Act III

[A few minutes ago the Comtesse de la Briere, who has not recently
been in England, was shown into the London home of the Shands. Though
not sufficiently interested to express her surprise in words, she
raised her eyebrows on finding herself in a charming room; she has
presumed that the Shand scheme of decoration would be as impossible
as themselves.

It is the little room behind the dining-room for which English
architects have long been famous; 'Make something of this, and you
will indeed be a clever one,' they seem to say to you as they unveil
it. The Comtesse finds that John has undoubtedly made something of
it. It is his 'study' (mon Dieu, the words these English use!) and
there is nothing in it that offends; there is so much not in it too
that might so easily have been there. It is not in the least ornate;
there are no colours quarrelling with each other (unseen, unheard by
the blissful occupant of the revolving chair); the Comtesse has not
even the gentle satisfaction of noting a 'suite' in stained oak.
Nature might have taken a share in the decorations, so restful are
they to the eyes; it is the working room of a man of culture,
probably lately down from Oxford; at a first meeting there is nothing
in it that pretends to be what it is not. Our visitor is a little
disappointed, but being fair-minded blows her absent host a kiss for
disappointing her.

He has even, she observes with a twinkle, made something of the most
difficult of his possessions, the little wife. For Maggie, who is
here receiving her, has been quite creditably toned down. He has put
her into a little grey frock that not only deals gently with her
personal defects, but is in harmony with the room. Evidently,
however, she has not 'risen' with him, for she is as ever; the
Comtesse, who remembers having liked her the better of the two, could
shake her for being so stupid. For instance, why is she not asserting
herself in that other apartment?

The other apartment is really a correctly solemn dining-room, of
which we have a glimpse through partly open folding-doors. At this
moment it is harbouring Mr. Shand's ladies' committee, who sit with
pens and foolscap round the large table, awaiting the advent of their
leader. There are nobly wise ones and some foolish ones among them,
for we are back in the strange days when it was considered
'unwomanly' for women to have minds. The Comtesse peeps at them with
curiosity, as they arrange their papers or are ushered into the
dining-room through a door which we cannot see. To her frivolous
ladyship they are a species of wild fowl, and she is specially amused
to find her niece among them. She demands an explanation as soon as
the communicating doors close.]

COMTESSE.