The Camberley Triangle

THE CAMBERLEY TRIANGLE

It is an evening of 1919 in KATE'S drawing-room. She is expecting him, and the Curtain goes up as he is announced.

MAID. Mr. Cyril Norwood.

(He comes in.)

NORWOOD (for the MAID'S benefit, but you may be sure she knows). Ah, good evening, Mrs. Camberley!

KATE. Good evening!

(They shake hands. NORWOOD is sleek and prosperous, in a morning coat with a white slip to his waistcoat. He is good-looking in rather an obvious way with rather an obvious moustache. Most women like him—at least, so he will tell you.)

NORWOOD (as soon as they are alone). My darling!

KATE. Cyril!

(He takes her hands and kisses them. He would kiss her face, but she is not quite ready for this.)

NORWOOD. You let me yesterday. Why mayn't I kiss you to-day?

KATE. Not just yet, dear. I want to talk to you. Come and sit down.

(They sit on the sofa together.)

NORWOOD. You aren't sorry for what you said yesterday?

KATE (looking at him thoughtfully, and then shaking her head). No.

NORWOOD. Then what's happened?

KATE. I've just had a letter from Dennis.

NORWOOD (anxiously). Dennis—your husband?

KATE. Yes.

NORWOOD. Where does he write from?

KATE. India.

NORWOOD. Oh, well!

KATE. He says I may expect him home almost as soon as I get the letter.

NORWOOD. Good Heavens!

KATE. Yes. . . .

NORWOOD (always hopeful). Perhaps he didn't catch the boat that he expected to. Wouldn't he have cabled from somewhere on the way?

KATE. You can't depend on cables nowadays. I don't know—What are we to do, Cyril?

NORWOOD. You know what I always wanted you to do. (He takes her hands) Come away with me.

KATE (doubtfully). And let Dennis come home and find—an empty house?

NORWOOD (eagerly). You are nothing to him, and he is nothing to you. A war-wedding!—after you'd been engaged to each other for a week! And forty-eight hours afterwards he is sent out to India—and you haven't seen him since.

KATE. Yes. I keep telling myself that.

NORWOOD. The world may say that you're his wife and he's your husband, but—what do you know of him? He won't even be the boy you married. He'll be a stranger whom you'll hardly recognise. And you aren't the girl he married. You're a woman now, and you're just beginning to learn what love is. Come with me.

KATE. It's true, it's true. But he has been fighting for us. And to come home again after those four years of exile, and find—

NORWOOD. Exile—that's making much too much of it. He's come through the war safely, and he's probably had what he'd call a topping good time. Like enough he's been in love half-a-dozen times himself since—on leave in India and that sort of thing. India! Well, you should read Kipling.

KATE. I wonder. Of course, as you say, I don't know him. But I feel that we should be happier afterwards if we were quite straight about it and told him just what had happened. If he had been doing what you say, he would understand—and perhaps be glad of it.

NORWOOD (uneasily). Really, darling, it's hardly a thing you …