Page:Heartbreak House, Great Catherine, and Playlets of the War.djvu/175

Act 3 with the greatest satisfaction when I am tired of you all, clever as you are.

[huffily]. I never set up to be clever.

I forgot you, Mr Mangan.

Well, I don't see that quite, either.

You may not be clever, Mr Mangan; but you are successful.

But I don't want to be regarded merely as a successful man. I have an imagination like anyone else. I have a presentiment—

Oh, you are impossible, Alfred. Here I am devoting myself to you; and you think of nothing but your ridiculous presentiment. You bore me. Come and talk poetry to me under the stars. [She drags him away into the darkness].

[tearfully, as he disappears]. Yes: it's all very well to make fun of me; but if you only knew—

[impatiently]. How is all this going to end?

It won't end, Mr Hushabye. Life doesn't end: it goes on.

Oh, it can't go on forever. I'm always expecting something. I don't know what it is; but life must come to a point sometime.

The point for a young woman of your age is a baby.

Yes, but, damn it, I have the same feeling; and I can't have a baby.

By deputy, Hector.

But I have children. All that is over and done with for me: and yet I too feel that this can't last. We sit here talking, and leave everything to Mangan and to chance and to the devil. Think of the powers of destruction that Mangan and his mutual admiration gang wield! It's madness: it's like giving a torpedo to a badly brought up child to play at earthquakes with.