144 harley Granville barker reclaimed DOROTHY: Why?
DOROTHY: No … so I’m sure I think.
EDWARD: Because I fear I see heartbreak ahead.
(There falls a little silence. Then Edward speaks, the more bitterly that it is without anger.)
DOROTHY: That you need never look to see … EDWARD: You still do care … far too much. DOROTHY: Do I hanker for the old thrill … l ike wine bubbling in one’s heart … and then the stir in the audience when … on I came. Dear friend, you now prefer my acting … off the stage. My well-known enthusiasm. It seems to me it rings more tinny every day. I’m glad it takes you in. Still, even that’s only an echo … growing fainter since I died.
EDWARD: Damn them! I’d damn their souls, if they had any. They’ve helped themselves to you at so much a time for … how many years? Dorothy … what have they ever given you in return? DOROTHY: Oh, if that were all my grievance I’d be a happy ghost this day. If I’d a thousand souls and they wanted them … t he dear Public … a s they need them … God knows they do … they should have every one, for me. What does the law say, Edward? Is a soul private property?
EDWARD: My dear Dorothy.
EDWARD: There are decisions against it.
DOROTHY: Oh … but you knew I was dead. You own now to mourning me. You know the day and hour I died. Hypocrite … I remember how you congratulated me on the tragic occasion … k issing my hand … you’re the only man that does it naturally. Doesn’t that abstract remind you when we produced “The Flight of the Duchess”?
DOROTHY: Then I prefer your law to your religion. It’s more public-spirited.
EDWARD: Many of us thought you very good.
EDWARD: Thirty years, nearly.
DOROTHY: Because I was far, far better than many a bad actress would have been. It is the queerest sensation, Edward, to be dead … though after a while you get quite used to it. Are you still alive, by the way? EDWARD: There is the same feeble flicker that there has ever been. DOROTHY: Burn on, dear Edward, burn on … t hat I may warm my poor hands sometimes at the flames you are. EDWARD: It can serve no better purpose.
EDWARD: My ancestral brand of religion, my dear, taught me to disapprove very strongly of the theatre. DOROTHY: And after watching my career you’ve found out why. How long have you been in this office, Edward? DOROTHY: The weight of them! Do you remember having tea at Richmond … at the Roebuck at Richmond … when they’d offered you this billet and we talked wisely of the future? EDWARD: I do. DOROTHY: And I made you take it, didn’t I? EDWARD: You did. DOROTHY: And I wouldn’t marry you. (Edward looks at her. One side of his mouth twitches a little. You might charitably call it a smile. But his eyes are smiling.)