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Page 57
_Nokes [to Susan]._ What is this lunatic raving about?
_Susan._ She remarks that I haven't finished my work on the second
floor.
_Nokes [impatiently]._ Tell her to go to--the ground floor. Tell her you
are going to be married to me within the week, and order a
wedding-breakfast--for two--immediately.
_Susan [aside]._ I can never tell her that, for she is a Frenchwoman,
and wouldn't believe it. I'll tell her something more melodramatic.
I'll say that Mr. Nokes is my father, who has suddenly recognized and
discovered his long-lost child.--_Madame, c'est mon p�re longtemps
absent, qui vous en prie d'accepter ses remerciments pour votre bont� �
son enfant._
_Mistress of the hotel [all smiles, and with both hands outstretched]._
Milor, I do congratulate you. Fortunate Susan! You will nevare forget to
recommend de hotel?
_Nokes._ Thank you, thank you; you're a sensible old woman. [_Aside_]
She evidently sees no absurd disproportion in our years.--Breakfast,
breakfast!--_d�je�ner � la_ what-do-you-call-it! _champagne!_
[_Exit landlady, smiling and bowing_.]
_Nokes._ In the mean time, Susan, put on your bonnet and let's go out
to--whatever they call Doctors' Commons here--and order a special
license. [_Susan goes._] Stop a bit, Susan; you forget something.
[_Kisses her._] [_Aside_] I did not like to dwell upon the idea before,
but she's got a most uncommon pretty mouth.
SCENE II.--_Drawing-room at the Tamarisks. Garden and Sea in the
distance. Grand piano, harp, sketch-book; and huge portfolio._
_Nokes [less gayly attired: solus]._ Gad, I feel rather nervous. There's
Sponge, and Rasper, and Robinson, all coming down by the mid-day train
to lunch with me and my new wife,--the Montmorenci, as they imagine.
It's impossible that Susan can keep up such a delusion, and especially
as she insists on talking English. She says her _French_ is so vulgar.
But there! I don't care how she talks or what she talks, bless her.
Everything sounds well from those charming lips. She's a kind-hearted,
good girl, and worth eight hundred dozen (as I should say if I hadn't
left the wine-trade) of the other one. There was something wrong about
that Montmorenci vintage, for all her sparkle; corked or something. Now,
my Susan's _all_ good,--good the second day, good the third day, good
every day. She's like port--all the better for keeping; and she's not
like port--because there's no crustiness about her. She's a deuced
clever woman. To hear her talk broken English when the squire's wife
called here the other day was as good as a play. Everybody hereabouts
believes she's a Frenchwoman; but then they're all country-people, and
they'll believe anything. Sponge and Rasper and Robinson are all London
born,--especially Rasper,--and London people believe nothing. They
only give credit.
_Enter SUSAN, in an in-door morning dress, but gloved._
_Nokes._ Well, my darling, have you screwed your courage up to meet
these three gentlemen? Upon my life, I think it would be better if I
told them at once that I had been jilted, and instead of the Montmorenci
had found The Substitute infinitely preferable to the original; for I'm
sure I _have_, Susan [_fondly_].
_Susan [holding up her finger]._ Constance, if you please, my dear. I'm
continually correcting that little mistake of yours. How can I possibly
keep up my dignity as a Montmorenci while you are always calling me
Susan?
_Nokes._ Then why keep it up at all, my dear? Why not stand at once upon
your merits, which I am sure are quite sufficient? Of course it would be
a little come-down for _me_ just at first; but that's no matter.
_Susan._ My good, kind husband! [_Kisses his forehead._] No, dear; let
me first show your friends that you have no cause to be ashamed of me.
It will be much easier to do that if they think I am a born lady.
Appearances do such a deal in the world.
_Nokes._ Yes, my dear, I've noticed that in the wine-trade. If you were
to sell cider at eighty shillings a dozen, it would be considered
uncommon good tipple by the customer who bought it. Tell them Madeira
has been twice to China--twice to China [_chuckles to himself_]--and how
they smack their lips! That reminds me, by the bye [_seriously_], of
another set of appearances, Susan, which we have to guard against,--the
pretence and show of poverty. You must learn to steel your heart against
_that_, my dear. There's that nephew of mine been writing one of his
persistent and appealing letters again. He adjures me to have pity, if
not upon him, at all events upon his innocent Clara. But she ought not
to have been his innocent Clara, and so I've told him. She ought not to
have been his Clara at all. Now, do you remember your solemn promise to
me about that young man?
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