Part 14 (1/2)

CRICHTON (very sorry to have to contradict him). Not so, my lord. From that hairpin we could have made a needle; with that needle we could, out of skins, have sewn trousers of which your lords.h.i.+p is in need; indeed, we are all in need of them.

LADY MARY (suddenly self-conscious). All?

CRICHTON. On an island, my lady.

LADY MARY. Father.

CRICHTON (really more distressed by the prospect than she). My lady, if nature does not think them necessary, you may be sure she will not ask you to wear them. (Shaking his head.) But among all this undergrowth--

LADY MARY. Now you see this man in his true colours.

LORD LOAM (violently). Crichton, you will either this moment say, 'Down with nature,'.

CRICHTON (scandalised). My Lord!

LORD LOAM (loftily). Then this is my last word to you; take a month's notice.

(If the hut had a door he would now shut it to indicate that the interview is closed.)

CRICHTON (in great distress). Your lords.h.i.+p, the disgrace--

LORD LOAM (swelling). Not another word: you may go.

LADY MARY (adamant). And don't come to me, Crichton, for a character.

ERNEST (whose immersion has cleared his brain). Aren't you all forgetting that this is an island?

(This brings them to earth with a b.u.mp. LORD LOAM looks to his eldest daughter for the fitting response.)

LADY MARY (equal to the occasion). It makes only this difference--that you may go at once, Crichton, to some other part of the island.

(The faithful servant has been true to his superiors ever since he was created, and never more true than at this moment; but his fidelity is founded on trust in nature, and to be untrue to it would be to be untrue to them. He lets the wood he has been gathering slip to the ground, and bows his sorrowful head. He turns to obey. Then affection for these great ones wells up in him.)

CRICHTON. My lady, let me work for you.

LADY MARY. Go.

CRICHTON. You need me so sorely; I can't desert you; I won't.

LADY MARY (in alarm, lest the others may yield). Then, father, there is but one alternative, we must leave him.

(LORD LOAM is looking yearningly at CRICHTON.)

TREHERNE. It seems a pity.

CATHERINE (forlornly). You will work for us?

TREHERNE. Most willingly. But I must warn you all that, so far, Crichton has done nine-tenths of the scoring.

LADY MARY. The question is, are we to leave this man?