paralyzed, but she died. The other was always held up to us as a model because she married a government laborer in the Deptford-Vitoulin yard, and kept his room and the three children need and tidy on eighteen shillings a week until he took to drink. That was worth being respectable for,

wasn't it. Vivy, now thoroughly attentive. Did you and your sister think so? Mrs. Warren. Liz didn't, I can tell you, she had more spirit. We both went to a church school that was part of the ladylike air as we gave ourselves to be superior to the children that knew nothing and went nowhere, and we stayed there until Liz went out one night and never came back. I know the schoolmistress thought I'd soon follow her example, for the clergyman was always warning us that Lizzie did end up by jumping off Waterloo Bridge. Poor fool! That was all he knew about it. But I was more afraid of the white lead factory than I was of the river.

And so would you have been in my place. That clergyman got me a situation as a scullery-made in a temperance restaurant where they sent out for anything you liked. Then I was a waitress. Then I went to the bar at Waterloo Station, 14 hours a day serving drinks and washing glasses for four shillings a week in my board. That was considered a great promotion for me. Well, one cold wretched night, when I was so tired I could hardly keep myself awake,

who she'd come up for half a scotch, but Lizzie, in a long fur coat, elegant and comfortable, with a lot of sovereigns in her purse. Vivie, Grimley. My Aunt Lizzie? Mrs. Warren. Yes, and a very good aunt to have, too. She's living down at Winchester now, close to the cathedral,

one of the most respectable ladies there. Chaperones, girls at the country ball, if you please. No river for Liz, thank you. You remind me of Liz a little. She was a first-rate businesswoman, saved money from the beginning, never let herself look too like what she was, never lost her head or threw away a chance.

When she saw I'd grown up good-looking, she said to me across the bore, "'What are you doing there, you little fool? Waring out your health and your appearance for other people's profit?' Liz was saving money, then, to take a house for herself in Brussels, and she thought we two could save faster than one. So she lent me some money and gave me a start, and I saved steadily and first paid her back, and then went into business with her as a partner.

Why shouldn't I have done it? The house in Brussels was real high class. A much better place for a woman to be than in the factory where Anne Jane got poisoned. None of the girls were ever treated as I was treated in the scullery of that temperance place, or at the Waterloo Bar or at home. Would you have had me stay in them and become a worn-out old drudge before I was forty? Vivie? Intensely interested by this time? No, but why did you choose that business? Saving money and good management will succeed in any business.

Mrs. Warren. Yes, saving money. But where can a woman get the money to save in any other business? Could you save out of four shillings a week and keep yourself dressed as well? Not you. Of course, if you're a plain woman and can't earn anything more, and if you have a turn for music or the stage or newspaper writing, that's different. But neither Liz nor I had any turn for such things at all.

All we had was our appearance and our turn for pleasing men. Do you think we were such fools as to let other people trade in our good looks by employing us as shop girls or barmaids or waitresses, when we could trade in them ourselves and get all the profits instead of starvation wages? Not likely. Vivie. You were certainly quite justified, from the business point of view, Mrs. Warren. Yes, and any other point of view. What is any respectable girl brought up to do but to catch some rich man's fancy, and get the benefits of his money by marrying him? As if a marriage ceremony could make any difference in the right or wrong of the thing. Oh, the hypocrisy of the world makes me sick. Liz and I had to work and save and calculate just like other people.

elseways we should be as poor as any good for nothing drunk and waster of a woman that thinks her luck will last forever with great energy i despise such people they've no character and if there's a thing i hate in a woman it's want of character vivvy come now mother frankly isn't it part of what you call character in a woman that she should greatly dislike such a way of making money mrs warren Why, of course. Everybody dislikes having to work and make money, but they have to do it all the same. I'm sure I've often pitied a poor girl, turned out and in low spirits, having to try to please some man that she doesn't care too straws for. Some have drunken fool the things he's making himself agreeable when he's teasing and worrying and disgusting a woman so that hardly any money could pay her for putting up with it. but she has to bear it with disagreeables and take the rough with the smooth just like a nurse in a hospital or anyone else it's not work that any woman would do for pleasure goodness knows though to hear the pious people talk you would suppose it was the bed of roses vivie still you consider it worth while it pays mrs warren of course it's worth while to a poor girl if she can resist temptation and is good-looking and well-conducted in sense

It's far better than any other employment open to her. I always thought that it ardent to be. It can't be right, Vivy, that there shouldn't be better opportunities for women. I stick to that. It's wrong. But it's so, right or wrong, and a girl must make the best of it. But, of course, it's not worthwhile for a lady. If you took to it, you'd be a fool.

But I should have been a fool if I'd taken to anything else. Viv, more and more deeply moved. Mother? Suppose we were both as poor as you are in those wretched old days. Are you quite sure that you wouldn't advise me to try the Waterloo Bar, or marry a laborer, or even go into the factory? Mrs. Warren, indignantly. Of course not. What sort of mother do you take me for?

How could you keep yourself respect in such starvation and slavery? And what's a woman worth? What's life worth without self-respect? Why am I independent and able to give my daughter a first-rate education when other women that had just as good opportunities are in the gutter? Because I always knew how to respect myself and control myself. Why is Liz looked up to in a cathedral town? The same reason. Where would we be now if we'd minded the clergyman's foolishness? scrubbing floors for one and six pence a day, and nothing to look forward to but the

workhouse infirmary. Don't you be let astray by people who don't know the world, my girl. The only way for a woman to provide for herself decently is for her to be good to some man that can afford to be good to her. If she's in his own station of life, let her make him marry her. But if she's far beneath him, she can't expect it. Why should she? it wouldn't be for her own happiness ask any lady in london society that has daughters and she'll tell you the same except that i tell you straight and she'll tell you crooked that's all the difference vivie fascinated gazing at her

my dear mother you are a wonderful woman you are stronger than all england and you are really and truly not one wee bit doubtful or ashamed Mrs. Warren. Well, of course, dearie, it's only good manners to be ashamed of it. It's expected from a woman. Women have to pretend to feel a great deal that they don't feel. Liz used to be angry with me for pumping out the truth about it. She used to say that when every woman could learn enough from what was going on in the world before her eyes, there was no need to talk about it to her.

But then Liz was such a perfect lady. She had the true instinct of it, while I was always a bit of a vulgarian. I used to be so pleased when you sent me your photos to see what you were growing up like Liz. You've just her ladylike determined way. But I can't stand saying one thing when everyone knows I mean another. What's the use in such hypocrisy? If people arrange the world that way for women, there's no good pretending it's arranged the other way. No, I never was a bit of shame.

really. I consider I had a right to be proud of how we managed everything so respectfully and never had a word against us, and how the girls were so well taken care of. Some of them did very well. One of them married an ambassador. But of course, now I dare and talk about such things. Whatever would they think of us. She yawns, oh dear, I do believe I'm getting sleeping sleepy after all. She stretches herself lazily, thoroughly relieved by her explosion, and placidly ready for her night's rest. Vivy, I believe it is I who will not be able to sleep now. She goes to the dresser and lights the candle. Then she extinguishes the lamp, darkening the room a good deal. Better let in some fresh air before locking up. She opens the cottage door and

finds that it is broad moonlight. What a beautiful night! Look! She draws the curtains of the window. The landscape is seen bathed in the radiance of the harvest moon rising over Blackdown. Mrs. Warren, with a perfunctory glance at the scene, Yes, dear, but take care you don't catch your death of cold from the night air. Vivy, contemptuously, nonsense!

Mrs. Warren, querulously. Oh, yes, everything I say is nonsense, according to you. Vivy, turning to her quickly. No, really that is not so, mother. You have got completely the better of me tonight, though I intended it to be the other way. Let us be good friends now. Mrs. Warren, shaking her head a little ruefully, So it has been the other way.

But I suppose I must give in to it. I always got the worst of it from Liz, and now I suppose I suppose. I suppose it'll be the same with you. Vivy. Well, never mind. Come. Good night, dear old mother. She takes her mother in her arms.

Mrs. Warren, finally. I brought you up well, didn't I, dearie. Vivy. You did. Mrs. Warren. And you'll be good to your poor old mother for it, won't you? Vivy. I will, dear.

Kissing her. Good night. Mrs. Warren, with unlawfulful. blessings on my own dearie darling a mother's blessing she embraces her daughter protectingly instinctively looking upward for divine sanction end of act two act three of mrs warren's profession by george bernard shaw this libri vaux recording is in the public domain act three in the rectory garden next morning with the sunshy shining from a cloudless sky. The garden wall has a five-barred wooden gate, wide enough to admit a carriage in the middle. Beside the gate hangs a bell on a coiled spring, communicating with a pull outside.

The carriage drive comes down the middle of the garden and then swerves to its left, where it ends in a little gravelly circus opposite the rectory porch. Beyond the gate is seeing the dusty high road, parallel with the wall, and it is seen the dusty, bounded on the farther side by a strip of turf and an unfenced pine wood. On the lawn between the house and the drive is a clipped yew tree with a garden bench in its shade. On the opposite side the garden is shut in by a box hedge, and there is a little sundial on the turf with an iron chair near it. A little path leads through the box hedge behind the sundial. Frank, seated on the chair near the sun-dial on which he has placed the morning paper, is reading the standard.

His father comes from the house, red-eyed and shivery, and meets Frank's eye with misgiving. Frank, looking at his watch. Half past eleven. Nice hour for a rector to come down to breakfast. Reverend S. Don't mock, Frank, don't mock. I'm a little shivering. Frank. Off color? Reverend S. repudiating the expression.

No, sir. Unwell this morning. Where's your mother? Frank. Don't be alarmed. She's not here. Going to town by the 1113 with Bessie. She left several messages for you. Do you feel equal to receiving them now, or shall I wait till you've breakfasted? Reverend S. I have breakfasted, sir. I am surprised that your mother going to town when we have people staying with us. They'll think it very strange. Frank. Possibly she has considered that. At all events, Siv Crofts is going to stay here, and you are going to sit up every night

with him until four, recalling the incidents of your fiery youth. It is clearly my mother's duty as a prudent housekeeper to go up to the stores and order a barrel of whisking and a few hundred siphons. Reverend S. I did not observe that Sir George drank excessively. Frank. You were not in a condition to, Governor. Reverend S.

Do you mean to say that I— Frank calmly. I never saw a benefist clergyman less sober. The anecdotes you told about your past career were so awful that I really don't think prayed would have passed the night under your roof if it hadn't been for the way my mother and he took to one another. Reverend S. Nonsense, sir. I am Sir George Croft's host.

I must talk to him about something, and he has only one subject. Where is Mr. Prade now? Frank. He is driving my mother and Bessie to the station. Reverend S. Is Crofts up yet? Frank.

Oh, long ago. He hasn't turned to hair. He's in much better, practice than you. Has kept it up ever since, probably. He's taking himself off somewhere to smoke. Frank resumes his paper. The parson turns disconsolently toward the gate, then comes back irresolutely. Reverend S. Uh, Frank. Frank, Frank, yes? Reverend S. Do you think the Warrens will expect to be asked here after yesterday afternoon? Frank. They've been asked all right. They've been asked all. ready? Reverend S. appalled. What? Frank. Crofts informed us at breakfast that you told him to bring

Mrs. Warren and Vivy over here today, and to invite them to make this house their home. My mother then found she must go to town by the 1113 train. Reverend S. With despairing vehemence, I never gave such an invitation. I never thought of such a thing. Frank, compassionately. How do you know, Governor, what you said and thought last night? Prayed, coming in through the hedge. Good morning, Reverend S. Good morning.

I must apologize for not having met you at breakfast. I have a touch of—of— Frank, clergyman's sore throat, prayed. Fortunately, not chronic. Prayed, changing the subject. Well, I must say you're how. House is in a charming spot here? Really most charming. Reverend S. Yes, it is indeed. Frank will take you for a walk, Mr. Prade, if you like.

I'll ask you to excuse me. I must take the opportunity to write my sermon, while Mrs. Gardner is away, and you are all amusing yourselves. You won't mind, will you? Prade. Certainly not. Don't stand on the slighted ceremony with me. Reverend S. "'Thank you. I'll—' "'He stammeres his way to the porch and vanishes into the house.' "'Prayed. "'Curious thing it must be writing a sermon every week.'

"'Frank. "'Ever so curious, if he did it. "'He buys him. "'He's gone for some soda water.' "'Prayed. "'My dear boy, I wish you would be more respectful to your father. "'You know, you can be so nice when you like.' Frank.

My dear Prattie, you forget that I have to live with the governor? When two people live together, it don't matter whether their father and son or husband and wife or brother and sister. They can't keep up the polite humbug that's so easy for ten minutes on an afternoon call. Now the governor, who unites to many admirable domestic qualities, the irresoluteness of a sheep, and the pompousness and aggressiveness of a jackass, prayed. No, pray, pray, my dear Frank. Remember, he is your father.

Frank, I give him due credit for that. Rising and flinging down his paper. But just imagine his telling Crofts to bring the Warrens over here. He must have been ever so drunk. You know, my dear Prattie, my mother wouldn't stand Mrs. Warren for a moment. Vivie mustn't come here until she's gone back to town. prayed. "'But your mother doesn't know anything about Mrs. Warren, does she?'

He picks up the paper and sits down to read it. Frank. "'I don't know. Her journey to town looks as if she did. Not that my mother would mind in the ordinary way. She has stuck like a brick to lots of women who had got into trouble. But they were all nice women. That's what makes the real difference.

Mrs. Warren no doubt has her merits, but she's ever so rowdy, and my mother simply wouldn't put up with her. So, hello? This explanation is provoked by the reappearance of the clergyman, who comes out of the house in haste and dismay. Reverend S. Frank, Mrs. Warren and her daughter are coming across the heath with Crofts. I saw them from the study windows. What am I to say about your mother? Frank.

Stick on your hat and go out and say how delighted you are to meet them, and that Frank's in the garden, and that mother and Bessie have been called to the bedside of a sick relative, and were ever so sorry they couldn't stop, and that you hope Mrs. Warren slept well, and say any blessed thing except the truth, and leave the rest to Providence. Reverend S. But how are we to get rid of them afterwards?" Frank. There's no time to think of that now.

Here. He bounds into the house. Reverend S. He's so impetuous. I don't know what to do with him, Mr. Prade. Frank, returning with a clerical felt hat which he clapsed on his father's head, now off with you, rushing him through the gate. Prade and I'll wait here to give the thing an unpremeditated air.

The clergyman did. But obedient, hurries off. Frank. We must get the old girl back to town somehow, prayed. Come, honestly, dear Prady. Do you like seeing them together?" Prayed. Oh, why not?

Frank, his teeth on edge. Don't it make your flesh creep ever so little? That wicked old devil up to every villainy under the sun, I'll swear. And Vivy! prayed hush pray they're coming the clergyman and crofts are seen coming along the road followed by mrs warren and vivie walking affectionately together frank look she actually has her arm round the old woman's waist it's her right arm she began it she's gone sentimental by god oh oh now do you feel the creeps The clergyman opens the gate, and Mrs. Warren and Vivy pass him and stand in the middle of the garden, looking at the house.

Frank, in an ecstasy of dissimulation, turns gaily to Mrs. Warren, exclaiming, "'Ever so delighted to see you, Mrs. Warren. This quiet old rectory garden becomes you perfectly.' "'Mrs. Warren.' "'Well, I never. Did you hear that, George? He says I look well in a quiet old rectory garden." Reverend S.

Still holding the gate for Crofts, who loaves through it heavily bored. You look well everywhere, Mrs. Warren. Frank. Bravo, Governor! Now look here. Let's have a treat before lunch. First, let's see the church. Everyone has to do that.

It's a regular old 13th century church, you know. The governor's ever so fond of it because he got up a restoration. and had it completely rebuilt six years ago. Prade will be able to show its points. Prade, rising. Certainly, if the restoration has left any to show. Reverend S. moaning hospitably at them. I shall be pleased, I'm sure if Sir George and Mrs. Warren really care about it.

Mrs. Warren, Oh, come along and get it over. Crofts, turning back toward the gate. I have no objection. Reverend S. Not that way. We go through the fields, if you don't mind. Around here.

He leads the way by the little path through the box hedge. Crofts. Oh, all right. He goes with the parson. Prade follows with Mrs. Warren. Vivy does not stir. She watches them until they have gone, with all the lines of purpose in her face,

marking it strongly. Frank, ain't you coming? Vivie. No. I want to give you a warning, Frank. You were making fun of my mother just now when you said that about the rectory garden. That is barred in the future. Please treat my mother with as much respect as you treat your own.

Frank. My dear Viv, she wouldn't appreciate it. The two cases require different treatment. But what on earth has happened to you? Last night we were perfectly agreed as to your mother and her set. This morning, I find you attitudeonizing sentimentally with your arm around your parents' waist. Vivy, flushing. Atitudinizing?

Frank, that was how it struck me. First time I ever saw you do a second-rate thing. Vivy, controlling herself. Yes, Frank, there has been a change, but I don't think it is a change. for the worse. Yesterday I was a little prig. Frank. And today?

Vivy wincing, then looking at him steadily. Today I know my mother better than you do. Frank. Heaven forbid. Vivy. What do you mean? Frank. Viv, there's a freemasonry among thoroughly immoral people that you know nothing of.

You've too much character. That's the bond between your mother and me. That's why I know her better than you'll ever know her. Vivy. You are wrong. You know nothing about her. If you knew the circumstances against which my mother had to struggle, Frank, adroitly finishing the sentence for her,

I should know why she is what she is, shouldn't I? What difference would that make? Circumstances are no circumstances. Viv, you won't be able to. to stand your mother. Viv, very angry. Why not? Frank.

Because she's an old wretch, Viv. If you ever put your arm around her waist in my presence again, I'll shoot myself there and then as a protest against an exhibition which revolts me. Vivy. Must I choose between dropping your acquaintance and dropping my mother's? Frank gracefully. That would put the old lady at ever such a disadvantage. No, Viv.

Your infatuated little boy will have to stick to you in any case. But it's all the more anxious that you shouldn't make mistakes. It's no use, Viv. Your mother's impossible. She may be a good sort, but she's a bad lot, a very bad lot. Vivie, hotly. Frank. He stands his ground.

She turns away and sits down. on the bench under the U-tree, struggling to recover herself command. Then she says, "'Is she to be deserted by the world because she's what you call a bad lot? Has she no right to live?' "'Frank. No fear of that, Viv. She won't ever be deserted.'

He sits on the bench beside her. Vivie, but I am to desert her, I suppose?' Frank, babyishly, lulling her and making love. to her with his voice. Mustn't go live with her. Little family group of mother and daughter wouldn't be a success. Spoil our little group. Vivy falling under the spell.

What little group? Frank. The babes in the wood. Vivy and little Frank. He nestles against her like a weary child. Let's go and get covered up with leaves. Vivy, rhythmically. rocking him like a nurse.

Fast asleep, hand in hand under the trees. Frank. The wise little girl with her silly little boy. Vivie. The dear little boy with his doughty little girl. Frank. Ever so peaceful and relieved from the imbecility of the little boy's father and the questionableness of the little girls, Vivi,

smothering the word against her breast. "'Shh!' "'Little girl wants to forget all about her mother. "'They are silent for some moments, rocking one another.' "'Then Vivi wakes up with a shock, exclaiming, "'What a pair of fools we are! "'Come, sit up. Gracious, your hair!' "'She smooths it.

"'I wonder, do all grown-up people play in that childish way when nobody is looking? "'I never did it when I was a child.' "'Frank.' "'Neither did I. "'You are my first playmate.' He catches her hand to kiss it, but checks himself to look around first. Very unexpectedly he sees Crofts emerging from the box-edge. Oh, damn!

Vivie. Why, damn, dear? Frank, whispering, Sh, here's this brute, Crofts. He sets farther away from her with an unconcerned air. Crofts, could I have a few words with you, Miss Vivie? Vivie, certainly. Crofts to Frank.

You'll excuse me, Gardner. They're waiting for you in the church, if you don't mind. Frank, rising. Anything to oblige you, Crofts, except church. If you should happen to want me, Vivims, ring the gate bell. He goes into the house with unruffled suavity. Crofts watching him with a crafty air as he disappears and speaking to Vivi with an assumption of being on privileged terms with her.

Pleasant young fellow that, Miss Vivy. Pity he has no money, isn't it? Vivy. Do you think so? Crofts. Well, what's he to do? No profession, no property. What's he good for? Vivy.

I realize his disadvantages, Sir George. Crofts. A little taken aback at being so precisely interpreted. Oh, it's not that. But while we're in this world, we're in it. "'And money's money,' Viv does not answer. "'Nice day, isn't it?' Vivie, with scarcely veiled contempt for this effort in conversation.

"'Very.' Crofts, with brutal humor as if he liked her pluck. "'Well, that's not what I came to say, sitting down beside her. "'Now listen, Miss Vivie, I am quite aware that I'm not a young lady's man.' Vivie. "'Indeed, Sir George?' Crofts. No, and to tell you the honest truth I don't want to be either.

When I say a thing I mean it, and when I feel a sentiment I feel it in earnest. And what I value I pay hard money for. That's the sort of man I am. Vivy. It does you great credit, I'm sure." Crofts. Oh, I don't mean to praise myself. I have my faults.

Heaven knows no man is more sensible of that than I am. I know I'm not perfect. That's one of the advantages of being a middle-aged man, for I'm not a young man, and I know it. But my code is a simple one, and I think a good one. Honor between man and man? Fidelity between man and woman? No cant about this religion or that religion, but an honest belief that things are making for good on the whole. Vivie, with biting irony, power, not ourselves, that makes for righteousness, A? Croft's, taking her seriously. Oh, certainly. Not ourselves, of course. You understand what I mean. Well, now as to practical matters. You may have an idea that I've flung my money about, but I haven't. I'm richer

today than when I first came into the property. I've used my knowledge of the world to invest my money in ways that other men have overlooked, and whatever else I may be, I'm a safe man from the money point of view. Vivie. It's very kind of you to tell me all this. Crofts. Oh, welcome, Miss Vivvy. You needn't pretend you don't see what I'm driving at.

I want to settle down with a Lady Crofts. I suppose you think me very blunt, eh? Vivie. Not at all. I am very much obliged. to you for being so definite and business-like. I quite appreciate the offer, the money, the position, Lady Crofts, and so on. But I think I will say no, if you don't mind. I'd rather not.

She rises and strolls across to the sundial to get out of his immediate neighborhood. Crofts, not at all discouraged and taking advantage of the additional room left him on the seat, to spread himself comfortably, as if a few preliminary refusals. were part of the inevitable routine of courtship. I'm in no hurry. It was only just to let you know in case young gardener should try to trap you. Leave the question open. Vivvy sharply.

My no is final. I won't go back from it. Crofts is not impressed. He grins, leans forward with his elbows on his knees, to prod with his stick at some unfortunate insect in the grass, and looks cunningly as. her. She turns away impatiently. Crofts.

I'm a good deal older than you, twenty-five years, quarter of a century. I shan't live forever, and I'll take care that you shall be well off when I'm gone. Vivy. I am proof against even that inducement, Sir George. Don't you think you'd better take my answer? There is not the slightest chance of my altering it." Crofts, rising after race, after a final slash at a daisy and coming nearer to her.

Well, no matter. I could tell you some things that would change your mind fast enough, but I won't, because I'd rather win you by honest affection. I was a good friend to your mother. Ask her whether I wasn't. She'd never have made the money that paid for your education if it hadn't been for my advice and help, not to mention the money I advanced her. There are not many men who would have stood by her as I have.

I put not less than forty thousand pounds into it from first to last. Vivie, staring at him, do you mean to say that you were my mother's business partner? Crofts. Yes. Now just think of all the trouble and the explanations it would save if we were to keep the whole thing in the family, so to speak. Ask your mother whether she'd like to have to explain all her affairs to a perfect stranger.

Vivie. I see no difficulty, since I understand that the business is wound up and the money invested. Profs, stopping short, amazed. Wound up? Wind up a business that's paying 35% in the worst years? Not likely. Who told you that? Vivy, her color quite gone.

Do you mean that it is still— She stops abruptly, and puts her hand on the sundial. to support herself. Then she gets quickly to the orange chair and sits down. What business are you talking about? Cross. Well, the fact is it's not what would be considered exactly a high-class business in my set, the country said, you know.

Our said it will be if you think better of my offer. Not that there's any mystery about it. Don't think that? Of course you know, by your mother's being in it, that it's perfectly straight and honest. I've known her for many years, and I can say of her that she cut off her hands sooner than touch anything that was not what it ought to be. I'll tell you all about it, if you like. I don't know whether you've found in traveling how hard it is to find a really comfortable private hotel. Vivie, sickened, diverting her face.

Yes, go on. Cross. Well, that's all it is. your mother has got a genius for managing such things. We've got two in Brussels and one in Ostend, one in Vienna, and two in Budapest. Of course there are others beside ourselves in it, but we hold most of the capital,

and your mother is indispensable as managing director. You've noticed, I dare say, that she travels a good deal. But, you see, you can't mention such things in society. Once let out the word hotel and everybody, thinks you keep a public house. You wouldn't like people to say that of your mother, would you? That's why we're so reserved about it.

By the way, you'll keep it to yourself, won't you? Since it's been a secret so long, it had better remain so. Viffy. And this is the business you invite me to join you in? Crofts. Oh, no, my wife shan't be troubled with business. You'll not be in it more than you've always been. Vivie.

I've always been. What do you mean? Crofts. Only that you've always lived on it. It paid for your education and the dress you have on your back. Don't turn up your nose at business, Miss Vivie. Where would your newhams and gertons be without it? Vivie, rising almost beside herself.

Take care. I know what this business is. Crofts, starting with a suppressed oath. Who told you? Vivy. Your partner, my mother. Crofts, black with rage. The old, Vivy, just so.

He swallows the epitaph and stands for a moment, swearing and raging fouly to himself. But he knows that his cue is to be sympathetic. He takes refuge in generous indignation. Crofts. She ought to have had more consideration for you. I'd never have told you. Vivy.

I think you would probably have told me when we were married. It would have been a convenient weapon to break me in with. Crofts, quite sincerely. I never intended that. On my word as a gentleman, I didn't. Vivie wonders at him. Her sense of the irony of his protest cool. embraces her. She replies with contemptuous self-possession.

Vivy. It does not matter. I suppose you understand that when we leave here today our acquaintance ceases? Cross. Why? Is it for helping your mother? Vivvy. My mother was a very poor woman who had no reasonable chance but to do as she did. You were a rich gentlemen, and you did the same for the sake of thirty-five percent. You're a pretty common sort of scoundrel, I think. That is my opinion of you. Profs, after a stare, not at all displeased, and much more at his ease on these frank terms than on their former ceremonious ones, ha, ha, ha, go it, little missy, go it, it doesn't hurt

me and it amuses you. Why the devil shouldn't I invest my money that way? i take the interest on my capital like other people i hope you don't think i dirty my own hands with the work calm you wouldn't refuse the acquaintance of my mother's cousin the duke of belgravia because some of the rents he gets are earned in queer ways you wouldn't cut the archbishop of canterbury i suppose because the ecclesiastical commissioners have a few publicans and sinners among their tenants do you remember with your crissippers Croshoff's scholarship at Newham? Well, that was founded by my brother, the MP. He gets his 22% out of a factory with 600 girls in it, and not one of them getting wages enough to live on.

How do you suppose they manage when they have no family to fall back on? Ask your mother. And do you expect me to turn my back on 35% when all the rest are pocketing what they can like sensible men? No such fool. If you're going to pick and choose your acquaintances on moral principles, you'd better clear out of this country unless you want to cut yourself out of all decent society. Vivy, conscious-stricken. You might go on to point out that I, myself, never asked where the money I spent came from.

I believe I am just as bad as you. Cross, greatly reassured. Of course you are. and a very good thing, too. What harm does it do, after all, rallying his jocularity? So you don't think me such a scoundrel now if you come to think it over, eh? Vivvy. I have shared prophets with you, and I admitted you just now to the familiarity of knowing what I think of you.

Crofts, with serious friendliness. To be sure you did. You won't find me a bad sort. I don't go in. in for being super-fined intellectually, but I have plenty of honest human feeling, and the old Croft's breed comes out in a sort of instinctive hatred of anything low, in which I am sure you'll sympathize with me. Believe me, Miss Fivvy, the world ain't such a bad place as the croakers make out. As long as you don't fly openly in the face of society, society doesn't ask any

inconvenient questions, and it makes precious short work of the cads who do. There are no secrets better kept than the secrets everybody guesses. In the class of people I can introduce you to, no lady or gentleman would so far forget themselves as to discuss my business affairs or your mothers. No man can offer you a safer position. Vivvy, studying him curiously, I suppose you really think you're getting on famously with me.

Crofts. Well, I hope I may flatter myself, that you think better of me than you did at first. Vivie, quietly. I hardly find you worth thinking about it all now. When I think of the society that tolerates you and the laws that protect you, when I think of how helpless nine out of ten young girls would be in the hands of you and my mother. The unmentionedable woman and her capitalist bully.

Crofts, livid. Damn you! Vivie, you need not. I feel among the damned already. She raises the latch of the gate to open it and go out. He follows her and puts his hand heavily on the top bar to prevent its opening. Crofts, panting with fury. Do you think I'll put up with this from you, you young devil?

Vivie, unmoved. "'Be quiet. Someone will answer the bell.' Without flinching a step she strikes the bell with the back of her hand. It clangs harshly, and he starts back involuntarily. Almost immediately Frank appears at the porch with his rifle. Frank, with cheerful politeness. "'Will you have the rifle, Viv, or shall I operate?' Vivie.

"'Frank, have you been listening?' Frank, coming down into the garden. Only for the bell, I assure you, so that you shouldn't have to wait. I think I showed great insight into your character, Crofts. Crofts. For two pens, I'd take that gun from you and break it across your head. Frank, stalking him cautiously. Pray don't.

I'm ever so careless in handling firearms. Sure to be a fatal accident with a reprimand from the coroner's jury for my negligence. Vivvy. Put the rifle away, Frank. It's quite unnecessary. Frank. Quite right, Viv. Much more sportsmen like to catch him in a trap.

Crofts, understanding the insult, makes a threatening movement. Crofts, there are 15 cartridges in the magazine here, and I'm a dead shot at the present distance and in an object of your size. Crofts, oh, you needn't be afraid. I'm not going to touch you. Frank, ever so magnanimous of you under the circumstances, thank you. Crofts, I'll just tell you this before I go. It may interest you since you're so fond of one another.

Allow me, Mr. Frank, to introduce you to your half-sister, the eldest daughter of the Reverend Samuel Gardner. Miss Vivy, your half-brother. Good morning. He goes out through the gate and along the road. Frank, after a pause of stupefaction, raising the rifle, You'll testify before the coroner that it was an accident, Viv. He takes aim at the retreating figure of cross.

Vivi seizes the muzzle and pulls it round against her breast. Vivy, far now, you may. Frank, dropping his end of the rifle hastily, "'Stop, take care.' "'She lets go. It falls on the turf. "'Oh, you've given your little boy such a turn. "'Suppose it had gone off. "'Oh!'

"'He sinks on the garden seat overcome. "'Vivvy. "'Suppose it had. "'Do you think it would not have been a relief "'to have some sharp physical pain tearing through me?' "'Frank coaxingly. "'Take it ever so easy, dear Viv. "'Remember, even if the rifle scared that fellow into telling the truth for the first time in his life, that only makes us the babes in the wood in earnest.'

He holds out his arms to her. "'Come and be covered up with leaves again.' Vivie, with a cry of disgust. "'Ah, not that, not that. You make all my flesh creep.' Frank. "'Why? What's the matter?'

Vivie. "'Good-bye.' She makes for the gate. Frank jumping up. Hello, stop Viv, Viv! She turns to the gateway. Where are you going? Where shall we find you?

Vivie. At Honoria Fraser's Chambers, 67 Chancery Lane for the rest of my life. She goes off quickly in the opposite direction to that taken by Crofts. Frank. But I say, wait, dash it! He runs after her. End of Act 3 Act 4 of Mrs. Warren's profession by George Bernard Shaw.

This Libre Vox recording is in the public domain. Act 4 Honoria Fraser's Chambers in Chancery Lane An office at the top of new stone buildings with a plate-glass window, distempered walls, electric light, and a patent stove. Saturday afternoon The chimneys of London's Inn and the western sky beyond are seen through the window.

There is a double writing table in the middle of the room with a cigar box, ash pans, and a portable electric reading lamp, almost snowed up in heaps of paper and books. This table has knee-holes and chairs right and left and is very untidy. The clerk's desk, closed and tidy, with some room. its high stool is against the wall near a door communicating with the inner rooms. In the opposite wall is the door leading to the public corridor. Its upper panel is of opaque glass, lettered in black on the outside, Fraser and Warren. A beige screen hides the corner between this door and the window.

Frank, in a fashionably light-colored coaching suit with his stick, gloves, and white hat in his hands, is pacing up and down in the office. Somebody tries the door with a key. Frank, calling. Come in, it's not locked. Vivie comes in in her hat and jacket. She stops and stares at him. Vivie, sternly.

What are you doing here? Frank, waiting to see you. I've been here for hours. Is this the way you attend to your business? He puts his hat and stick on the table. and purchase himself with a vault on the clerk's stool, looking at her with every appearance of being in a specially restless, teasing, flippant mood. Vivie, I've been away exactly twenty minutes for a cup of tea.

She shakes off her hat and jacket and hangs them behind the screen. How did you get in? Frank. The staff had not left when I arrived. He's gone to play cricket on Primrose Hill. Why don't you employ a woman and give your second? a chance. Vivie. What did you come for? Frank, springing off the stool and coming close to her. Viv, let's go and enjoy the Saturday half-holiday somewhere like the staff. What do you say to

Richmond, and then a music hall and a jolly supper? Vivvy. Can't afford it. I shall put in another six hours work before I go to bed. Frank. Can't afford it, can we? Ha-ha. Look here! He takes out a handful of sovereigns and makes them chink. Gold, Viv, gold! Vib! Where did you get it? Frank. Gambling, Viv! Gambling! Poker!

Vivi. Pah! It's meaner than stealing it. No, I'm not coming. She sits down to work at the table with her back to the glass door and begins turning over the papers. Frank, remonstrating piteously, "'But, my dear Viv, I want to talk to you ever so seriously.' Vivy. Very well. Sit down in Honorius' chair and talk here.

I like ten minutes chat after tea. He murmurs. "'No use groaning. I'm inexorable.' He takes the opposite seat disconsolately. "'Pass that cigar box, will you?' Frank, pushing the cigar box across. "'Nasty womanly habit.

Nice men don't do it any longer.' Vivie. Yes, they object to the smell in the office, and we've had to take to cigarettes. See? She opens the box and takes out a cigarette which she lights. She offers him one, but he shakes his head with a wry face. She settles herself comfortably in her chair smoking. Go ahead.

Frank. Well, I want to know what you've done. What arrangements you've made. Vivie. Everything was settled twenty minutes after I... arrived here. Honoria has found the business too much for her this year, and she was on the point of sending for me in proposing a partnership when I walked in and told her I hadn't a farthing in the world. So I install myself and packed her off for a fortnight's holiday. What happened at

Heslemere when I left? Frank. Nothing at all. I said you'd gone to town on particular business. Vivy. Well? Frank. Well, either they were. were too flabbergasted to say anything, or else Crofts had prepared your mother. Anyhow, she didn't say anything, and Crofts didn't say anything, and Prattie only stared. After tea they got up and went, and I've not seen them since. Vivy, nodding placidly with one eye on a wreath of smoke, that's all right. Frank, looking round disparagingly, do you intend to stick to this confounded place? Vivie, blowing the wreath decisively away and sitting straight up.

Yes? These two days have given me back all my strength and self-possession. I will never take a holiday again as long as I live. Frank, with a very wry face. Huh, you look quite happy, as hard as nails. Vivy, grimly, well for me that I am. Frank rising. Look here, Viv.

We must have an explanation. We parted the other day under a complete misunderstanding. He sits on the table close to her. Vivy, putting away the cigarette. Well, clear it up. Frank, you remember what Croft said? Vivy, yes. Frank.

That revelation was supposed to bring about a complete change to the nature of our feelings for one another. It places us on the footing of brother and sister. Vivie, yes. Frank. Have you ever had a brother? Vivie. No.

Frank. Then you don't know what being a brother and sister feels like? Now, I have lots of sisters, and the fraternal feeling is quite familiar to me. I assure you that my feeling for you is not the least in the world like it. The girls will go their way, and I go mine, and we shan't care if we never see one another again. That's brother and sister. But as to you, I can't be easy if I have to pass a week without seeing you. That's not brother and sister.

It's exactly what I felt an hour before Crofts made his revelation. In short, dear Viv, it's love's young dream. Vivy, bitingly. The same feeling, Frank, that brought your father to my mother's feet, is that it? Frank, so revolted that he slips off the table. for a moment. I very strongly object, Viv, to have my feelings compared to any which the Reverend Samuel is capable of harboring, and I object still more to a comparison of you to your mother.

Resuming his perch. Besides, I don't believe the story. I have taxed my father with it and obtained from him what I consider tantamount to a denial. Vivie. What did he say? Frank. He said he was sure there must. must be some mistake.

Vivy. Do you believe him? Frank. I am prepared to take his word against Crofts. Vivy. Does it make any difference? I mean, in your imagination or conscience? For of course it makes no real difference.

Frank shaking his head. None whatever to me. Vivi. Nor to me. Frank staring. But this is ever so surprising. He goes back to his chair. I thought our whole relations were altered in your imagination and conscience, as you put it,

the moment those words were out of that brute's muzzle. Vivy. No, it was not that. I didn't believe him. I only wish I could. Frank. A? Vivy.

I think brother and sister would be a very suitable relation for us. Frank. You really mean that? Vivvy. "'Yes, it's the only relation I care for, even if we could afford any other. I mean that.' Frank, raising his eyebrows like one on whom a new light has dawned, and rising with quite an effusion of chivalrous sentiment.

"'My dear Viv, why didn't you say so before? I am ever so sorry for persecuting you. I understand, of course.' Vivvy, puzzled. "'Understand what?' "'Frank. "'Oh, I'm not a fool in the ordinary sense. "'Only in this scriptural sense of doing all the things

"'the wise man declared to be folly, "'after trying them himself on the most extensive scale. "'I see, I am no longer Vivim's little boy. "'Don't be alarmed. "'I shall never call you Vivim's again, "'at least unless you get tired of your new little boy, "'whever he may be.' "'Vivvy.'

"'My, my new. new little boy, Frank, with convention. Must be a new little boy. Always happens that way. No other way, in fact. Vivy, none that you know of, fortunately for you. Someone knocks at the door. Frank. My curse upon yon caller, whoeverere he be. Vivy, it's prayed. He's going to Italy and wants to say goodbye. I asked him to call this afternoon, go and let him in. Frank, we can continue our conversation after his departure for Italy. I'll stay him out. He goes to the door and opens it. How are you, Prady, delighted to see you. Come in!

Praid, dressed for traveling, comes in in high spirits. Prayed. How do you do, Miss Warren? She presses his hand, cordially, though a certain sentimentality in his high spirits jars upon her. I start in an hour for Holburn, Viadon. I wish I could persuade you to try Italy. Vivy. What for? Prayed. Why, to saturate yourself with beauty and romance, of course.

Vivy, with a shudder, turns her chair to the table, as if the work waiting for her there were a support to her. Prade sits opposite to her. Frank places a chair near Vivy and drops lazily and carelessly into it, talking at her over his shoulder. Frank. No, you've got it. Prady. Viv is a little Philistine. She is indifferent to my romance and insensible to my beauty.

Vivie. Mr. Prade, once for all, there is no beauty and no romance in life for me. Life is what it is, and I am prepared to take it as it is. Prade enthusiastically. You will not say that if you come with me to Verona and on to Venice. You will cry with delighted living in such a beautiful. beautiful world. Frank, that is most eloquent, pretty. Keep it up. Prayed. Oh, I assure you, I have cried. I shall cry again, I hope, at fifty. At your age, Miss Warren, you would not need to go so far as Verona. Your spirits would absolutely fly up at the mere sight of Ostend. You would be charmed with the gaiety,

the vivacity, the happy air of Brussels. Vivvy, springing up, with an exclamation of loathing ah prayed rising what's the matter frank rising hello vivv vivie to prayed with deep reproach can you find no better example of your beauty and romance than brussels to talk to me about prayed puzzles of course it's very different from verona i don't suggest for a moment that Vivy, bitterly. Probably the beauty and romance come to much the same in both places. Prade, completely sobered and much concerned. My dear Miss Warren, I, looking inquiringly at Frank,

Is anything the matter? Frank. She thinks your enthusiasm frivolous, Prady. She's had ever such a serious call. Vivvy sharply. Hold your tongue, Frank. Don't be silly. Frank, sitting down.

do you call this good manners prayed prayed anxious and considerate shall i take him away miss warren i feel sure we have disturbed you at your work vivie sit down i'm not ready to go back to work yet Prate sits. You both think I have an attack of nerves. Not a bit of it. There are two subjects I went dropped, if you don't mind. One of them, to Frank, is Love's young dream in any shape or form. The other, to Prade, is the romance and beauty of life, especially Austin and the gaiety of Brussels.

You are welcome to any illusions you may have left on these subjects. I have none. If we three are to remain friends, I must be treated as a woman of business, permanently single, to Frank, and permanently unromantic to pray. Frank, I also shall remain permanently single until you change your mind. Prady, change the subject, be eloquent about something else. Prayed, differently. I'm afraid there's nothing else in the world that I can talk about. The gospel of art is the only one I can preach.

I know Miss Warren is a great devotee of the gospel of Getting On, but we can't discuss that without hurting your feelings, Frank, since you are determined not to get on. Frank, Oh, don't mind my feelings. Give me some improving advice by all means. It does be ever so much good. Have another try to make a successful man of me, Viv.

Come, let's have it all. Energy, thrift, foresight, self-respect, character. Don't you hate people who have me, Viv, Viv, Vib. no character Viv. Vivy, wincing, Oh, stop, stop, let us have no more of that horrible can't. Mr. Prade, if there are really only those two gospels in the world, we had better all kill ourselves, for the same taint is in both through and through. Frank, looking critically at her,

There is a touch of poetry about you today, Viv, which has hitherto been liking. "'Prayed, remonstrating. "'My dear Frank, aren't you a little unsympathetic?' "'Vivie, merciless to herself. "'No, it's good for me. "'It keeps me from being sentimental.' "'Frank, bantering her. "'Checks your strong, natural propensity that way, don't it?'

"'Vivvy, almost hysterically. "'Oh, yes, go on, don't spare me. "'I was sentimental for one moment in my life. beautifully sentimental by moonlight, and now, Frank, quickly. I say, Viv, take care. Don't give yourself away. Vivie. Oh, do you think Mr. Prade doesn't know all about my mother? Turning on, Prade.

You had better have told me that morning, Mr. Prade. You are very old-fashioned in your delicacies, after all. Prade. Surely it is you who are a little old-fashioned in your prejudices, Miss Warren. I feel bound to tell you, speaking as an artist, and believing that the most intimate human relationships are far beyond and above the scope of the law, that though I know that your mother is an unmarried woman, I do not respect her the less on that account. I respect her more.

Frank, airily. Here, here. Vivy, staring at him. Is that all you know? Prayed. Certainly that is all. Vivy. Then neither of you know anything.

Your guesses are innocence itself compared with the truth. Prade, rising, startled and indignant, and preserving his politeness with an effort. I hope not, more emphatically. I hope not, Miss Warren. Frank whistles. Hugh! Vivy. You are not making it easy for me to tell you, Mr. Prade.

Prade. His chivalry drooping before their conviction. "'If there is anything worse, that is anything else, "'are you sure you are right to tell us, Miss Warren?' "'Vivvy. "'I am sure that if I had the courage I should spend the rest of my life "'in telling everybody, stamping and branding it into them "'until they all felt their part in its abomination as I feel mine.

"'There is nothing I despise more than the wicked convention "'that protect these things by forbidding a woman to mention them.' and yet i can't tell you the two infamous words that describe what my mother is are ringing in my ears and struggling on my tongue but i can't utter them the shame of them is too horrible for me she buries her face in her hands the two men astonished stare at one another and then at her she raises her head again desperately and snatches a sheet of paper and a pin here Let me draft you a prospectus. Frank. Oh, she's mad. Do you hear, Viv?

Mad. Come, pull yourself together. Vivie. You shall see, she writes. Paid up capital, not less than 40,000 pounds, standing in the name of Sir George Cross, Baronet, the chief shareholder, premises at Brussels, Austin, Vienna, and Budapest, Managing Director, Mrs. Warren. and now don't let us forget her qualifications the two words she writes the words and pushes the paper to them there oh no don't read it don't she snatches it back and tears it to pieces then seizes her head in her hands and hides her face on the table

frank who has watched the writing over her shoulder and opened his eyes very widely at it takes a card from his pocket scribbles the two words on it and silently hands it to praet who reads it with amazement and hides it hastily in his pocket frank whispering tenderly Viv, dear, that's all right. I read what you wrote, so did Prady. We understand, and we remain, as this leaves us at present, yours ever so devotedly. Prayed, we do indeed, Miss Warren. I declare you are the most splendidly courageous woman I ever met. This sentimental compliment braces Vivy. She throws it away from her with an impatient shake,

and forces herself to stand up, though not without some support. from the table. Frank, Don't starve, if you don't want to. Take it easy. Vivie, thank you. You can always depend on me for two things,

not to cry and not to faint. She moves a few steps toward the door of the inner room and steps close to prayed to say, I shall need much more courage than that when I tell my mother that we have come to a parting of the ways. Now I must go into the next room for a moment, to make myself neat again, if you don't mind. Prayed.

Shall we go away? Vivy. No, I'll be back presently. Only for a moment. She goes into the other room, prayed opening the door for her. Prayed. What an amazing revelation! I'm extremely disappointed in Crofts.

I am indeed. Frank. I'm not in the least. I feel he's perfect. accounted for at last. But what a facer for me! Prady, I can't marry her now! Prayed sternly.

Frank. The two look at one another, Frank unruffled, prayed deeply indignant. Let me tell you, Gardiner, that if you desert her now you'll behave very despicably. Frank. Good old Prady, ever chivalrous. But you mistake.

It's not the moral aspect of the case. It's the money-assive. I really can't bring myself to touch the old woman's money now." Prayed. "'And was that what you were going to marry on?' "'Frank. What else? I haven't any money, nor the slightest turn for making it.

If I married Viv now she would have to support me, and I should cost her more than I am worth,' prayed. But surely a clever bright fellow like you can make something by your own brains.' Frank. Oh, yes, a little. He takes out his money again. I made all that yesterday in an hour and a half, but I made it in a highly speculative business. No, dear Prady, even if Bessie and Georgiana marry millionaires, and the governor dies after cutting them off with a shilling, I shall have only four hundred a year. And he won't die until he's three score and ten. He has an originality enough. I shall be on short allowance for. for the next twenty years. No short allowance for Viv, if I can help it. I withdraw gracefully and leave the field to the gilded youth of England. So, that's settled.

I shan't worry about her. I'll just send her a little note after we're gone. She'll understand. Prayed, grasping his hand. Good fellow, Frank. I heartily beg your pardon, but must you never see her again? Frank, never see her again. Hang it all be reasonable.

I shall come along as often as possible and be her brother. I cannot understand the absurd consequences you romantic people expect from the most ordinary transactions. A knock at the door. I wonder who this is. Would you mind opening the door? If it's a client, it will look more respectable, and if I appeared. Prayed. Certainly.

He goes to the door and opens it. Frank sits down in Vivie's chair to scribble. a note. My dear Kitty, come in, come in. Mrs. Warren comes in, looking apprehensively around for Vivie. She has done her best to make herself matronly and dignified. The brilliant hat is replaced by a sober bonnet, and the gay blouse covered by a costly black silk mantle. She is pitiably anxious and ill at ease, evidently panic-stricken.

Mrs. Warren to Frank, "'What? You're here are you?' Frank, turning in his chair from his writing and not rising. "'Here and charm to see you. You come like a breath of spring.' "'Mrs. Warren. Oh, get out with your nonsense.' In a low voice, where's Vivie? Frank points expressively to the door of the inner room but says nothing. Mrs. Warren, sitting down suddenly and almost beginning to cry, "'Praidy, won't she see me, don't you think?'

"'Prayed. "'My dear kitty, don't distress yourself. Why should she not?' "'Mrs. Warren.' "'Oh, you can never see why not. You're too innocent. "'Mr. Frank, did she say something to you?' "'Frank, folding his note, "'She must see you, if, very expressively, you wait till she comes in.' "'Mrs. Warren, frightened.

"'Why shouldn't I wait?' frank looks quizzically at her puts his note carefully on the ink bottle so that vivie cannot fail to find it when next she dips her pen then rises and devotes his attention entirely to her frank my dear mrs warren suppose you were a sparrow ever so tiny and pretty a sparrow hopping in the roadway and you saw a steam-roller coming in your direction would you wait for it Mrs. Warren. Oh, don't bother me with your sparrows. What did she want away from Hasselmere like that for? Frank. I'm afraid she'll tell you if you rashly await her return.

Mrs. Warren, do you want me to go away? Frank. No, I always want you to stay. But I advise you to go away. Mrs. Warren, what, and never see her again? Frank. Precisely. mrs warren crying again prattie don't let him be cruel to me she hastily checks her tears and wipes her eyes she'll be so angry if she sees i've been crying frank with a touch of real compassion in his airy tenderness

You know that Prattie is the soul of kindness, Mrs. Warren. Prattie, what do you say? Go or stay? Prayed to Mrs. Warren. I really should be very sorry to cause you unnecessary pain, but I think perhaps you had better not wait. The fact is, Vivie is heard at the inner door. Frank, shh, too late, she's coming. Mrs. Warren, don't tell her I was crying.

Vivie comes in. She stops gravely on seeing Mrs. Warren, who greets her with hysterical cheerfulness. "'Well, dearie, so here you are at last.' "'Vivvy. I am glad you have come. I want to speak to you.' "'You said you were going, Frank, I think?' "'Frank. "'Yes. Will you come with me, Mrs. Warren?

"'What do you say to a trip to Richmond and the theatre in the evening? "'There is safety in Richmond. "'No steam-roller there.' Vivie. Nonsense, Frank, my mother will stay here. Mrs. Warren, scared. I don't know. Perhaps I'd better go.

We're disturbing you at your work. Vivie, with quiet decision. Mr. Prade, please take Frank away. Sit down, mother. Mrs. Warren obeys helplessly. Prayed. Come, Frank. Goodbye, Miss Vivie.

Vivie, shaking hands. Goodbye. A pleasant trip. Prayed. Thank you, thank you, I hope so. Frank to Mrs. Warren. Goodbye. You'd ever so much better have taken my advice.

He shakes hands with her. Then airily to Viv. Bye-bye, Viv. Vivy. Goodbye. He goes out gaily without shaking hands with her. Prayed sadly. Goodbye, Kitty.

Mrs. Warren, sniveling. Oh, bye. "'Prayed goes, Vivy, composed, and extremely grave, "'sits down in Honorius chair, and waits for her mother to speak. "'Mrs. Warren, dreading a pause, loses no time in beginning. "'Mrs. Warren, "'Well, Vivie, what did you go away like that for without saying a word to me? "'How could you do such a thing?

"'And what have you done to poor George? "'I wanted him to come with me, but he shuffled out of it. "'I could see that he was called. quite afraid of you. Only fancy. He wanted me not to come. As if, trembling, I should be afraid of you, dearie. Vivie's gravity deepens.

But of course I told him it was all settled and comfortable between us, and that we were on the best of terms. She breaks down. Vivie, what's the meaning of this? She produces a commercial envelope and fumbles at the enclosure with trembling fingers. I got it from the bank this morning. Vivy. It is my month's allowance.

They sent it to me as usual the other day. I simply sent it back to be placed in your credit and ask them to send you the lodgment receipt. In future I shall support myself. Mrs. Warren, not daring to understand. Wasn't it enough? Why didn't you tell me? With a cunning gleam in her eye, I'll double it.

I was intending to double it. Only let me know how much you want. Vivie. you know very well that has nothing to do with it from this time i go my own way in my own business and among my own friends and you will go yours she rises good-bye mrs warren rising appalled good-bye vivie yes good-bye come don't let us make a useless scene you understand perfectly well sir george crofts has told me the whole business Mrs. Warren angrily. Silly old. She swallows an epitheth,

then turns white at the narrowness of her escape from uttering it. Vivy. Just so. Mrs. Warren. He ought to have his tongue cut out. But I thought it was ended. You said you didn't mind. Vivie steadfastly.

Excuse me, I do mind. Mrs. Warren. But I explained, Vivie. "'You explained how it came about. "'You did not tell me that it was still going on,' she sits. "'Mrs. Warren, silenced for a moment, looks forlornly at Vivy, who waits, "'seekly hoping that the combat is over. "'But the cunning expression comes back into Mrs. Warren's face,

"'and she bends across the table, sly and urgent, half-whispering. "'Mrs. Warren, Vivie, do you know how to—' rich I am. Vivy, I have no doubt you are very rich, Mrs. Warren. But you don't know all that that means you're too young. It means a new dress every day. It means theaters and balls every night. It means having the pick of all the gentlemen in Europe at your feet.

It means a lovely house and plenty of servants. It means the choicest of eating and drinking. It means everything you like, everything you want, everything you can think of. And what are you here? A mere drudge, toiling and marling early and late for your bare living and two cheap dresses a year. Think it over. Soothingly. You're shocked, I know.

I can enter into your feelings, and I think they do you credit. But trust me, nobody will blame you. You may take my word for that. I know what young girls are, and I'm. I know you'll think better of it when you've turned it over in your mind. Vivie, so that's how it's done, is it? You must have said all that to many a woman, to have it so pet. Mrs. Warren, passionately.

What harm am I asking you to do? Vivie turns away contemptuously. Mrs. Warren continues desperately. Vivie, listen to me. You don't understand. You were taught wrong on purpose. You don't know what the word is. is really like. Vivie arrested.

Taught wrong on purpose? What do you mean? Mrs. Warren, I mean that you're throwing away all your chances for nothing. You think that people are what they pretend to be. That the way you were taught at school and college to think right and proper is the way things really are. But it's not. It's all only a pretense. To keep the cowardly slavish common run of people, quiet. Do you want to find that out like other women at 40 when you've thrown yourself away and lost your chances? Or won't you take it in good time now from your own mother that loves you and swears to you that it's truth? Gospel truth? Urgently. Vivie, the big people, the clever people,

the managing people all know it. They do as I do and think what I think. I know plenty of them. I know how to speak to, to introduce you to, to make friends of for you. I don't mean anything wrong, that's what you don't understand. Your head is full of ignorant ideas about me. What do the people that taught you know about life or about people like me? When do they ever meet me or speak to me or let anyone tell them about me? The fools. Would they have done anything for you if I hadn't paid them? Haven't I told you that I want you to be respectable? Haven't I brought you up to be respectable? And how can you keep it up without my money and my influence and Lizzie's friends? Can't you see that you're cutting your own throat as well as breaking my heart and turning your

back on me? Vivie. I recognize the cross philosophy of life mother. I heard it all from him that day at the gardeners. Mrs. Warren, You think I want to force that played-out old sot on you? I don't, Vivy, on my oath I don't. Vivy, it would not matter if you did, you would not succeed. Mrs. Warren winces, deeply hurt by the implied indifference towards her affectionate intention. Vivy, neither understanding this or concerning herself about it, goes on calmly.

Mother, you don't at all know the sort of person I am. I don't object to Crofts more than to any other coarsely built man of his class. To tell you the truth, I rather admire him for being strong-minded enough to enjoy himself in his own way, and make plenty of money instead of living the usual shooting, hunting, dining out, tailoring, loafing life of his set, merely because all the rest do it. And I'm perfectly aware that if I'd been in the same circumstance, as my aunt Liz, I'd have done exactly what she did. I don't think I'm more prejudiced or straight-laced than you.

I think I'm less. I'm certain I'm less sentimental. I know very well that fashionable morality is all a pretense, and that if I took your money and devoted the rest of my life to spending it fashionably, I might be as worthless and vicious as the silliest woman could possibly be without having a word said to me about it. But I don't want to be worthless. I shouldn't enjoy trotting about the park to advertise my dressmaker and carriage-builder,

or being bored at the opera, to show off a shop window full of diamonds. Mrs. Warren, bewildered. But— Vivie, wait a moment I've not done. Tell me why you continue your business now that you are independent of it. Your sister, you told me, has left all that behind her. why don't you do the same? Mrs. Warren.

Oh, it's all very easy for Liz. She likes good society, and has the air of being a lady. Imagine me in a cathedral town. Why, the very rooks in the streets would find me out, even if I could stand the dullness of it. I must have work and excitement, or I should go melancholy mad. And what else is there for me to do?

The life suits me. I'm fit for it and not for anything else. If I didn't do it, somebody else would, so I don't do any real harm by it. And then it brings in money, and I like making money. No, it's no use. I can't give it up, not for anybody. But what need you know about it? I'll never mention it.

I'll keep Crofts away. I'll not trouble you much. You see, I have to be constantly running about from one place to another. You'll be quit of me altogether when I die. vivie no i am my mother's daughter i am like you i must have work and must make more money than i spend but my work is not your work and my way is not your way we must part it will not make much difference to us instead of meeting one another for perhaps a few months and twenty years we shall never meet that's all mrs warren her voice stifled in tears Vivie, I meant to have been with you. I did indeed. Vivie, it's no use, mother. I am not to be changed by a few cheap tears and entreaties any more than you are, I dare say.

Mrs. Warren wildly. Oh, you call a mother's tears cheap? Vivie. They cost you nothing, and you ask me to give you the peace and quietness of my whole life in exchange for them. What use would my company be to you if you could get it? What have we two in common that could make either of us happy together? Mrs. Warren, lapsing recklessly into her dialect, "'We're mother and daughter. I want my daughter. I've a right to you. Who is to care for me when I'm old?

Plenty of girls have taken to me like daughters and cried at leaving me, but I let them all go because I had you to look forward to. I kept myself lonely for you. "'You've no right to turn on me now and refuse to do your duty as a daughter?' Vivie, jarred and antagonized by the echo of the slums in her mother's voice. "'My duty as a daughter. I thought we should come to that presently. Now once for all mother you want a daughter, and Frank wants a wife. I don't want a mother, and I don't want a husband.

I have spared neither Frank nor myself in sending him about his business. Do you think I will spare you? Mrs. Warren, violently. Oh, I know the sort you are. No mercy for yourself or anyone else. I know. My experience has done that for me anyhow. I can tell the pious, can'ting, hard, selfish woman when I meet her.

Well, keep yourself to yourself. I don't want you. But listen to this. Do you know what I would do with you if you were a baby again? "'I is sure is there's a heaven above us?' "'Vivvy. "'Stangled me, perhaps?' "'Mrs. Warren.

"'No. "'I'd bring you up to be a real daughter to me, "'and not what you are now. "'With your pride and your prejudices "'and the college education you stole from me. "'Yes, stole. "'Denied if you can. "'What was it but stealing?

"'I'd bring you up in my own house, I would.' "'Vivvy, quietly, in one of your own houses.' Mrs. Warren's screaming, "'Listen to her! Listen to how she spits on her mother's gray hair! Oh, may you live to have your own daughter tear and trample on you as you have trampled on me? And you will. You will! No woman never had luck with a mother's curse on her!' Vivie.

I wish you wouldn't rant, mother. It only hardens me. Come. I suppose I am the only young woman you ever had in your power that you did good, too. Don't spoil it all now. "'Mrs. Warren. "'Yes. Heaven forgive me, it's true. "'And you are the only one that ever turned on me. "'Oh, the injustice of it, the injustice, the injustice!

"'I always wanted to be a good woman. "'I tried an honest work, and I was slave-driven "'in till I cursed the day I ever heard of honest work. "'I was a good mother, "'and because I made my daughter a good woman, "'she turns me out as if I were a leper. oh if i only had my life to live over again i'd talk to that lying clergyman in the school from this time forth so help me having in my last hour i'll do wrong and nothing but wrong and i'll prosper on it vivie yes it's better to choose your line and go through with it if i had been you mother i might have done as you did but i should not have lived one life and believed in another

"'You are a conventional woman at heart. "'That is why I am bidding you goodbye now. "'I am right, am I not?' "'Mrs. Warren, taken aback. "'Right to throw away all my money?' "'Vivie. "'No, right to get rid of you? "'I should be a fool not, too. Isn't that so?'

"'Mrs. Warren, sulkily. "'Oh, well, yes, if you come to that, I suppose you are. "'But Lord helped the world of every took to doing the right thing and now I'd better go than stay where I'm not wanted." She turns to the door. Vivie kindly, won't you shake hands? Mrs. Warren, after looking at her fiercely for a moment with a savage impulse to strike her, no, thank you.

Goodbye. Vivie, matter of factly. Goodbye. Mrs. Warren goes out slamming the door behind her. The strain on Vivie's face relaxed. her grave expression breaks into one of joyous content. Her breath goes out in a half sob, half laugh of intense relief. She goes buoyantly to her place at the writing table,

pushes the electric lamp out of the way, pulls over a great sheaf of papers, and is in the act of dipping her pen in the ink when she finds Frank's note. She opens it unconcernedly and reads it quickly, giving a little laugh at some quaint turn of expression in it, and goodbye frank she tears the note up and tosses the pieces into the waste-paper basket without a second thought then she goes at her work with a plunge and soon becomes absorbed in its figures end of act four end of mrs warren's profession by george bernard shaw