Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays
Chapter 87 : EVELYN. I'm afraid I couldn't very well. You see it was really I who ought to

EVELYN. I'm afraid I couldn't very well. You see it was really I who ought to have thought of the roses! I always do them. But this morning I forgot.

CECIL. I see. [_Turning towards the tree._] Well, sit down now you are here. Isn't it a glorious day?

EVELYN [_hesitating_]. I don't believe I ought to sit down.

CECIL [_turns to her_]. Why not? There's no particular virtue about standing, is there? I hate standing. So let's sit down and be comfortable.

[_She sits, so does he. She sits on bank under tree, left of it.

He sits below bank to right of tree._]

EVELYN. But _ought_ I to be sitting here with you? That's what I mean.

It's--not as if I really _knew_ you, is it?

CECIL. Not _know_ me? [_The chatter of birds dies away._]

EVELYN. Not properly--we've never even been introduced. We just met quite by chance here in the wood.

CECIL. Yes. [_Ecstatically._] What a glorious chance!

EVELYN. Still, I'm sure mother wouldn't approve.

CECIL. And _you_ say Mrs. Rivers isn't stupid!

EVELYN [_laughing_]. I expect most people would agree with her. Most people would say you oughtn't to have spoken to a girl you didn't know like that.

CECIL. Oh, come, I only asked my way back to the inn.

EVELYN. There was no harm in asking your way, of course. But then we began talking of other things. And then we sat down under this tree. And we've sat under this tree every afternoon since. And that was a week ago.

CECIL. Well, it's such an awfully jolly tree.

EVELYN. I don't know _what_ mother would say if she heard of it!

CECIL. Would it be something unpleasant?

EVELYN [_ruefully_]. I'm afraid it would.

CECIL. How fortunate you don't know it then.

EVELYN [_pondering_]. Still, if I really _oughtn't_ to be here.... Do _you_ think I oughtn't to be here?

CECIL. I don't think I should go into that if I were you. Sensible people think of what they want to do, not of what they _ought_ to do, otherwise they get confused. And then of course they do the wrong thing.

EVELYN. But if I do what I oughtn't, I generally find I'm sorry for it afterwards.

CECIL. Not half sorry as you would have been if you hadn't done it. In this world the things one regrets are the things one hasn't done. For instance, if I hadn't spoken to you a week ago here in the wood I should have regretted it all my life.

EVELYN. Would you?

[_He nods._]

Really and truly?

CECIL [_nods_]. Really and truly.

[_He lays his hand on hers for a moment, she lets it rest there.

Cuckoo calls loudly once or twice--she draws her hand away._]

EVELYN. There's the cuckoo.

[_Cecil rises and sits up on bank R. of her, leaning against tree._]

CECIL. Yes. Isn't he jolly? Don't you love cuckoos?

EVELYN. They _are_ rather nice.

CECIL. Aren't they! And such clever beggars. Most birds are fools--like most people. As soon as they're grown up they go and get married, and then the rest of their lives are spent in bringing up herds of children and wondering how on earth to pay their school-bills. Your cuckoo sees the folly of all that. No school-bills for _her_! No nursing the baby!

She just flits from hedgerow to hedgerow flirting with other cuckoos.

And when she lays an egg she lays it in some one else's nest, which saves all the trouble of housekeeping. Oh, a wise bird!

EVELYN [_pouting, looking away from him_]. I don't know that I _do_ like cuckoos so much after all. They sound to me rather selfish.

CECIL. Yes. But so sensible! The duck's a wise bird too in her way.

[_She turns to him._] But _her_ way's different from the cuckoo's.

[_Matter-of-fact._] She always _treads_ on _her_ eggs.

EVELYN. Clumsy creature!

CECIL. Not a bit. She does it on purpose. You see, it's much less trouble than _sitting_ on them. As soon as she's laid an egg she raises one foot absent-mindedly and gives a warning quack. Whereupon the farmer rushes up, takes it away, and puts it under some wretched hen, who has to do the sitting for her. I call that genius!

EVELYN. Genius!

CECIL. Yes. Genius is the infinite capacity for making other people take pains.

EVELYN. How can you say that?

CECIL. I didn't. Carlyle did.

EVELYN. I don't believe he said anything of the kind. And I don't believe ducks are clever one bit. They don't look clever.

CECIL. That's part of their cleverness. In this world if one _is_ wise one should look like a fool. It puts people off their guard. That's what the duck does.

EVELYN. Well, I think ducks are horrid, and cuckoos, too. And I believe most birds _like_ bringing up their chickens and feeding them and looking after them.

CECIL. They do. That's the extraordinary part of it. They spend their whole lives building nests and laying eggs and hatching them. And when the chickens come out the father has to fuss round finding worms. And the nest's abominably over-crowded and the babies are perpetually squalling, and that drives the husband to the public house, and it's all as uncomfortable as the Devil--

EVELYN. Mr. Harburton!

CECIL. Well, _I_ shouldn't like it. In fact, I call it fatuous.