Book: The Second Series Plays, Complete

J >> John Galsworthy >> The Second Series Plays, Complete



GALSWORTHY PLAYS--SECOND SERIES--NO. 1

By John Galsworthy


Contents:

The Eldest Son
The Little Dream
Justice



THE ELDEST SON

BY JOHN GALSWORTHY




PERSONS OF THE PLAY

SIR WILLIAM CHESHIRE, a baronet
LADY CHESHIRE, his wife
BILL, their eldest son
HAROLD, their second son
RONALD KEITH(in the Lancers), their son-in-law
CHRISTINE (his wife), their eldest daughter
DOT, their second daughter
JOAN, their third daughter
MABEL LANFARNE, their guest
THE REVEREND JOHN LATTER, engaged to Joan
OLD STUDDENHAM, the head-keeper
FREDA STUDDENHAM, the lady's-maid
YOUNG DUNNING, the under-keeper
ROSE TAYLOR, a village girl
JACKSON, the butler
CHARLES, a footman


TIME: The present. The action passes on December 7 and 8 at the
Cheshires' country house, in one of the shires.

ACT I SCENE I. The hall; before dinner.
SCENE II. The hall; after dinner.

ACT II. Lady Cheshire's morning room; after breakfast.

ACT III. The smoking-room; tea-time.

A night elapses between Acts I. and II.





ACT I

SCENE I

The scene is a well-lighted, and large, oak-panelled hall, with
an air of being lived in, and a broad, oak staircase. The
dining-room, drawing-room, billiard-room, all open into it; and
under the staircase a door leads to the servants' quarters. In
a huge fireplace a log fire is burning. There are tiger-skins
on the floor, horns on the walls; and a writing-table against
the wall opposite the fireplace. FREDA STUDDENHAM, a pretty,
pale girl with dark eyes, in the black dress of a lady's-maid,
is standing at the foot of the staircase with a bunch of white
roses in one hand, and a bunch of yellow roses in the other. A
door closes above, and SIR WILLIAM CHESHIRE, in evening dress,
comes downstairs. He is perhaps fifty-eight, of strong build,
rather bull-necked, with grey eyes, and a well-coloured face,
whose choleric autocracy is veiled by a thin urbanity. He
speaks before he reaches the bottom.

SIR WILLIAM. Well, Freda! Nice roses. Who are they for?

FREDA. My lady told me to give the yellow to Mrs. Keith, Sir
William, and the white to Miss Lanfarne, for their first evening.

SIR WILLIAM. Capital. [Passing on towards the drawing-room] Your
father coming up to-night?

FREDA. Yes.

SIR WILLIAM. Be good enough to tell him I specially want to see him
here after dinner, will you?

FREDA. Yes, Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM. By the way, just ask him to bring the game-book in, if
he's got it.

He goes out into the drawing-room; and FREDA stands restlessly
tapping her foot against the bottom stair. With a flutter of
skirts CHRISTINE KEITH comes rapidly down. She is a
nice-looking, fresh-coloured young woman in a low-necked dress.

CHRISTINE. Hullo, Freda! How are YOU?

FREDA. Quite well, thank you, Miss Christine--Mrs. Keith, I mean.
My lady told me to give you these.

CHRISTINE. [Taking the roses] Oh! Thanks! How sweet of mother!

FREDA. [In a quick, toneless voice] The others are for Miss Lanfarne.
My lady thought white would suit her better.

CHRISTINE. They suit you in that black dress.

[FREDA lowers the roses quickly.]

What do you think of Joan's engagement?

FREDA. It's very nice for her.

CHRISTINE. I say, Freda, have they been going hard at rehearsals?

FREDA. Every day. Miss Dot gets very cross, stage-managing.

CHRISTINE. I do hate learning a part. Thanks awfully for unpacking.
Any news?

FREDA. [In the same quick, dull voice] The under-keeper, Dunning,
won't marry Rose Taylor, after all.

CHRISTINE. What a shame! But I say that's serious. I thought there
was--she was--I mean----

FREDA. He's taken up with another girl, they say.

CHRISTINE. Too bad! [Pinning the roses] D'you know if Mr. Bill's
come?

FREDA. [With a swift upward look] Yes, by the six-forty.

RONALD KEITH comes slowly down, a weathered firm-lipped man, in
evening dress, with eyelids half drawn over his keen eyes, and
the air of a horseman.

KEITH. Hallo! Roses in December. I say, Freda, your father missed
a wigging this morning when they drew blank at Warnham's spinney.
Where's that litter of little foxes?

FREDA. [Smiling faintly] I expect father knows, Captain Keith.

KEITH. You bet he does. Emigration? Or thin air? What?

CHRISTINE. Studdenham'd never shoot a fox, Ronny. He's been here
since the flood.

KEITH. There's more ways of killing a cat--eh, Freda?

CHRISTINE. [Moving with her husband towards the drawing-room] Young
Dunning won't marry that girl, Ronny.

KEITH. Phew! Wouldn't be in his shoes, then! Sir William'll never
keep a servant who's made a scandal in the village, old girl. Bill
come?

As they disappear from the hall, JOHN LATTER in a clergyman's
evening dress, comes sedately downstairs, a tall, rather pale
young man, with something in him, as it were, both of heaven,
and a drawing-room. He passes FREDA with a formal little nod.
HAROLD, a fresh-cheeked, cheery-looking youth, comes down, three
steps at a time.

HAROLD. Hallo, Freda! Patience on the monument. Let's have a
sniff! For Miss Lanfarne? Bill come down yet?

FREDA. No, Mr. Harold.

HAROLD crosses the hall, whistling, and follows LATTER into the
drawing-room. There is the sound of a scuffle above, and a
voice crying: "Shut up, Dot!" And JOAN comes down screwing her
head back. She is pretty and small, with large clinging eyes.

JOAN. Am I all right behind, Freda? That beast, Dot!

FREDA. Quite, Miss Joan.

DOT's face, like a full moon, appears over the upper banisters.
She too comes running down, a frank figure, with the face of a
rebel.

DOT. You little being!

JOAN. [Flying towards the drawing-roam, is overtaken at the door]
Oh! Dot! You're pinching!

As they disappear into the drawing-room, MABEL LANFARNE, a tall
girl with a rather charming Irish face, comes slowly down. And
at sight of her FREDA's whole figure becomes set and meaningfull.

FREDA. For you, Miss Lanfarne, from my lady.

MABEL. [In whose speech is a touch of wilful Irishry] How sweet!
[Fastening the roses] And how are you, Freda?

FREDA. Very well, thank you.

MABEL. And your father? Hope he's going to let me come out with the
guns again.

FREDA. [Stolidly] He'll be delighted, I'm sure.

MABEL. Ye-es! I haven't forgotten his face-last time.

FREDA. You stood with Mr. Bill. He's better to stand with than Mr.
Harold, or Captain Keith?

MABEL. He didn't touch a feather, that day.

FREDA. People don't when they're anxious to do their best.

A gong sounds. And MABEL LANFARNE, giving FREDA a rather
inquisitive stare, moves on to the drawing-room. Left alone
without the roses, FREDA still lingers. At the slamming of a
door above, and hasty footsteps, she shrinks back against the
stairs. BILL runs down, and comes on her suddenly. He is a
tall, good-looking edition of his father, with the same stubborn
look of veiled choler.

BILL. Freda! [And as she shrinks still further back] what's the
matter? [Then at some sound he looks round uneasily and draws away
from her] Aren't you glad to see me?

FREDA. I've something to say to you, Mr. Bill. After dinner.

BILL. Mister----?

She passes him, and rushes away upstairs. And BILL, who stands
frowning and looking after her, recovers himself sharply as the
drawing-room door is opened, and SIR WILLIAM and MISS LANFARNE
come forth, followed by KEITH, DOT, HAROLD, CHRISTINE, LATTER,
and JOAN, all leaning across each other, and talking. By
herself, behind them, comes LADY CHESHIRE, a refined-looking
woman of fifty, with silvery dark hair, and an expression at
once gentle, and ironic. They move across the hall towards the
dining-room.

SIR WILLIAM. Ah! Bill.

MABEL. How do you do?

KEITH. How are you, old chap?

DOT. [gloomily] Do you know your part?

HAROLD. Hallo, old man!

CHRISTINE gives her brother a flying kiss. JOAN and LATTER pause and
look at him shyly without speech.

BILL. [Putting his hand on JOAN's shoulder] Good luck, you two!
Well mother?

LADY CHESHIRE. Well, my dear boy! Nice to see you at last. What a
long time!

She draws his arm through hers, and they move towards the
dining-room.

The curtain falls.

The curtain rises again at once.




SCENE II

CHRISTINE, LADY CHESHIRE, DOT, MABEL LANFARNE,
and JOAN, are returning to the hall after dinner.

CHRISTINE. [in a low voice] Mother, is it true about young Dunning
and Rose Taylor?

LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid so, dear.

CHRISTINE. But can't they be----

DOT. Ah! ah-h! [CHRISTINE and her mother are silent.] My child, I'm
not the young person.

CHRISTINE. No, of course not--only--[nodding towards JOAN and
Mable].

DOT. Look here! This is just an instance of what I hate.

LADY CHESHIRE. My dear? Another one?

DOT. Yes, mother, and don't you pretend you don't understand,
because you know you do.

CHRISTINE. Instance? Of what?

JOAN and MABEL have ceased talking, and listen, still at the fire.

DOT. Humbug, of course. Why should you want them to marry, if he's
tired of her?

CHRISTINE. [Ironically] Well! If your imagination doesn't carry you
as far as that!

DOT. When people marry, do you believe they ought to be in love with
each other?

CHRISTINE. [With a shrug] That's not the point.

DOT. Oh? Were you in love with Ronny?

CHRISTINE. Don't be idiotic!

DOT. Would you have married him if you hadn't been?

CHRISTINE. Of course not!

JOAN. Dot! You are!----

DOT. Hallo! my little snipe!

LADY CHESHIRE. Dot, dear!

DOT. Don't shut me up, mother! [To JOAN.] Are you in love with
John? [JOAN turns hurriedly to the fire.] Would you be going to
marry him if you were not?

CHRISTINE. You are a brute, Dot.

DOT. Is Mabel in love with--whoever she is in love with?

MABEL. And I wonder who that is.

DOT. Well, would you marry him if you weren't?

MABEL. No, I would not.

DOT. Now, mother; did you love father?

CHRISTINE. Dot, you really are awful.

DOT. [Rueful and detached] Well, it is a bit too thick, perhaps.

JOAN. Dot!

DOT. Well, mother, did you--I mean quite calmly?

LADY CHESHIRE. Yes, dear, quite calmly.

DOT. Would you have married him if you hadn't? [LADY CHESHIRE shakes
her head] Then we're all agreed!

MABEL. Except yourself.

DOT. [Grimly] Even if I loved him, he might think himself lucky if I
married him.

MABEL. Indeed, and I'm not so sure.

DOT. [Making a face at her] What I was going to----

LADY CHESHIRE. But don't you think, dear, you'd better not?

DOT. Well, I won't say what I was going to say, but what I do say
is--Why the devil----

LADY CHESHIRE. Quite so, Dot!

DOT. [A little disconcerted.] If they're tired of each other, they
ought not to marry, and if father's going to make them----

CHRISTINE. You don't understand in the least. It's for the sake of
the----

DOT. Out with it, Old Sweetness! The approaching infant! God bless
it!

There is a sudden silence, for KEITH and LATTER are seen coming
from the dining-room.

LATTER. That must be so, Ronny.

KEITH. No, John; not a bit of it!

LATTER. You don't think!

KEITH. Good Gad, who wants to think after dinner!

DOT. Come on! Let's play pool. [She turns at the billiard-room
door.] Look here! Rehearsal to-morrow is directly after breakfast;
from "Eccles enters breathless" to the end.

MABEL. Whatever made you choose "Caste," DOT? You know it's awfully
difficult.

DOT. Because it's the only play that's not too advanced. [The girls
all go into the billiard-room.]

LADY CHESHIRE. Where's Bill, Ronny?

KEITH. [With a grimace] I rather think Sir William and he are in
Committee of Supply--Mem-Sahib.

LADY CHESHIRE. Oh!

She looks uneasily at the dining-room; then follows the girls
out.

LATTER. [In the tone of one resuming an argument] There can't be
two opinions about it, Ronny. Young Dunning's refusal is simply
indefensible.

KEITH. I don't agree a bit, John.

LATTER. Of course, if you won't listen.

KEITH. [Clipping a cigar] Draw it mild, my dear chap. We've had
the whole thing over twice at least.

LATTER. My point is this----

KEITH. [Regarding LATTER quizzically with his halfclosed eyes]
I know--I know--but the point is, how far your point is simply
professional.

LATTER. If a man wrongs a woman, he ought to right her again.
There's no answer to that.

KEITH. It all depends.

LATTER. That's rank opportunism.

KEITH. Rats! Look here--Oh! hang it, John, one can't argue this out
with a parson.

LATTER. [Frigidly] Why not?

HAROLD. [Who has entered from the dining-room] Pull devil, pull
baker!

KEITH. Shut up, Harold!

LATTER. "To play the game" is the religion even of the Army.

KEITH. Exactly, but what is the game?

LATTER. What else can it be in this case?

KEITH. You're too puritanical, young John. You can't help it--line
of country laid down for you. All drag-huntin'! What!

LATTER. [With concentration] Look here!

HAROLD. [Imitating the action of a man pulling at a horse's head]
'Come hup, I say, you hugly beast!'

KEITH. [To LATTER] You're not going to draw me, old chap. You
don't see where you'd land us all. [He smokes calmly]

LATTER. How do you imagine vice takes its rise? From precisely this
sort of thing of young Dunning's.

KEITH. From human nature, I should have thought, John. I admit that
I don't like a fellow's leavin' a girl in the lurch; but I don't see
the use in drawin' hard and fast rules. You only have to break 'em.
Sir William and you would just tie Dunning and the girl up together,
willy-nilly, to save appearances, and ten to one but there'll be the
deuce to pay in a year's time. You can take a horse to the water,
you can't make him drink.

LATTER. I entirely and absolutely disagree with you.

HAROLD. Good old John!

LATTER. At all events we know where your principles take you.

KEITH. [Rather dangerously] Where, please? [HAROLD turns up his
eyes, and points downwards] Dry up, Harold!

LATTER. Did you ever hear the story of Faust?

KEITH. Now look here, John; with all due respect to your cloth, and
all the politeness in the world, you may go to-blazes.

LATTER. Well, I must say, Ronny--of all the rude boors----[He turns
towards the billiard-room.]

KEITH. Sorry I smashed the glass, old chap.

LATTER passes out. There comes a mingled sound through the
opened door, of female voices, laughter, and the click of
billiard balls, dipped of by the sudden closing of the door.

KEITH. [Impersonally] Deuced odd, the way a parson puts one's back
up! Because you know I agree with him really; young Dunning ought to
play the game; and I hope Sir William'll make him.

The butler JACKSON has entered from the door under the stairs
followed by the keeper STUDDENHAM, a man between fifty and
sixty, in a full-skirted coat with big pockets, cord breeches,
and gaiters; he has a steady self respecting weathered face,
with blue eyes and a short grey beard, which has obviously once
been red.

KEITH. Hullo! Studdenham!

STUDDENHAM. [Touching his forehead] Evenin', Captain Keith.

JACKSON. Sir William still in the dining-room with Mr. Bill, sir?

HAROLD. [With a grimace] He is, Jackson.

JACKSON goes out to the dining-room.

KEITH. You've shot no pheasants yet, Studdenham?

STUDDENHAM. No, Sir. Only birds. We'll be doin' the spinneys and
the home covert while you're down.

KEITH. I say, talkin' of spinneys----

He breaks off sharply, and goes out with HAROLD into the
billiard-room. SIR WILLIAM enters from the dining-room,
applying a gold toothpick to his front teeth.

SIR WILLIAM. Ah! Studdenham. Bad business this, about young
Dunning!

STUDDENHAM. Yes, Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM. He definitely refuses to marry her?

STUDDENHAM. He does that.

SIR WILLIAM. That won't do, you know. What reason does he give?

STUDDENHAM. Won't say other than that he don't want no more to do
with her.

SIR WILLIAM. God bless me! That's not a reason. I can't have a
keeper of mine playing fast and loose in the village like this.
[Turning to LADY CHESHIRE, who has come in from the billiard-room]
That affair of young Dunning's, my dear.

LADY CHESHIRE. Oh! Yes! I'm so sorry, Studdenham. The poor girl!

STUDDENHAM. [Respectfully] Fancy he's got a feeling she's not his
equal, now, my lady.

LADY CHESHIRE. [To herself] Yes, I suppose he has made her his
superior.

SIR WILLIAM. What? Eh! Quite! Quite! I was just telling
Studdenham the fellow must set the matter straight. We can't have
open scandals in the village. If he wants to keep his place he must
marry her at once.

LADY CHESHIRE. [To her husband in a low voice] Is it right to force
them? Do you know what the girl wishes, Studdenham?

STUDDENHAM. Shows a spirit, my lady--says she'll have him--willin'
or not.

LADY CHESHIRE. A spirit? I see. If they marry like that they're
sure to be miserable.

SIR WILLIAM. What! Doesn't follow at all. Besides, my dear, you
ought to know by this time, there's an unwritten law in these
matters. They're perfectly well aware that when there are
consequences, they have to take them.

STUDDENHAM. Some o' these young people, my lady, they don't put two
and two together no more than an old cock pheasant.

SIR WILLIAM. I'll give him till to-morrow. If he remains obstinate,
he'll have to go; he'll get no character, Studdenham. Let him know
what I've said. I like the fellow, he's a good keeper. I don't want
to lose him. But this sort of thing I won't have. He must toe the
mark or take himself off. Is he up here to-night?

STUDDENHAM. Hangin' partridges, Sir William. Will you have him in?

SIR WILLIAM. [Hesitating] Yes--yes. I'll see him.

STUDDENHAM. Good-night to you, my lady.

LADY CHESHIRE. Freda's not looking well, Studdenham.

STUDDENHAM. She's a bit pernickitty with her food, that's where it
is.

LADY CHESHIRE. I must try and make her eat.

SIR WILLIAM. Oh! Studdenham. We'll shoot the home covert first.
What did we get last year?

STUDDENHAM. [Producing the game-book; but without reference to it]
Two hundred and fifty-three pheasants, eleven hares, fifty-two
rabbits, three woodcock, sundry.

SIR WILLIAM. Sundry? Didn't include a fox did it? [Gravely] I was
seriously upset this morning at Warnham's spinney----

SUDDENHAM. [Very gravely] You don't say, Sir William; that
four-year-old he du look a handful!

SIR WILLIAM. [With a sharp look] You know well enough what I mean.

STUDDENHAM. [Unmoved] Shall I send young Dunning, Sir William?

SIR WILLIAM gives a short, sharp nod, and STUDDENHAM retires by
the door under the stairs.

SIR WILLIAM. Old fox!

LADY CHESHIRE. Don't be too hard on Dunning. He's very young.

SIR WILLIAM. [Patting her arm] My dear, you don't understand young
fellows, how should you?

LADY CHESHIRE. [With her faint irony] A husband and two sons not
counting. [Then as the door under the stairs is opened] Bill, now
do----

SIR WILLIAM. I'll be gentle with him. [Sharply] Come in!

LADY CHESHIRE retires to the billiard-room. She gives a look
back and a half smile at young DUNNING, a fair young man dressed
in broom cords and leggings, and holding his cap in his hand;
then goes out.

SIR WILLIAM. Evenin', Dunning.

DUNNING. [Twisting his cap] Evenin', Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM. Studdenham's told you what I want to see you about?

DUNNING. Yes, Sir.

SIR WILLIAM. The thing's in your hands. Take it or leave it. I
don't put pressure on you. I simply won't have this sort of thing on
my estate.

DUNNING. I'd like to say, Sir William, that she [He stops].

SIR WILLIAM. Yes, I daresay-Six of one and half a dozen of the
other. Can't go into that.

DUNNING. No, Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM. I'm quite mild with you. This is your first place. If
you leave here you'll get no character.

DUNNING. I never meant any harm, sir.

SIR WILLIAM. My good fellow, you know the custom of the country.

DUNNING. Yes, Sir William, but----

SIR WILLIAM. You should have looked before you leaped. I'm not
forcing you. If you refuse you must go, that's all.

DUNNING. Yes. Sir William.

SIR WILLIAM. Well, now go along and take a day to think it over.

BILL, who has sauntered moody from the diningroom, stands by the
stairs listening. Catching sight of him, DUNNING raises his
hand to his forelock.

DUNNING. Very good, Sir William. [He turns, fumbles, and turns
again] My old mother's dependent on me----

SIR WILLIAM. Now, Dunning, I've no more to say.
[Dunning goes sadly away under the stairs.]

SIR WILLIAM. [Following] And look here! Just understand this
[He too goes out....]

BILL, lighting a cigarette, has approached the writing-table.
He looks very glum. The billiard-room door is flung open.
MABEL LANFARNE appears, and makes him a little curtsey.

MABEL. Against my will I am bidden to bring you in to pool.

BILL. Sorry! I've got letters.

MABEL. You seem to have become very conscientious.

BILL. Oh! I don't know.

MABEL. Do you remember the last day of the covert shooting?

BITS. I do.

MABEL. [Suddenly] What a pretty girl Freda Studdenham's grown!

BILL. Has she?

MABEL. "She walks in beauty."

BILL. Really? Hadn't noticed.

MABEL. Have you been taking lessons in conversation?

BILL. Don't think so.

MABEL. Oh! [There is a silence] Mr. Cheshire!

BILL. Miss Lanfarne!

MABEL. What's the matter with you? Aren't you rather queer,
considering that I don't bite, and was rather a pal!

BILL. [Stolidly] I'm sorry.

Then seeing that his mother has came in from the billiard-room,
he sits down at the writing-table.

LADY CHESHIRE. Mabel, dear, do take my cue. Won't you play too,
Bill, and try and stop Ronny, he's too terrible?

BILL. Thanks. I've got these letters.

MABEL taking the cue passes back into the billiard-room, whence comes
out the sound of talk and laughter.

LADY CHESHIRE. [Going over and standing behind her son's chair]
Anything wrong, darling?

BILL. Nothing, thanks. [Suddenly] I say, I wish you hadn't asked
that girl here.

LADY CHESHIRE. Mabel! Why? She's wanted for rehearsals. I thought
you got on so well with her last Christmas.

BILL. [With a sort of sullen exasperation.] A year ago.

LADY CHESHIRE. The girls like her, so does your father; personally I
must say I think she's rather nice and Irish.

BILL. She's all right, I daresay.

He looks round as if to show his mother that he wishes to be
left alone. But LADY CHESHIRE, having seen that he is about to
look at her, is not looking at him.

LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid your father's been talking to you, Bill.

BILL. He has.

LADY CHESHIRE. Debts? Do try and make allowances. [With a faint
smile] Of course he is a little----

BILL. He is.

LADY CHESHIRE. I wish I could----

BILL. Oh, Lord! Don't you get mixed up in it!

LADY CHESHIRE. It seems almost a pity that you told him.

BILL. He wrote and asked me point blank what I owed.

LADY CHESHIRE. Oh! [Forcing herself to speak in a casual voice]
I happen to have a little money, Bill--I think it would be simpler
if----

BILL. Now look here, mother, you've tried that before. I can't help
spending money, I never shall be able, unless I go to the Colonies,
or something of the kind.

LADY CHESHIRE. Don't talk like that, dear!

BILL. I would, for two straws!

LADY CHESHIRE. It's only because your father thinks such a lot of
the place, and the name, and your career. The Cheshires are all like
that. They've been here so long; they're all--root.

BILL. Deuced funny business my career will be, I expect!

LADY CHESHIRE. [Fluttering, but restraining herself lest he should
see] But, Bill, why must you spend more than your allowance?

BILL. Why--anything? I didn't make myself.

LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid we did that. It was inconsiderate,
perhaps.

BILL. Yes, you'd better have left me out.

LADY CHESHIRE. But why are you so--Only a little fuss about money!

BILL. Ye-es.

LADY CHESHIRE. You're not keeping anything from me, are you?

BILL. [Facing her] No. [He then turns very deliberately to the
writing things, and takes up a pen] I must write these letters,
please.

LADY CHESHIRE. Bill, if there's any real trouble, you will tell me,
won't you?

BILL. There's nothing whatever.

He suddenly gets up and walks about. LADY CHESHIRE, too, moves
over to the fireplace, and after an uneasy look at him, turns to
the fire. Then, as if trying to switch of his mood, she changes
the subject abruptly.

LADY CHESHIRE. Isn't it a pity about young Dunning? I'm so sorry
for Rose Taylor.

There is a silence. Stealthily under the staircase FREDA has
entered, and seeing only BILL, advances to speak to him.

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