Belfry. Dead, I guess, by this time; trampled into pulp.
[Lady Sumner sinks fainting on the couch unnoticed by the others.]
Sir T. My Gervase! God forbid! Abbot, Salerne, Darken the theatre. Let the orchestra Strike up a blaring march. We'll clear the stage, And play St. James's play. Come after me!
Belfry. Cash, Tristram, cash! You know you're ruined. Name Your price. I want the Grosvenor Theatre--and I'll----
[Sir Tristram goes out, followed by everybody except Lady Sumner.]
Groom. Martha! To meet you here! ... Sleeping? A swoon!
[He raises her to a sitting posture, and she begins to revive. As she breathes with difficulty he unfastens her cloak, and finds her dressed like a boy.]
Lady S. Oh, Warwick, are we dead? My throat is parched Enough for hell.
[He breaks the neck of a bottle of champagne, fills a tumbler, and gives her to drink]
Alive still in the world Of lust and lush! Oh, Warwick, strike me, hurt me! My withered fancy flounders in the mire; My memory chooses words I never loved, Ideas foreign to my prime. Pure pain, Absorbing every sense, would clean my soul.-- Is this the Parthenon or the Grosvenor, Warwick?
Groom. Something abnormal for the stage! I passed Unnoticed in the tumult!
Lady S. Listen, Warwick, As if you were the Universe itself. No one would give an ear, or understand; But you will, Warwick; I belong to you; You had the bloom and scent, the flower of me. I think of that unhallowed, holy week A hundred times a day, a hundred times. You were my lover, Warwick, and my friend; My child, my doll: I used to dress you, dear. I live in that: that wonder-working time, When all my senses and my soul, aroused From the sweet slumber of virginity, Became one instinct and ardour of womanhood. Lay your proud head upon my bosom, love-- My faded bosom.--Now, my dear, now, now! If we could fall asleep and never waken.-- Why did I marry Tristram! Why? Not once Have you demanded that.
Groom. Because I guessed. He showed me to you----
Lady S. Hush! He did: and more-- He told me you were any woman's man.
Lady S. But you adored me, Warwick? You had a passion for me, a passion, Warwick?
Groom. I loved you then as truly as I love You now; haggard and worn, or fresh and sweet, You were and are the woman of my choice; You only, Martha.