“You know the ‘Ne Plus Ultra’ Play–Producing Society, Miss Ferrar? It exists to produce advanced plays, I believe.”
“Plays—I don’t know about ‘advanced.’”
“Russian plays, and the Restoration dramatists?”
“Yes.”
“And you have played in them?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you remember a play called ‘The Plain Dealer,’ by Wycherley, given at a matinee on January 7th last—did you play in that the part of Olivia?”
“Yes.”
“A nice part?”
“A very good part?”
“I said ‘nice.’”
“I don’t like the word.”
“Too suggestive of ‘prunes and prisms,’ Miss Ferrar? Is it the part of a modest woman?”
“No.”
“Is it, toward the end, extremely immodest? I allude to the dark scene.”
“I don’t know about extremely.”
“Anyway, you felt no hesitation about undertaking and playing the part—a little thing like that doesn’t worry you?”
“I don’t know why it should. If it did, I shouldn’t act.”
“You don’t act for money?”
“No; for pleasure.”
“Then, of course, you can refuse any part you like?”
“If I did, I shouldn’t have any offered me.”
“Don’t quibble, please. You took the part of Olivia not for money but for pleasure. You enjoyed playing it?”
“Pretty well.”
“I’m afraid I shall have to ask the jury, my lord, to run their eyes over the dark scene in ‘The Plain Dealer.’”
“Are you saying, Sir James, that a woman who plays an immoral part is not moral—that would asperse a great many excellent reputations.”
“No, my lord; I’m saying that here is a young lady so jealous of her good name in the eyes of the world, that she brings a libel action because some one has said in a private letter that she ‘hasn’t a moral about her.’ And at the same time she is reading and approving books like this ‘Canthar,’ playing parts like that of Olivia in ‘The Plain Dealer,’ and, as I submit, living in a section of Society that really doesn’t know the meaning of the word morals, that looks upon morals, in fact, rather as we look upon measles. It’s my contention, my lord, that the saying in my client’s letter: ‘She hasn’t a moral about her,’ is rather a compliment to the plaintiff than otherwise.”
“Do you mean that it was intended as a compliment?”
“No, no, my lord.”
“Well, you want the jury to read that scene. You will have a busy luncheon interval, gentlemen. Go on, Sir James.”
“Now, Miss Ferrar—my friend made a point of the fact that you are engaged to a wealthy and highly respected Member of Parliament. How long have you been engaged to him?”
“Six months.”
“You have no secrets from him, I suppose?”
“Why should I answer that?”
“Why should she, Sir James?”
“I am quite content to leave it at her reluctance, my lord.”
Sneering brute! As if everybody hadn’t secrets from everybody!
“Your engagement was not made public till January, was it?”
“No.”
“May I take it that you were not sure of your own mind till then?”
“If you like.”
“Now, Miss Ferrar, did you bring this action because of your good name? Wasn’t it because you were hard up?”
She was conscious again of blood in her cheeks.
“No.”
“WERE you hard up when you brought it?”
“Yes.”
“Very?”
“Not worse than I have been before.”
“I put it to you that you owed a great deal of money, and were hard pressed.”
“If you like.”
“I’m glad you’ve admitted that, Miss Ferrar; otherwise I should have had to prove it. And you didn’t bring this action with a view to paying some of your debts?”
“No.”
“Did you in early January become aware that you were not likely to get any sum in settlement of this suit?”
“I believe I was told that an offer was withdrawn.”
“And do you know why?”
“Yes; because Mrs. Mont wouldn’t give the apology I asked for.”
“Exactly! And was it a coincidence that you thereupon made up your mind to marry Sir Alexander MacGown?”
“A coincidence?”
“I mean the announcement of your engagement, you know?”
Brute!
“It had nothing to do with this case.”
“Indeed! Now when you brought this action did you really care one straw whether people thought you moral or not?”
“I brought it chiefly because I was called ‘a snake.’”
“Please answer my question.”
“It isn’t so much what I cared, as what my friends cared.”
“But their view of morality is much what yours is—thoroughly accommodating?”
“Not my fiance’s.
“Ah! no. He doesn’t move in your circle, you said. But the rest of your friends. You’re not ashamed of your own accommodating philosophy, are you?”
“No.”
“Then why be ashamed of it for them?”
“How can I tell what THEIR philosophy is?”
“How can she, Sir James?”
“As your lordship pleases. Now, Miss Ferrar! You like to stand up for your views, I hope. Let me put your philosophy to you in a nutshelclass="underline" You believe, don’t you, in the full expression of your personality; it would be your duty, wouldn’t it, to break through any convention—I don’t say law—but any so-called moral convention that cramped you?”
“I never said I had a philosophy.”
“Don’t run away from it, please.”
“I’m not in the habit of running away.”
“I’m so glad of that. You believe in being the sole judge of your own conduct?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not alone in that view, are you?”
“I shouldn’t think so.”
“It’s the view, in fact, of what may be called the forward wing of modern Society, isn’t it—the wing you belong to, and are proud of belonging to? And in that section of Society—so long as you don’t break the actual law—you think and do as you like, eh?”
“One doesn’t always act up to one’s principles.”
“Quite so. But among your associates, even if you and they don’t always act up to it, it IS a principle, isn’t it, to judge for yourselves and go your own ways without regard to convention?”
“More or less.”
“And, living in that circle, with that belief, you have the effrontery to think the words: ‘She hasn’t a moral about her,’ entitles you to damages?”
Her voice rang out angrily: “I have morals. They may not be yours, but they may be just as good, perhaps better. I’m not a hypocrite, anyway.”
Again she saw him look at her, there was a gleam in his eyes; and she knew she had made another mistake.
“We’ll leave my morals out of the question, Miss Ferrar. But we’ll go a little further into what you say are yours. In your own words, it should depend on temperament, circumstances, environment, whether you conform to morality or not?”
She stood silent, biting her lip.
“Answer, please.”
She inclined her head. “Yes.”
“Very good!” He had paused, turning over his papers, and she drew back in the box. She had lost her temper—had made him lose his; at all costs she must keep her head now! In this moment of search for her head she took in everything—expressions, gestures, even the atmosphere—the curious dramatic emanation from a hundred and more still faces; she noted the one lady juryman, the judge breaking the nib of a quill, with his eyes turned away from it as if looking at something that had run across the well of the Court. Yes, and down there, the lengthening lip of Mr. Settlewhite, Michael’s face turned up at her with a rueful frown, Fleur Mont’s mask with red spots in the cheeks, Alec’s clenched hands, and his eyes fixed on her. A sort of comic intensity about it all! If only she were the size of Alice in ‘Wonderland,’ and could take them all in her hands and shake them like a pack of cards—so motionless, there, at her expense! That sarcastic brute had finished fiddling with his papers, and she moved forward again to attention in the Box.