The Tenth Man: A Tragic Comedy in Three Acts

SCENE: A drawing-room at LORD FRANCIS ETCHINGHAM’S house in Norfolk Street, Park Lane. An Adam room, with bright chintzes on the furniture, photographs on the chimney-piece and the piano, and a great many flowers. There is an archway at the back, leading into another drawing-room, and it is through this that visitors are introduced by the butler. On the left is a large bow window, and on the right a door leading into the library.

LORD and LADY FRANCIS.

LORD FRANCIS ETCHINGHAM is a man of fifty, of the middle height, rather bald, with an amiable, weak face. He is a good-natured person, anxious to do his best in all things and to all people so long as he is not bored. He wants everything to go smoothly. He has a comfortable idea of his own capacity. Reduced circumstances have drawn him into affairs, and he regards himself as a fine man of business. LADY FRANCIS is a handsome and well-preserved woman of the same age as her husband, with dyed red hair; she has a massive, almost an imposing, presence, and she is admirably gowned. She treats her husband with good-humoured scorn, aware of his foibles, but amused rather than annoyed by them. When the curtain rises FRANCIS ETCHINGHAM is a prey to the liveliest vexation. He is walking nervously across the room, while his wife, with a thin smile, stands quietly watching him. With a gesture of irritation he flings himself into a chair.

ETCHINGHAM.

Why the dickens didn’t you tell me last night, Angela?

LADY FRANCIS.

[_Smiling._] I had no wish to disturb my night’s rest.

ETCHINGHAM.

Upon my soul, I don’t know what you mean. It’s incomprehensible to me that you should have slept like a top. I couldn’t have closed my eyes the whole night.

LADY FRANCIS.

I know. And you would have taken excellent care that I shouldn’t close mine either.

ETCHINGHAM.

I should have thought I had enough to do without being pestered with a foolish woman’s matrimonial difficulties.

LADY FRANCIS.

[_With a laugh._] You really have a very detached way of looking at things, Frank. No one would imagine, to hear you speak, that the foolish woman in question was your daughter.

ETCHINGHAM.

Really, Angela, I must beg you not to make this a subject of flippancy.

LADY FRANCIS.

[_Good-humouredly._] Well, what do you propose to do?

ETCHINGHAM.

[_Flying out of his chair._] Do? What do you expect me to do? You tell me that Kate came home at twelve o’clock last night without a stitch of clothing....

LADY FRANCIS.

My dear, if I told you that I was most unwarrantably distorting the truth.

ETCHINGHAM.

[_Irritably correcting himself._] In a ball dress, with an opera cloak on--without her luggage, without even a dressing-case--and informs you that she’s left her husband.... It’s absurd.

LADY FRANCIS.

Quite absurd. And so unnecessarily dramatic.

ETCHINGHAM.

And when’s she going home?

LADY FRANCIS.

She assures me that she’s not going home.

ETCHINGHAM.

[_Almost beside himself._] She’s not going to stay here?

LADY FRANCIS.

Those are her plans at the moment.

ETCHINGHAM.

And George?

LADY FRANCIS.

Well?

ETCHINGHAM.