I thought you were low, but I never thought you'd sink to...Who the heck do they think they are, barging in on peaceful people?
Now, shush, shush, they'll think you don't want them.
I want them out and you too.
Yes, yes your Majesty, but first, could I interest you in some small blackmail?
[as he removes an article from his coat pocket]
Well, it's an article, complete with snapshots, details, and insinuations. And it's ready for publication in Spy and it's about your father and that dancer in New York.
[grabbing the article]
About father and Tina Mara?
But they can't. Well they can't, even if it's true. Where did you get these?
From Sidney Kidd. The editor and publisher...
Well he is, temporarily. That is, if you'll allow those two to turn in a story on your wedding. And when Kidd says a story, he means a story!
Yes, dear. 'An Intimate Day with a Society Bride.'
Well, it's tough, but that's the way it seems to be.
So I'm to be examined, undressed, and generally humiliated at fifteen cents a copy. And you, you ---. You're loving it.
Of course, inasmuch as you let us in for it in the first place.
L Mr. Lord
Oh, do keep that note out of your voice, Tracy. It's very unattractive.
Oh? How does your dancer friend talk? Or does she purr?
L Mr. Lord
Oh, it's quite all right, Margaret.
Sweet and low, I suppose. Dulcet, very lady-like. You've got a heck of a nerve to come back here in your best-head-of-the-family manner and make stands and strike attitudes and criticize my fiancee and give orders and mess things up generally...
I can't help it. It's sickening. As if he'd done nothing at all!
L Mr. Lord
Which happens to be the truth.
Anyway, it's not your affair, Tracy, if it concerns anyone. Well actually, I don't know whom it concerns except your father.
L Mr. Lord
That's very wise of you, Margaret. What most wives fail to realize is that their husband's philandering has nothing whatever to do with them.
Oh? Then, what has it to do with?
L Mr. Lord
A reluctance to grow old, I think. I suppose the best mainstay a man can have as he gets along in years is a daughter - the right kind of daughter.
L Mr. Lord
No, no. I'm talking seriously about something I've thought over thoroughly. I've had to. I think a devoted young girl gives a man the illusion that youth is still his.
Very important, I suppose.
L Mr. Lord
Oh, very, very. Because without her, he might be inclined to go out in search of his youth. And that's just as important to him as it is to any woman. But with a girl of his own full of warmth for him, full of foolish, unquestioning, uncritical affection -
L Mr. Lord
None. You have a good mind, a pretty face, a disciplined body that does what you tell it to. You have everything it takes to make a lovely woman except the one essential - an understanding heart. And without that, you might just as well be made of bronze.
That's an awful thing to say to anyone.
L Mr. Lord
Yes, it is indeed.
So, I'm to blame for Tina Mara, am I?
L Mr. Lord
To a certain extent, I expect you are.
L Mr. Lord
No. But better that than a prig or a perennial spinster, however many marriages.
L Mr. Lord
I'm afraid it's not enough, Margaret. I'm afraid nothing is.
What, what did you say I was?
L Mr. Lord
Do you want me to repeat it?
'A prig and a...' You mean, you think I think I'm some kind of a goddess or something?
L Mr. Lord
If your ego wants it that way, yes. Also, you've been talking like a jealous woman.
'A...' What's the matter with everyone all at once, anyhow?
They aren't anybody's friends, but we're to pretend they are...Don't ask me, there's a good reason and it's my wedding, so please!
I'll bet it's on account of father and that dancer in New York.
Watching every little mannerism, jotting down notes on how we sit, stand, talk, and even move...And all in that horrible, snide, corkscrew English. Well, if we have to submit to it to save father's face, which [she covers Dinah's ears] incidentally doesn't deserve it, I'm for giving them a picture of home life that will stand their hair on end.
No. Tracy, we must just be ourselves. Very much ourselves.
Uncle Willie! Uncle Willie! How nice.
L Mr. Lord
I beg your pardon.
Please go on into lunch, everyone. I want a word with Uncle Willie...
L Mr. Lord
I'm afraid I don't understand.
You never have, but you came anyway, didn't you?
L Mr. Lord
Oh! Still Justice, with her shining sword - eh, daughter? Who's on the spot?
We are, thanks to you - Uncle Willie.
When you can do a thing like that book, how can you possibly do anything else?
Well, you may not believe this, but there are people in this world that must earn their living.
Of course, but people buy books, don't they?
Not as long as there's a library around. You know, that book of mine represents two solid years' work. And it netted Connor something under six hundred dollars.
But that shouldn't be!...What about your Miss Imbrie?
Well, Miss Imbrie is in somewhat the same fix. She's a born painter, and might be a very important one. But Miss Imbrie must eat. And she also prefers a roof over her head to being constantly out in the rain and snow.
You're a kind of, um, writer, aren't you, Mr. Connor?
Under what name do you publish?
What's the 'Macauley' for?
Well, my father taught English History. I'm, I'm Mike to my friends.
Of whom you have many, I'm sure. English History - it's always fascinated me. Cromwell, Robin Hood, Jack the Ripper. Where did he teach? I mean your father -
In a little high school in South Bend, Indiana.
South Bend! It sounds like dancing, doesn't it? You must have had a most happy childhood there.
No, I didn't mean it that way.
Uh, well, lack of where-with-all I guess.
But that doesn't always cause unhappiness, does it? Not if you're the right kind of man. George Kittredge, my fiancee, never had anything either and he...
[As George is about to hit Mike, Dexter instead steps in and hits Mike]
Hey listen! What right have...?
A husband's, till tomorrow, Kittredge.
[George leaves] [to Mike]
I know. I know. I'm sorry. But I thought I'd better hit you before he did. He's in better shape than I am.
[Mike has discovered the list of telephones in the Lord's house]
Uh-oh, Liz, what did I tell you? Look, how do you like this: living room, sitting room, terrace, pool, stables...
That's probably so they can talk to the horses without having them in the house.
[Mike walks in, carrying a drunk Tracy] [To George]
Now easy old man! [To Mike] She's not hurt?
Not wounded, sire, but dead.
It seems the minute she hit the water, the wine hit her.
Hello, Dexter. Hello, George. Hello, Mike. My feet are made of clay. Made of clay, did you know? Good niiiggghhhttt little man!
[Mike carries her upstairs]
How are the mighty fallen! But if I know Tracy - and I know her well, she'll remember little of this. For the second time in her life, she'll draw quite a tidy blank.
