ACT I.

Scene—Elegant Drawing-Room. Door C., Sofa, R., Chairs, etc. Table, L. C.

(Enter Jennie, C., holding small bouquet in her hand.)

Jennie. Here is Mr. Eugene's bouquet, and now where is Mr. Eugene? Not here, of course, and I must be running all over the house to find him. All a body has to do is to wait on him, that is what he thinks! For he is a lord of creation, he is! And he must have his buttonhole bouquet, and his hair parted in the middle, and his mustache waxed, and everybody must bow down and worship him! But after all, he isn't as bad as his father. Oh! isn't he just awful! Dear me, what a terrible thing it must be to think yourself so superior, all on account of your sex!

Jim (looking in, C.). May I come in?

Jen. (looking over shoulder). Oh! You are here, are you? I might have known you would be!

Jim (coming down R. awkwardly). Yes, because I always come where you are, if I can.

Jen. (L.) Too bad, ain't it, I don't appreciate it any better? You haven't seen Mr. Eugene anywhere, have you?

Jim. Seen him? No! That is, not since two o'clock this morning, when I helped him up-stairs, and he called me his darling Jim.

Jen. How awful!

Jim. I guess you would have said so if he had hugged you the way he did me!

Jen. (coquettishly) Well, I don't know; perhaps that might not have been quite so awful either!

Jim (walking about angrily). Just let me catch him hugging you, or any other fellow, that's all.

Jen. Dear me! And what business would that be of yours, I should like to know? This is a free country, sir, and I am a single woman, and hugging isn't a crime, and no man shall dictate to me. So! (Stamps foot.)

Jim. Who is dictating? How you do fly off! You know, Jennie, I think all the world of you!

Jen. Yes, I dare say! Men always say so before they get married. I suppose that is what our master said to our mistress once, and now see the way he orders her about! And you would like to do the same by me, wouldn't you? But I am altogether too smart for that, sir!

Jim. But, good gracious, Jennie, how you do fly off! Never thought of such a thing in my life!

Jen. Oh, pshaw! Men are all alike! Now I will bet a pound of candy that you think you know more than I do, just because you are a man!

Jim. Well—I—of course about some things.

Jen. Some things! just tell me one.

Jim. Well—I—you see it would take me some time to think.

Jen. Yes, I guess it would! Well, I have my eyes open, and I haven't lived in this house going on a year for nothing, and seen the airs master and Mr. Eugene give themselves! Over Miss Kate, too, who knows more than both of them put together.

Jim (gesticulating). But, Jennie, a woman isn't supposed to know as much as a man. It isn't natural, you see! But a man likes them all the better for it, and he likes to be looked up to, you know.

Jen. (drawing herself up). You don't say so! How sorry I am I can't make you happy in that way. But the fact is, I'd rather have a man who likes me for what I know and not for what I don't know! So (courtesying) I'll leave you to find a woman with less brains than you have—if you can. (Exit C.)

Jim (following). Jennie! here, Jennie! She has gone and she is mad! How she does fly off! And oh, how I do love her! Good gracious, how I do love her! (Comes down C.) Now why on earth should she get mad about a little thing like that! Does she want me to say every man is a natural-born fool? Hang me if I don't believe they are, where a woman is concerned! Here for the last six months I've been a perfect slave to her. And all I get for it is to be told I belong to a tyrannical sex! But I won't stand it. No, I won't! (Going. Stops at door C.) I am afraid I can't help it, though. Oh, what an awful thing it is to be in love! And between me and the furniture, I do believe if a woman is the weaker sex, she always gets the best of a man somehow. (Exit, L. 2 E.)

(Enter Mrs. Grovenor and Alice, C.)

Mrs. G. (as she enters). Well, no, my dear, Dr. Endicott is not a particularly good match. But Mr. Doughlass has an immense fortune, you know.

Alice (sits R. on sofa). Yes, but Mr. Doughlass is such a bore, ma.

Mrs. G. (sitting, L.). Ah, well, a bore is better than a tyrant, child.

Alice. But there must be some men who are neither.

Mrs. G. That kind are very hard to find, and, by some strange chance, are usually poor in purse when found. Witness Dr. Endicott, for instance.

Alice. It would never do to marry a poor man.

Mrs. G. Do! With your extravagant tastes it would be madness. I have no doubt Mr. Doughlass would make you a very good husband, and it is time you were thinking of settling in life now.

Alice. But Kate is older than I am.

Mrs. G. I fear poor Kate will surely be an old maid, in spite of all I can do. Alas! there has never been one in the family yet, and to think one of my daughters should be first to bear that stigma is terrible to contemplate.

Alice. Isn't it strange that she never tries to be attractive to gentlemen?

Mrs. G. And she actually wants to vote. I am sure I cannot conceive where she obtained such thoughts. Certainly not from me.

(Enter Kate, C.)

Kate (stopping at door). You are mistaken, mother.

Mrs. G (rising quickly). You here, Kate? How you do startle one! What do you mean by that remark?

Kate (coming down C.). I mean, mother, that I first conceived my horror of occupying a dependent position from seeing how you were obliged to coax and manage, to bear cross looks and sarcastic remarks, whenever you asked father for money.

Mrs. G. (looking around alarmed). Hush! Do not speak so loud; your father is in the library, and might hear.

Kate. I am not afraid to say to any one that I had rather earn my money than have it doled out to me as a favor grudgingly bestowed. (Sits at table L. C.)

Mrs. G. (sitting L.). I will admit, Kate, that it has always been very hard to obtain money from your father; and now listen to reason. You are aware that we spend every cent of our income in order to keep up our style of living. The future of you two girls cannot be provided for by us, so there is but one thing for you to do,—to marry.

Kate. Are you sure that is the only thing?

Mrs. G. Why, what else is there—for a woman?

Kate. Many women are independent by the fruit of their own exertions. Why could not I be?

Mrs. G. (with slight scream). You quite shock me. Do you not know you would lose your position in society by such a course?

Kate. I am willing to lose it, if to keep it I must barter my own self-respect.

Mrs. G. Barter your self-respect! What do you mean?

Kate. I mean sell myself for the sake of being supported in idleness.

Alice (languidly fanning herself). The idea of a lady actually wanting to work!

Kate. I cannot live on husks, Alice.

Mrs. G. I cannot understand why you should be so opposed to marriage.

Kate. You mistake me very much if you think I am. Oh, no! I know well that the deepest and truest happiness in life is in love and marriage. It is against making marriage a trade, degrading it to a means of support, that I protest, with all my soul! (Rises.)

Alice. A trade! How absurd! Would you marry a poor man for love?

Kate. Without an instant's hesitation, and I would never be a dependent burden on him! Oh! mother, can you not see how much of the misery in the world is caused by the way girls are educated, in helpless dependence, often obliged to sell themselves to the first man who offers, because they cannot support themselves? Do not condemn me to such a fate. Give me a chance to be independent of all such considerations in my choice of a husband.

Mrs. G. (with impatient gesture). Nonsense. You are crazy.

Alice. The best thing you can do, Kate, is to set your cap for Dr. Endicott.

Kate. I am very much mistaken in Dr. Endicott if he would deign to notice a woman who had stooped to set her cap. (Sits L. C.)

Mrs. G. (sighing). I am sure I do not know what will become of you with such ideas.

Mr. G. (outside). Where is Eugene? I want him.

Mrs. G. Hush! here comes your father.

Alice (starting up from reclining position). Oh, mother! do try to get some money of him for a new ball dress. Mine are shameful!

Mrs. G. I will do my best, but it is hard work. I hope you may never know how hard when you have a husband of your own.

(Enter Mr. Grovenor, C., his hands full of papers, bills, etc.)

Mr. G. (very crossly). Where is that boy? What do these bills mean? The expenses of this house must be cut down. Do you think I am made of money, Mrs. Grovenor?

Mrs. G. (timidly). I am very sorry. I am sure I do the best I can.

Mr. G. (sitting R. of table and looking over bills). I think you would find a way to be more economical if you had to earn the money you spent. It's a pity you women did not have to do it once in a while, and then you would know how good it was.

Kate (leaning on table, earnestly). That is just what I wish to do, father. Give me the chance and I will relieve you of the burden of my support.

Mr. G. (staring at his own papers). You would do fine things, I dare say. I do not believe you know exactly what you are talking about, but then a woman never does. Now, for instance, how long do you suppose it would take you to earn that dress you have on, at women's average wages?

Kate. I could wear a cheaper dress, if need be. I am aware that men, in whose hands now rests the power, show their boasted "chivalry" to the so-called "weaker sex" by paying her half they pay a man for the same work.

Mr. G. (dropping papers angrily). What confounded folly you talk! If a woman did her work as well as a man she would get the same wages; but she does not. She isn't thinking of her work. When she is young she is thinking of getting married, when she is old she is mad because she can't.

Kate (with dignity). Pardon me, father, but I think it is you who are talking folly.

Mr. G. Humph! I suppose you would like to vote?

Kate. I see no reason why I should not.

Mr. G. (rises and looks her over, then looks at Mrs. G.) What kind of sentiments have you instilled into your eldest daughter, Mrs. Grovenor?

Mrs. G. I, Mr. Grovenor! Do Kate's remarks sound like my teachings?

Mr. G. (C.). Well, no, I will acquit you of ever having any tendencies towards doing anything to bring money into the family, Mrs. Grovenor.

Kate. Father, I have some artistic talent, I think; why may I not study and become an artist? All I ask is that I may not be a burden on you or any one (going to him). You will not refuse me this, father.

Mr. G. (putting arm around her). There, there, Kate, you are a good girl, and if you was only a boy I would make something of you; but as you are not, the best advice I can give you is to go and marry some good man and forget these foolish ideas of yours about voting and all that stuff. (Going, stops.) Mrs. Grovenor, send that boy to me at once, do you hear? Here is a bill of his for champagne that is something frightful! He certainly has inherited your extravagant taste. (Exit, C.)

Mrs. G. (rising). There, Kate, you heard what your father said. Perhaps you will take his advice if you will not take mine. Do you think you can find Eugene?

Kate. I will try. (Aside.) They all discourage me, but I will not be daunted! (Exit, L. 2 E.)

Alice. You did not say a word about my dress, mother.

Mrs. G. But he is in such a bad humor! However, I will go now and see what can be done. Talk about earning money! I am sure I doubly earn every cent I get from Mr. Grovenor, and always have. (Exit, C.)

Alice. I believe father grows more stingy every day. Oh, dear! I suppose I shall have to marry that dreadful Mr. Doughlass. What a strange girl Kate is! And yet I do not know, I am not sure but what it would be nice to be independent.

(Enter Jennie, C.)

Jen. (coming down and handing card). Are you at home, Miss Alice?

Alice (takes it and reads). "Harold Doughlass." Yes (sighs), I suppose so.

Jen. Yes'm. (Aside.) He is one of the superior sex, and he don't know so much as an idiot! (Exit, C.)

Alice. Now, were I independent, I should certainly have said I was engaged and could not see him. How shall I be able to endure him for a life time, when he bores me so for an hour?

(Enter Doughlass, eye-glass, cane, etc., C.)

Alice (rising). I am delighted to see you, Mr. Doughlass!

Doug. (C.) Aw! thank you. You are looking more chawming than ever this evening, Miss Alice.

Alice (aside). He always says that. (Aloud.) You quite flatter me. Please be seated. (Offers chair.)

Doug. (sitting, L.). Aw! this has been a fine day hasn't it, now?

Alice (sitting, R.). Very fine indeed.

Doug. I hope we shall have as fine to-morrow.

Alice. I hope so, truly.

Doug. But I weally feaw we shall have wain.

Alice. You quite alarm me.

Doug. Aw! I do not like wain.

Alice. Nor I. (Aside, yawning.) Can't he talk about something besides the weather?

Doug. (adjusting eye-glasses). I hope your pawents are both well!

Alice. Quite well, thank you.

Doug. I need not ask if you are, for you look more chawming than usual!

Alice. Ah! you are very complimentary. (Aside.) How many times is he going to say that?

Doug. Aw! yes, you are always chawming to me, you know! (Aside.) A fellow must flatter these girls. That's the secret!

Alice. You quite confuse me. (Aside.) Is he going to propose?

Doug. Aw! I—aw—I twust you do not dislike to be confused, because I think you chawming, you know? (Goes and sits beside her on sofa.)

Alice. Of course I am only too pleased to be so favored.

Doug. Yes—aw—and some day I shall tell you just how chawming I do think you. You are so different from your sister, you know. Why—aw—but weally a fellow is quite afwaid of her.

Alice. Afraid? What, you afraid of a lady?

Doug. Well, not—not exactly afwaid, of course, but you see—aw—I never know what to say to her. We fellows do not like these—aw—strong-minded ladies, you know. We like these—aw—gentle, clinging, soft girls, that do not know so much, you know, of whom you, Miss Alice, are such a chawming type!

Alice (rising). Indeed. Thanks for the implied compliment to my intellect, sir! (Crosses to C.)

Doug. Eh? (Aside.) What the deuce did I say to put her out like that? (Aloud.) I mean that you are vewy chawming, the style of girl we fellows pwefer, you know. (Rises and bows low.)

Alice (aside). It will not do to get angry with him yet. But if I marry him I'll let him know whether I have any brains or not! (Aloud.) Indeed, Mr. Doughlass? But really, I do not think Kate so very formidable. Ah! here she comes now. (Goes to R. C.)

Doug. I'm sorry—aw—to have our tête-à-tête interrupted, and I am sure I do not know what to say to her, nevaw do, you know!

(Enter Kate, L. 2 E., and bows to Doughlass coldly.)

Doug. (aside). She looks at a fellow in a way that fweezes him all over. Aw—I'll flatter her. (Aloud.) Aw—you are looking as chawming as usual, Miss Grovenor.

Kate. I am very glad if you have been so fortunate as to discover the fact.

Doug. (aside). That always does please them, to be sure.

(Enter Eugene, L. 2. E.)

Eug. (going to C.) Well, Kittie, here I am; now where is the governor, and what's the row? Ah, Harold, my boy, how are you? Where were you last night? Jolly old time the boys had. But champagne does make a fellow feel like the deuce the next day.

Kate (L.). Is it worth while to drink it, then?

Eug. Oh! come now! don't preach. Confound it, a woman is always preaching. If they had their way a fellow would have no fun at all, eh, Harold?

Doug. No—aw—that is, the ladies think so much of us, they want to make us saints, you know.

Eug. Can't be done, though, eh? What is the use of living if a man can't have a good time? (Sings.) By Jove, I am glad I wasn't born a woman. They take things too seriously altogether. But they look up to us, for all their preaching, eh, Harold?

Doug. (R.). To be sure—aw.

Kate. That must require quite a stretch of the imagination sometimes.

Eug. Hope that isn't personal, Kittie. Never mind, you will be proud of me some time, only a fellow must have his fling, you know. Now I must go and get my dose from the governor. By by, Harold, see you again. (Exit, C.)

Kate. Poor Eugene.

Doug. I beg pardon. (Aside.) What the deuce ails her now? (Aloud.) Poor Eugene? Why, he is the liveliest fellaw I know. The boys nevaw think of having a champagne supper without Eugene, you know.

Kate. I am sorry if my brother is sought only for the purpose of gracing champagne suppers and disgracing himself.

Doug. Aw—weally, now, weally, aren't you a little too severe.

Alice (C.). Of course she is. A young man must sow his wild oats.

Kate (L.). But I believe a young lady is not allowed that privilege. What is wrong for one must be for the other?

Alice. You shock me, Kate.

Doug. Aw—weally now, 'pon my honor, that is such a strange wemark, Miss Grovenor; a lady is of course above such things.

Kate. Then in that respect, at least, she must be superior to a man. I am glad to hear you acknowledge even so little.

Doug. Aw—now—aw—you quite confuse me. (Aside.) I must go wight away; never could stand these strong-minded ladies. (Aloud.) Aw—I—I never argue with a lady, you know. But I am afwaid I shall have to tear myself away, as I have a very particular engagement.

Alice. I am so sorry! But we shall see you again soon?

Doug. Aw—vewy soon—aw—I should only be too happy to wemain forever in your chawming pwesence. (Kisses her hand, bows to Kate, and exit, C.)

Alice. Well, you have driven him away. It will be very convenient to have you around after he and I are married, but previously the experiment is too dangerous, and I shall have to ask you to be kind enough to keep your strange ideas exclusively for our family circle. (Exit, L. 2 E.)

Kate. Strange ideas! Is it so strange to long to be independent? Is it strange to shrink from being a burden on an already over-burdened father, or dependent upon the whims of some unloved husband? Is it strange to wish to exercise the talents and energy God has given you instead of allowing them to rust out in darkness? Does the fact of my being a woman make me content to drift along aimlessly, in a stream that leads nowhere? No! a thousand times, no!

(Enter Jennie, C.)

Jen. Dr. Endicott, miss.

Kate. Please ask him in.

Jen. Yes'm. (Aside.) He is a man what is a man. (Exit, C.)

Kate. I wonder does he, too, think me strange?

(Enter Dr. Endicott, C.)

Dr. E. (coming down L.). At last I am with you once more, where I should have been long ago had not duty called me elsewhere.

Kate. I am delighted to welcome you. Father was saying yesterday he wished to see you.

Dr. E. Oh, yes, there is a little business matter between us. And what have you been doing since I was last here?

Kate. Oh, nothing.

Dr. E. Nothing? Really nothing?

Kate. Oh, I have embroidered a little, painted a little, and practised music a little. But it all amounted to—as I said—nothing.

Dr. E. It served to pass away the time pleasantly, at least.

Kate. Yes. But is that what we are living for, to pass away time?

Dr. E. You are right. Such a life is not suited to a woman of your temperament.

Kate. But what can I do? Father and mother object to my doing anything that is real. Because I seek some aim in life, because I seek an independent position, they call me unwomanly and strange.

Dr. E. Is it indeed so? Alas that these old prejudices of a by-gone age should trammel a woman now!

Kate. I just frightened Mr. Doughlass away with my strange ideas.

Dr. E. (laughing). Poor Harold! But you cannot frighten me away, Miss Grovenor. It is just this free, untrammelled, independent woman we need in the world now.

Kate (C.). I can feel now that I have one friend who knows and sympathizes with me.

Dr. E. (going towards her). And who honors you above all women. Kate, may I add that this woman I have described is the woman I want at my fireside for my companion, friend, and my wife? There is one woman who is all I ask, one woman whom I love, but I dare not even hope for her favor. (Enter Eugene, C.) That woman, Kate, is— (Takes her hand.)