Archive of Our Own

Act one

........

A London terrace. A potted palm. Evening.

JAMES: Good evening, Miss Cho. 

CONNIE: Oh! Good evening, Lord Fife. I am glad to see you on the terrace again.

JAMES: Are you? What a fine bit of luck - and what a happy coincidence to find you here.

CONNIE: Indeed. How goes your evening, My Lord?

JAMES: It goes as an evening in a ballroom ever does. I find myself sorely in want of a conversation of substance. Perhaps you know the feeling? Or - pardon me - perhaps it is clumsy to accuse my fellow guests of insubstantial conversation.

CONNIE: I’m sure I don’t think it clumsy at all. Tell me - what would be your idea of a good and substantial conversation tonight? Are we to speak of sport - of my brother’s latest defeat at your hands, perhaps?

JAMES: [Embarrassed] I’m sure we needn’t speak of that. Tell me - what think you of books? Of theological readings? I lately read a volume by Burton. I do enjoy his works. He taught me at Oxford, in fact. Have you any opinions on Burton?

CONNIE: I should like to have opinions on Burton. Perhaps you might help me to form some?

JAMES: [Still more embarrassed] I’m sure I couldn’t do that. A lady had much better read such things for herself. Are you - ahm - are you interested in theological readings, at all? Are you closely acquainted with the gospels? For if they are of no particular interest to you, I must be sure to read something more to your tastes next week. I must be well-armed for a conversation of substance when next we meet again on the terrace.

CONNIE: [Apologetic] I am not overly fond of theological readings. That is - I am determined to be interested in all books, but I would not choose the gospels as my preferred topic of conversation.

[Silence. James appears to be concentrating on his boot.]

CONNIE: [Cautiously] The view from this terrace is very fine. It is an excellent prospect - a charming garden in every way.

JAMES: [Suddenly] I fear I have interrupted you. You were enjoying your solitude in this fine garden. Indeed - you were examining this tree, perhaps?

CONNIE: No, I assure you, I wasn’t doing anything so odd as that. I’m simply waiting - waiting for Gabby. I’m waiting for my good friend Miss Gabriella who said she would meet me out here soon.

JAMES: Jolly good. Miss Gabriella - I see how it is. 

[CONNIE nods.]

[Silence.]

JAMES: When are you expecting her?

CONNIE: I beg your pardon?

JAMES: When are you expecting Miss Gabriella?

CONNIE: Oh - I’m not entirely sure. Soon, I expect, but not quite now. Perhaps in a quarter-hour or so.

JAMES: Jolly good. So - ahm - I suppose I couldn’t ask you to dance. Since you are waiting for Miss Gabriella, and you expect her here in a quarter-hour or so, we couldn’t possibly go into the ballroom and dance. Why - you might miss her entirely.

CONNIE: [Sadly] Oh - I suppose that is true.

JAMES: Are you certain that she means to meet you here?

CONNIE: Yes - just exactly here. I shall have to stand around here for the next quarter-hour or so while I wait for her.

JAMES: Jolly good. You’ll not mind a bit of company, I hope? I - ahm - I could perhaps stand on this terrace and keep you company while you wait for Miss Gabriella?

CONNIE: [Eagerly] I’d like that.

[Silence.]

CONNIE: Do you miss Oxford? I fear you’ll think me impertinent for asking such a thing, but I do often wonder it. You are forever telling me that one of your professors has written a book, or that one of your Oxford chums said such-and-such a thing, and - and I wonder whether you miss it excessively.

JAMES: [Scratching his ear.] I wouldn’t say that. I did like it, to be sure - I do like it a good deal better than London. The booksellers are better. Why - even the whores are more interesting in -

[He breaks off, bites his lip.]

CONNIE: My Lord? The whores in Oxford?

JAMES: My apologies, Miss Cho. My most sincere apologies. I oughtn’t mention the whores. That was clumsy of me. And - well, now - I suppose the whores of London cannot help being dull. They have few opportunities to inform themselves.

CONNIE: Oh - I couldn’t agree more. I recently read a most fascinating pamphlet about a charitable endeavour to educate the harlots of Southwark in respectable trades. It said nothing about improving their minds with reading, to be sure, but I do think it a topic of some interest.

JAMES: Jolly good. [A pause.] I still oughtn’t have mentioned the whores.

CONNIE: I assure you that I don’t hold it against you in the slightest.

JAMES: Much obliged. That is good of you.

[Silence.]

JAMES: I meant to say that there is good company in London. That was to be my next point, after that unfortunate muddle about the whores. I meant to tell you that I like to be in London for that reason at least. All my chums are here, and - and I’ve the chance to converse on the terrace with interesting acquaintances like you.

CONNIE: Oh - how kind. I must agree with that sentiment. I do like to be in town for the chance to meet interesting people and see interesting sights.

JAMES: Jolly good.

[Silence.]

CONNIE: Do you -?

JAMES: Is it -?

[CONNIE gestures for JAMES to speak.]

JAMES: Is it an interesting specimen, that palm? I know you do prefer your ferns, to be sure.

CONNIE: Oh - how good of you to ask. It is moderately interesting, I’d say. It is Trachycarpus Fortunei, if I’m not mistaken. I think Lady Danbury’s a little finer - I did enjoy making the acquaintance of that specimen earlier in the season - but this one is in good health. See the lustre on the leaves?

JAMES: Very fine.

CONNIE: I believe I can be as pleased with a good Trachycarpus Fortunei as with any plant which is not a fern.

JAMES: Jolly good. I - ahm - I do know that you’ve a fondness for foliage.

CONNIE: How good of you to remember. And you’ve a fondness for Plato?

JAMES: [Frowning at the change of direction.] I have.

[Silence.]

JAMES: And - ahm - you do not have a fondness for carrots?

CONNIE: Quite so.

JAMES: Have you a strong opinion on turnips?

CONNIE: [Regretfully.] I have not.

JAMES: Jolly good. [Desperately.] And - ahm - beetroot?

CONNIE: I am fonder of beetroot than any of my other sisters - yet not so partial to it as my brothers. And you, My Lord? Have you - perhaps - a preferred root vegetable?

JAMES: I eat them all, and cheerfully.

CONNIE: How fortunate.

[Silence.]

JAMES: The moon is very beautiful tonight.

CONNIE: Oh - I quite agree. I always think that there is something pleasing about the moon, when it is not yet full - but is much fuller than half.

JAMES: What a thoughtful reflection, Miss Cho. Perhaps you should try your hand at the writing of poetry.

CONNIE: I’m sure I couldn’t write poetry. No - if I were to become an authoress, I should write a work about ferns.

JAMES: [Gathering momentum] You would? How interesting. An encyclopaedia of all the varieties? A field guide to the ferns of England? A pamphlet to guide the novice keeper of ferns?

CONNIE: [Laughing] Any of them! All of them!

JAMES: [Overly solemn] And I would read them all.

CONNIE: You are too encouraging, My Lord. I must call you the most encouraging gentleman of my acquaintance.

JAMES: [Flushing] Too kind.

CONNIE: Come now - it is your turn. What would you write, if you were to publish some great work? A response to one of your theologians or philosophers? A piece to mark yourself out as a great thinker, in their image?

JAMES: [Thoughtful] Not that. Certainly not that. No - I think perhaps a book on those themes, but for children. There are such things in some spheres, are there not? As a young lad I had a boy’s history of England, and a boy’s Latin primer.

CONNIE: [Warming to the theme] I had a boy’s book on the biological sciences, although I was a girl. It was my brother’s.

JAMES: I bet it was. I wonder that Cho ever kept up with you. So - I believe that is what I would write. I never saw a boy’s simplified Plato or a boy’s guide to the great church fathers. I had a boy’s Bible, but nothing to make me think on right and wrong for myself.

CONNIE: Nothing except Plato. How old were you when you first read Plato?

JAMES: [Suddenly sad] I was nine years old.

[The conversation stalls. It is a disappointment to both - they were doing so well.

Both stare out from the terrace, frowning lightly.]

CONNIE: [Inspired] The paintwork on that gutter is freshly painted, I believe. Isn’t it an appealing shade of green?

JAMES: You’ve a fondness for green?

CONNIE: Oh - very much so. I believe fondness is too mild a word. I decided when I was twelve years old that everything good in the world is green. [Listing] Ferns are green, as are palms. A cricket pitch is green. All my favourite gowns have always been green - quite all of them - and the cover of a good book is often green.

JAMES: I hope your favourite horse is not green, or I wonder what you are feeding him.

[CONNIE is lost to laughter. JAMES swells with pride at his success.]

JAMES: [Bravely] I hope your preferred gentlemen are not green, either.

CONNIE: [Braver] I - oh - I do sometimes have a fondness for a gentleman in a green waistcoat.

[JAMES looks down at his own waistcoat. He notices that he is wearing green, as if surprised at the sight of it. He wears the colour so often that he has not remarked upon it this evening until now.]

CONNIE: [Hurriedly] Have you a favourite colour, My Lord?

JAMES: Colours are like vegetables to me. I like them all well enough. But - ahm - well, now. I am determined to develop a fondness for green, since you have justified your own fondness for it so well. That was well done, I thought. You made a fine argument in its favour.

CONNIE: Oh - how very kind. I do strive for logical arguments, as you well know.

JAMES: Jolly good.

[Silence, but brief.]

JAMES: [Sudden] When are you expecting Miss Gabriella? You said she would be here soon, did you not?

CONNIE: Oh! Not so soon as all that, in fact. I expect we might enjoy a few more minutes in conversation before she arrives.

JAMES: Jolly good. For it occurs to me that I meant to ask you about your botanical expeditions, and I should hate to rush a topic of such significance as that. Have you been out in search of specimens lately? Have you - ahm - have you found an interesting tree in Hyde Park, perhaps?

CONNIE: I should rather say that I have found several. There is a red beech by the gate nearest our town house which is a particular favourite of mine. I sketched a leaf on Tuesday - but poorly. I haven’t the artistic talents of Christie.

JAMES: And - ahm - she is one of your sisters, is she not?

CONNIE: How good of you to remember. She is the eldest, in fact. She likes her watercolours and sketching and so on.

JAMES: Jolly good. I’m sure that’s terribly impressive. And - ahm - you hear from her often? You like to write to her and so on? She is married to a marquess, I believe?

CONNIE: [Impressed] Exactly so, My Lord. Why - you are a good friend to my brother, to remember such things. She is married to a marquess, and she writes more often than Camilla, but much less often than Charity.

JAMES: Ah yes - Lady Eastwick. [As if reciting from a card] You are close with Lady Eastwick.

CONNIE: [Remembering herself] I’m sure that’s quite enough about my family. [Tentative] And - and how are your family? How is your father? Has he written lately?

JAMES: He told me last week that he might pop up to town next month.

CONNIE: [Shocked] Oh - truly? I understood that he never came to town.

JAMES: He doesn’t - but when I am here he likes to say he might. He likes to say that he will come and see me, and make one of his infrequent visits to my mother, and - and see to my marriage prospects. He likes to bluster about such things.

CONNIE: And you don’t expect that he will actually come up to town?

JAMES: Not at all. Why - he’s even less reliable in showing up when expected than your good friend Miss Gabriella.

[CONNIE laughs loudly, and perhaps also nervously. JAMES is unsure what to make of it.]

CONNIE: What does he write you about? Your father, I mean? I beg you will excuse the impertinence - you needn’t tell me, if you prefer not to - but - but I always wonder. You say so much about your father and yet so little. I am always so curious as to what he writes in those letters.

JAMES: Many words, and little substance. Everything in the household is shocking since my mother left, and yet the estate is very fine and he would have me return home to it more often. I had better marry at once, and yet I had better take my time to fall in love, and yet I had better fill the nursery within the year. He wonders whether I have seen my mother, and yet he doesn’t mean to ask after her, as such - he only wonders whether I have seen her. He hopes that I am keeping up with my sport, since a young chap had better strive for excellence, and yet he hopes that I am attending to my prospects and my correspondence and my gentleman friends too. He says one thing, and then says entirely the other, and a chap needs to read between every line to understand even half of what he truly thinks or feels.

CONNIE: It is just as well you are a reader of philosophical texts, then. Did Plato train you for your father, or the other way around?

JAMES: [Chuckles] Something very like.

CONNIE: Mmm.

JAMES: [Sudden] I’m sorry - I rattled on too long. I said altogether too much. You only asked what he writes, and - and it was clumsy of me to say so much. I mustn’t bore you.

CONNIE: [Stepping a half-step closer.] I’m not bored, Lord Fife. I mean that truly. I am sure I could never be bored in conversation with you.

JAMES: [Stepping closer too. Their elbows touch.] Jolly good. That’s encouraging and no mistake. I - ahm - I am grateful for your way of getting along. It is good of you to be frank about such things.

CONNIE: Mmm. Thank you for telling me about your father’s letters. I feel I’ve learnt the answer to one of the world’s great mysteries. 

JAMES: [Chuckling louder] You’re too kind.

[Silence. CONNIE glances across at JAMES, then back out off the terrace. JAMES then glances at her, just missing her look.]

CONNIE: Have you -?

JAMES: Do you -?

[Laughter. He gestures at her to speak, this time.]

CONNIE: Have you anything interesting planned for tomorrow or the next day? Will you go to your fencing club, perhaps?

JAMES: I certainly shall - but I hardly know whether it will be interesting. Or - I know it is of interest to me, but I am forever surprised that you should think it interesting.

[CONNIE laughs loudly and leans ever closer. JAMES smiles across at her, then looks back out off the terrace.

JAMES has the look of a gentleman gathering his courage. A momentous question is on the horizon.

We all know what it is.

Enter CORDIE, Connie’s sister, at a brisk walk from the ballroom.]

JAMES: [Flushing, stepping away] Ahm - well, now - here’s your sister. Well met, Miss Cordelia. What a fine evening - and how pleasant to see you.

CORDIE: Pardon me - am I interrupting?

JAMES: Not at all.

CONNIE: [More convincing] Certainly not. You have a message from Gabby, perhaps? Might you have a message from Miss Gabriella?

JAMES: [Confidentially] We have been waiting for Miss Cho’s good friend, Miss Gabriella. I happened to pass by while she was waiting, and so I have kept her company, just briefly, just while I was passing by.

CONNIE: So perhaps you have a message from Miss Gabriella?

CORDIE: [Unapologetic] I’ve no such thing. I haven’t seen her all night. I believe she’s at home with a headache.

CONNIE: What a terrible shame. I am sorry, My Lord - you have waited with me for nothing.

JAMES: Ahm - well now - I don’t suppose I mind waiting even if there is no sign of Miss Gabriella. I don’t mind a bit of time on the terrace - nor a conversation of substance, neither. And - ahm - the moon is very lovely.

CONNIE: [Too enthusiastically] It is! It is. Oh - the moon is very lovely.

CORDIE: [Brows raised, visibly exasperated] The only message is from our mother, Connie. She requires you in the queue for the carriages since the last set ended several minutes ago. The ball is over.

CONNIE: Is it truly? How time flies in pleasant company. I must take my leave, Lord Fife.

JAMES: Jolly good. Well, now - goodnight to you, then, Miss Cho - and to you, Miss Cordelia, of course.

CONNIE: Goodnight, Lord Fife. I wish you well. Thank you for your company, while you were passing by and I was waiting here.

CORDIE: [Tired but fond] Goodnight, My Lord. Thank you for entertaining my sister.

CONNIE: Goodnight, Lord Fife.

CORDIE: You’ve already said that, Connie.

CONNIE: All the same, I mean to say it again. Goodnight, Lord Fife, and I wish you a pleasant day tomorrow.

JAMES: And - ahm - same to you too, of course. I - ahm - perhaps I will see you next time? I might perhaps find you by a palm on the terrace at the Trowbridge ball?

CONNIE: Oh - yes - perhaps. Yes, perhaps we’ll meet next time.

JAMES: Goodnight, then. Until next time.

CONNIE: Goodnight.

……..

Act two

........

Next week. Same time. Different terrace.

[CONNIE is kneeling by the tree and humming no particular song.

Enter JAMES, from the ballroom, his waistcoat a slightly richer shade of green.]

JAMES: [Clearing his throat] Good evening, Miss Cho.

CONNIE: [Leaping to her feet] Good evening, Lord Fife.

JAMES: I heard you singing.

CONNIE: Oh - no - not that. I’m sure you would never hear me singing. I do hum on occasion, I confess. I do like a spot of music.

JAMES: [Nodding] You like to play the pianoforte. I - ahm - I thought I might happen to attend the Smythe-Smith musicale, next week, in fact. I thought I might go to it, since I have heard you are to play. I ought to have realised sooner that you would play, since you’re such good friends with Miss Gabriella.

CONNIE: [Wide-eyed] You mean to come to the Smythe-Smith musicale and listen to my playing?

JAMES: Well, now - you know how it is. It - ahm - it happens to be convenient. I thought I might go to it, for a change, since it is convenient for me to go, this year.

CONNIE: Oh.

[Silence.]

JAMES: [Sudden] You’re waiting for her now, I expect.

CONNIE: I beg your pardon?

JAMES: You’ll be waiting for her. You’ll be waiting for Miss Gabriella - the second Smythe-Smith sister. She is your particular friend, is she not?

CONNIE: Oh! Certainly - yes. I’m doing just exactly that. I am waiting for my good friend Miss Gabriella, and I expect that we might talk about our pieces for the musicale, when she arrives. I am waiting for Gabby, and I certainly wasn’t inspecting this tree or waiting for you.

[The lie is an obvious one. CONNIE winces at it. JAMES is oblivious to both the lie and the wince. His attention is fixed on CONNIE’s bosom.

Her gown is perhaps cut a fraction lower, tonight - but not so low that we notice until JAMES has noticed it for us.

He tears his eyes away with visible reluctance. 

Inspiration strikes. He speaks.]

JAMES: What will you play? At the musicale, I mean? What piece have you chosen? I expect that you have chosen Beethoven. You do have a fondness for Beethoven.

CONNIE: How good of you to remember. Yes - a Beethoven sonata.

JAMES: Jolly good.

CONNIE: How do you feel about Beethoven?

JAMES: [Cautious, framing it as a question] I like him for your sake?

[CONNIE laughs. JAMES brightens. It is an unusually loud laugh for so early in the conversation.]

JAMES: [Inspired, confident] I am determined to form some sensible opinions about Beethoven if you will assist me. I often heard you say that his music is exciting and carries a depth of emotion, but I fear all notes sound the same to me.

CONNIE: [Laughing again] You’re funning me, My Lord. If you know that there are things called notes, you must know that they each sound different.

JAMES: I tell you, they don’t sound like anything to me.

CONNIE: And yet you mean to come to the Smythe-Smith musicale next week.

JAMES: [Caught out] It is convenient. The date is very convenient this year, so I thought I might as well come along to listen to you and your good friend Miss Gabriella. It is most convenient and I happened to fancy an evening out. I - ahm - I mean to take more of an interest in Beethoven, as I just lately said.

CONNIE: You are too kind, My Lord. Why - you quite put me to shame. Now I feel I ought to have taken more interest in Burton, when you mentioned him last week.

JAMES: [At a loss] Jolly good.

CONNIE: The more I think on it, the more I feel that it is quite unfair. 

JAMES: Ahm - it is? I assure you I don’t think it unfair that you are not interested in Burton.

CONNIE: Oh - no - not that. I mean that I think it is unfair. It is unfair that ladies exhibit and gentlemen don’t. That is what I think unfair.

JAMES: [Embarrassed at the muddle] Ahm - jolly good. I beg your pardon.

CONNIE: Do you not think it unfair? I thought it a matter which might appeal to your mind for logic and moral questions and so on. Please - think on it a moment. A lady who plays the pianoforte is expected to play it at a soiree. A lady who sews is expected to display her work in the drawing room. So it goes, for all the feminine accomplishments. But a gentleman who fences may never exhibit in mixed company. A gentleman who shoots does not make a display of his marksmanship before a crowd. For better or worse, he has neither the opportunity nor the obligation to exhibit his accomplishments.

JAMES: [Eager, interested] That’s a fascinating point, Miss Cho. Why - that’s very well said indeed. I never heard anyone raise a point so neatly. You’re quite correct - it’s an injustice. Whether a lady relishes such exhibitions or despises them, it must still be unfair that her counterparts amongst the gentlemen do not do likewise.

CONNIE: Exactly so.

JAMES: It is not entirely true, though. A gentleman does exhibit, very occasionally. Why - I have taken part in an exhibition fencing tournament on a few occasions. Sometimes there are displays of marksmanship for those who are truly expert. It’s only that it’s not commonplace - not like a lady exhibiting her music.

CONNIE: Oh - there are sometimes exhibition fencing tournaments? You have taken part in them?

JAMES: [Flushed, scratching his ear] I have won them, in fact.

CONNIE: And are these open to the general public? Can anyone watch?

JAMES: I suppose they can. Few people care to, in my experience.

CONNIE: And - oh - do ladies watch? If - say - if a lady’s brother was good friends with one of the participants, could that young lady ask her brother to escort her so that she might spectate?

JAMES: [Engaging earnestly with the hypothetical] I daresay she could, yes. Why - if her brother was good chums with one of the gentlemen exhibiting, and he meant to join the small band of spectators himself, then I don’t suppose it would be odd if she were to attend too. There were two ladies at the last exhibition tournament at my club, I believe.

CONNIE: [Envious] Two ladies!

JAMES: I didn’t speak to either of them.

[The remark is unnecessary. We all know that JAMES did not speak to either of them.

Nevertheless, CONNIE is comforted.]

CONNIE: So you wouldn’t mind, if the sister of one of your friends were to watch? Perhaps - I wonder - if Miss Bridgerton were to spectate, or Miss Barnell, or - or me?

JAMES: I’d certainly not take that amiss. I - ahm - I might like it, if you happened to be there, just since I am chums with your brother.

CONNIE: Then - then perhaps I shall, next time. Perhaps you might happen to mention it to him, when next you are competing in such an exhibition - or to me, if we find ourselves on a terrace just before?

JAMES: Jolly good. I’ll do that.

[Silence]

JAMES: We do sometimes hold a small tournament of sorts when I am together with your brother and our chums at a house party. We do sometimes fence amongst ourselves and call it a competition - and I believe we do compete that much more fiercely when the young ladies are watching. We do put on a bit of a show, if there are ladies to notice our exhibition. Or - I do not, to be sure, since - since I never yet went to a house party where I wished to impress the young ladies present - but other chaps tend to show off, I believe. I - ahm - I might be inclined to think of exhibiting, if there were a young lady at a house party whose good opinion I craved.

CONNIE: [Impressed] I never heard anyone speak so logically about the matter of impressing young ladies.

JAMES: Much obliged.

CONNIE: My brother has spoken of inviting you to visit this summer, in fact. I couldn’t say whether he means to go through with it - I can’t presume to know his intentions - but in the carriage home last week, he did happen to say that he might invite you to visit.

JAMES: A summer visit? I - ahm - I’d like that a good deal, in fact. I have been chums with your brother a good many years and have never yet come out to Surrey and seen you all at home. Do you - ahm - do you think he is likely actually to issue the invitation? Might I offer him a hint, or - or would that be clumsy, do we think?

CONNIE: I’m sure you could offer him a hint. He takes a hint well, in my experience.

JAMES: Jolly good.

[JAMES nods a while, visibly pleased with the scheme. CONNIE throws him one admiring look, then a second.

Then inspiration strikes.]

CONNIE: The moon is beautiful tonight. Do you recall last week - how pleased we both were with the moon?

JAMES: Well said. I never saw a finer moon, in fact. I know I spoke highly of it this week - but I do think this moon even better. It is perhaps the same shape and size, on balance - and yet it shines brighter since the sky is so clear around it.

CONNIE: It is you who must take up poetry now, My Lord.

JAMES: [Flushing] I’m sure I couldn’t do that. I’m sure I never had a poetic thought in my life.

[This lie is an obvious one, too. We wonder whether CONNIE will ever read his attempts at romantic sonnets.]

JAMES: [Rushing on] I lately attended a most fascinating lecture by Herschel, in fact. His public lectures are amongst my very favourites. I believe you’d like them tremendously if - if ladies ever attended such things. But perhaps I may tell you a little about them now? 

CONNIE: Oh - I believe I did read a little about this myself, in fact. He has been working on the telescope? That is - he means to improve upon the telescopes which are available to astronomers, so that they may observe the beauty of the moon more precisely than we observe it now?

JAMES: Yes - it’s just exactly that. And - so that people may discover other moons, I suppose. The moons of Jupiter are a source of general excitement, I believe. I fear I don’t much care for moons. [Catching his error] I mean to say - I do like this moon, to be sure. I do think it fine, and I like to look at it with you. But… I suppose I prefer an argumentative text to an astronomical one.

CONNIE: I believe I feel just the same. I always think that I should be more interested in moons and planets and so on, since I find all the natural sciences admirable and worthy of pursuit - and yet I do enjoy botany more.

JAMES: [Nodding] Well said. As you say - just so.

CONNIE: All the same - this moon is very beautiful tonight.

JAMES: Very fine indeed.

[Silence]

JAMES: [Sudden] This palm is not Trachycarpus Fortunei.

CONNIE: [Impressed] Oh - no. No, it certainly isn’t. It is Chamaerops humilis. You see how the leaves are similar in shape to those we saw last time - and yet the shape of the specimen as a whole is entirely different?

JAMES: [Nodding solemnly] It grows much closer to the ground. It clumps. [Panicking] That is - I’m sure there is a better word. I’m sure it does not clump. To accuse a tree of clumping must be a clumsy thing to say. But it is small and compact and - and -

CONNIE: [Firmly] And it clumps. You are quite correct on that score.

JAMES: Jolly good.

[Silence]

CONNIE: I must say - I’m having quite the pleasant evening. I am happy tonight. I - oh - I never know whether a person ought to say such things to a slight acquaintance - you know how it is. I - I know you are more my brother’s friend than ought else. But I would have you know that I am happy. I do like to spend an evening on the terrace in this fashion.

JAMES: Jolly good. That’s ideal, frankly, Miss Cho - for I like it too, and it’d be terribly awkward if you were only being polite in enduring my company. I’d be mortified if - if it should turn out that you’d rather wait for Miss Gabriella alone.

CONNIE: Oh - certainly not. To share a conversation of substance with you whilst waiting for her is one of life’s great joys, to my mind.

JAMES: Come, now - that can’t possibly be true. I must accuse your brother of having you live a very boring life indeed, if that is the case.

CONNIE: [Laughing] You know perfectly well that life in our family is never boring. There is always a game afoot or some piece of news to share. [Bravely] You must know that it is a compliment. I meant to tell you how glad I am that you stand around with me while I am waiting for Gabby.

JAMES: Jolly good. You’re happy - that’s a fine bit of news.

CONNIE: I am happy.

JAMES: And I am happy, too.

[Silence. Fond smiles. Stolen glances.]

JAMES: Did you see the green skirting in the card room? I thought it looked freshly painted - or quite fresh, at least.

CONNIE: Oh - you are an expert on painting, now, also?

JAMES: [Laughing] I’m no such thing - but I saw that our hosts had lately painted their card room skirting in a fine shade of green, and I thought that you might like it.

CONNIE: I’m sure I would - but I haven’t seen it, as yet.

JAMES: We could go now, if you like. I - ahm - I hate to trouble you, when you are waiting for your good friend Miss Gabriella, of course - but I did think that we could go inside. We could go into the card room and look at the green skirting and - ahm - and sit a while at cards. I believe you play a few of the popular games? Your brother has occasionally mentioned that you play at cards as a family.

CONNIE: [Pleasantly stunned by the invitation] Oh! Inside? The card room?

JAMES: [Flustered, misunderstanding her reaction] Or not - not cards - to be sure, we needn’t play at cards. We needn’t go inside at all, if you don’t like the idea. I expect you prefer to wait for Miss Gabriella. Ahm - will she be along soon, do you think?

CONNIE: I’m sure I haven’t the foggiest idea. Now, then - about going inside -

JAMES: [Too loud] We shan’t! We mustn’t. We couldn’t possibly go inside, since you must wait for Miss Gabriella - I see how it is.

[Silence]

CONNIE: [Stubborn] Is it a pretty shade of green, would you say?

JAMES: What’s that?

CONNIE: The skirting? Is it a pretty shade of green? I should hate to miss it, if it’s unusually pretty.

JAMES: I’m sure it’s not so exciting as all that. Daft business, fussing about the skirting. I shan’t mention it again.

CONNIE: [Mentioning it again] What shade would you call it? Is it a similar green to your waistcoat, perhaps? I’ve a particular fondness for a rich emerald colour of that sort. Or would you call it more a leaf green or a spring green? Or perhaps sage?

JAMES: Sage. I’d call it sage.

CONNIE: [Still mentioning it] How exciting - a sage green skirting! Perhaps we ought to go into the card room after all. I’m sure Gabby would understand, if she found me not here - but then I told her later that I had gone inside to see the sage green skirting in the card room, and then stayed to play a hand or two with my brother’s good friend.

JAMES: Now I come to think of it, I fear you’d be thought odd, if we went into the card room. Young ladies don’t occupy card rooms at such occasions as these, do they? It’d be terribly unfortunate if I were the one to oblige you to make a muddle like that.

CONNIE: [Admitting defeat at last] Perhaps so.

[Silence]

JAMES: [Gathering his courage] I do occasionally wonder whether you ever dance, Miss Cho?

CONNIE: [Shocked] Oh - good heavens - never. I haven’t danced in six seasons at least.

JAMES: Jolly good.

CONNIE: That is - I suppose - I can dance. I might like to dance, if a willing partner happened to ask me. But - but - [flaps her hands helplessly]

JAMES: But you’re not accustomed to it. I see how it is.

CONNIE: [Relieved to be understood] Yes. It’s just exactly that. I expect I’d like it very much, only - I’m not accustomed to it, and… good heavens. [Breathing carefully] Do you mean to ask whether I might ever dance with you?

JAMES: [Scratching his ear] Ahm - yes. I suppose that’s precisely what I mean to ask. I understand that you couldn’t possibly dance now while you’re waiting for Miss Gabriella, of course, but perhaps - you know. Perhaps another time we could arrange specifically to meet inside and dance a set?

CONNIE: Oh - how lovely. I’d like that ever so much, Lord Fife. That’s a very kind invitation.

JAMES: [Awkward, taken aback at her joy] Jolly good.

CONNIE: [Overflowing with enthusiasm] Might we agree a date, perhaps? Might we make firm plans to dance next week at the Harris ball?

JAMES: Well, now - I’d like that - but I meant to ask you to dance the week after, if you please. That is - we could dance at both, if you’re amenable. I should certainly like to dance next week and the week following, if it’s no trouble. But I require a partner for the following week specifically - or - or I require that you stand up with me that week, if it suits you, since - ahm - since my father is to be in town.

[JAMES visibly softens in relief. The weight of it has cost him dear - it is a relief to have it out in the air.

CONNIE, meanwhile, is puzzled.]

CONNIE: Your father is coming to town?

JAMES: As I said.

CONNIE: And you require a dance with me because your father is coming to town?

JAMES: Yes.

CONNIE: Is there perhaps something I have not understood, My Lord?

JAMES: I fear there’s a good deal I’ve not understood, too. I - ahm - well now. I don’t altogether know where to begin. My father wrote me with a date for his visit, which he never does, and so I think it must follow logically that he truly means to come to town. He’d not pick a date if he were blustering in general terms. He has told my mother to expect him, I understand. So... it’s true. It’s true that he will come to town.

CONNIE: And you therefore require a dance partner?

JAMES: Yes.

CONNIE: You require a dance partner for logical reasons which we might perhaps discuss?

JAMES: Ahm - to be sure. Much obliged. I - ahm - well now.

[Silence]

CONNIE: Lord Fife? Is something the matter? I should like to understand.

JAMES: [Swiftly] Nothing is wrong. In truth - all is very well indeed. It’s only that - ahm - my father has asked most specifically to attend a ball where you will also be in attendance and where we will be dancing and so on. I - ahm - I mentioned to him, just briefly, that I had sometimes spent time with you at a ball. You know how it is - I told him a bit about my good chum’s sister, and said that we speak at a ball from time to time. And - ahm - now he has decided that he must meet you and see us dance together. He has decided to make quite the fuss.

CONNIE: Oh! How… how - interesting.

JAMES: [Swifter still] I hope you’re not upset. I hope you’re not nervous at the thought of making his acquaintance or upset at dancing with me. That’d be a shame, since I think we could have quite the jolly time, if we dance together next week and the week after.

CONNIE: I’m not upset in the slightest. I’m only… surprised, I suppose, that your father wishes to make my acquaintance and see us dance, and that you have therefore decided to ask me to dance.

JAMES: Well, now. It’s not quite that. It’s not that I am asking you to dance because of my father. I’d call that more a coincidence. I’d say that I like the idea of dancing with you, and then my father happens to be coming to town, and he happens to have expressed an interest in -

[Into the midst of this muddle walks CORDIE, a little faster than last week. She is almost at a run.]

CONNIE: Oh - Cordie! Could you - perhaps - is your message an urgent one?

JAMES: We were just in the midst of a conversation of substance.

CORDIE: [Oblivious] You two are always in the midst of a conversation of substance.

JAMES: You’re welcome, to be sure. You’re a happy addition. I’d not make one of the Misses Cho feel unwelcome, but - ahm - there we have it. Have you - ahm - a message? Have you a message from Miss Gabriella, perhaps?

CONNIE: We have been waiting for her. We have been waiting for my good friend Miss Gabriella, as we often do.

CORDIE: Good Lord - Miss Gabriella? I’ve certainly no message from her. She went home some two hours or so ago - a turned ankle, I believe.

JAMES: How unfortunate that your good friend Miss Gabriella has turned her ankle, Miss Cho. I am grateful for the opportunity to speak with you and admire the moon, to be sure - and to discuss certain… other matters, but sorry indeed to hear about her ankle.

CONNIE: Oh - how gentlemanly, Lord Fife.

CORDIE: You surely know what I will tell you, Connie. Mother requires you at the carriages. It is time to go home, since the ball is over.

CONNIE: Is it? Is the ball over?

JAMES: How time flies in pleasant company.

CONNIE: Goodnight, then, Lord Fife.

JAMES: Until next time. That is - I hope I will find you here next time. You won’t be next to this exact palm, to be sure, but perhaps another very like it.

CONNIE: Yes - I hope so. Until next time, Lord Fife. And perhaps - as we lately discussed - we might go inside, next week or the week after - or perhaps both? We might go inside before too long?

JAMES: [Grinning, smug, victorious] I daresay we might go inside, if you like the idea.

CONNIE: [Perhaps even more pleased] Oh! How lovely! I’d like that ever so much.

CORDIE: Connie - the carriages.

CONNIE: Yes, yes - the carriages. Of course - the carriages. Until next time, Lord Fife. Until the next terrace and the next ball.

JAMES: Until the next potted palm, too. I am determined not to neglect the potted palm.

CONNIE: Quite so - the potted palm.

CORDIE: Connie.

CONNIE: Goodnight, Lord Fife.

JAMES: Goodnight.