George Bernard Shaw a penn State Electronic Classics Series Publication

touched—even appalled. He is amused at her.) Yes: I’m quite
in earnest. Think of how some of our married friends worry
one another, tax one another, are jealous of one another, can’t
bear to let one another out of sight for a day, are more like
jailers and slave-owners than lovers. Think of those very same
people with their enemies, scrupulous, lofty, self-respecting,
determined to be independent of one another, careful of how
they speak of one another—pooh! haven’t you often thought
that if they only knew it, they were better friends to their
enemies than to their own husbands and wives? Come: de-
pend on it, my dear, you are really fonder of Richard than
you are of me, if you only knew it. Eh?
JUDITH
. Oh, don’t say that: don’t say that, Tony, even in
jest. You don’t know what a horrible feeling it gives me.
ANDERSON 
(Laughing). Well, well: never mind, pet. He’s
a bad man; and you hate him as he deserves. And you’re
going to make the tea, aren’t you?
JUDITH 
(remorsefully). Oh yes, I forgot. I’ve been keeping you
waiting all this time. (She goes to the fire and puts on the kettle.)
ANDERSON 
(going to the press and taking his coat off). Have
you stitched up the shoulder of my old coat?
JUDITH
. Yes, dear. (She goes to the table, and sets about put-
ting the tea into the teapot from the caddy.)
ANDERSON 
(as he changes his coat for the older one hanging
on the press, and replaces it by the one he has just taken off).
Did anyone call when I was out?
JUDITH
. No, only—(someone knocks at the door. With a
start which betrays her intense nervousness, she retreats to the
further end of the table with the tea caddy and spoon, in her

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GB Shaw
hands, exclaiming) Who’s that?
ANDERSON 
(going to her and patting her encouragingly on
the shoulder). All right, pet, all right. He won’t eat you, who-
ever he is. (She tries to smile, and nearly makes herself cry. He
goes to the door and opens it. Richard is there, without overcoat
or cloak.) You might have raised the latch and come in, Mr.
Dudgeon. Nobody stands on much ceremony with us. (Hos-
pitably.) Come in. (Richard comes in carelessly and stands at
the table, looking round the room with a slight pucker of his
nose at the mezzotinted divine on the wall. Judith keeps her eyes
on the tea caddy.) Is it still raining? (He shuts the door.)
RICHARD
. Raining like the very (his eye catches Judith’s as
she looks quickly and haughtily up)—I beg your pardon; but
(showing that his coat is wet) you see—!
ANDERSON
. Take it off, sir; and let it hang before the fire
a while: my wife will excuse your shirtsleeves. Judith: put in
another spoonful of tea for Mr. Dudgeon.
RICHARD 
(eyeing him cynically). The magic of property,
Pastor! Are even YOU civil to me now that I have succeeded
to my father’s estate?
Judith throws down the spoon indignantly.
ANDERSON 
(quite unruffled, and helping Richard off with
his coat). I think, sir, that since you accept my hospitality,
you cannot have so bad an opinion of it. Sit down. (With the
coat in his hand, he points to the railed seat. Richard, in his
shirtsleeves, looks at him half quarrelsomely for a moment; then,
with a nod, acknowledges that the minister has got the better of
him, and sits down on the seat. Anderson pushes his cloak into a
heap on the seat of the chair at the fire, and hangs Richard’s coat