A Room with a View Page #6

Go and call him.

- Call Mr. Vyse?

- No. The other one.

I'll deal with him myself.

You missed a good match, Miss Bartlett.

Charlotte, please stay.

Mr. Emerson, leave this house

and don't come back as long as I'm here.

- I can't.

- No discussion.

Go, please.

I don't want to call in Mr. Vyse.

You mean to marry that man?

- You're being ridiculous.

- I'd have held back if Cecil was different.

But he's the sort who can't know

anyone intimately, least of all a woman.

He doesn't know what a woman is.

He wants you for a possession,

to look at like a painting or an ivory box.

Something to own and to display.

He doesn't want you to be real,

to think and to live. He doesn't love you.

But I love you. I want you

to have your own thoughts and ideas,

even when I hold you in my arms.

Miss Bartlett, you wouldn't stop us,

not if you understood.

It's our last chance.

Do you understand how lucky people are

to find what's right for them?

It's such a blessing, don't you see?

And the fact I love Cecil and shall be

his wife shortly is of no importance?

This tremendous thing has happened

between us and it means...

it means nothing must hinder us ever again.

You have to understand that.

- I've no idea what you mean.

- Everyone must understand.

And you must leave.

It was wrong of me to listen to you.

But you haven't been listening.

If you had, you would know!

- Leave at once. Now.

- Lucy...

- No, I will not listen to one more word.

- My dears, do stop.

Haven't you done enough?

Don't interfere again.

- It's useless. Let me go, Miss Bartlett.

- Let Mr. Emerson go, Charlotte.

- I shall never forgive myself.

- You always say that,

but you always do forgive yourself.

Why does Italy make lady novelists

reach such summits of absurdity?

Lucy, it's still light enough for another set.

- Mr. Emerson has had to go.

- What a nuisance.

I say, Cecil, do play, there's a good chap.

Just this once. It's Floyd's last day.

Freddy, as you remarked this morning,

some chaps are good for nothing but books.

I plead guilty to being such a chap.

Because I wouldn't play tennis?

I never do play tennis. I never could.

Forget tennis. It was just the last straw.

I'm sorry, I can't marry you.

One day you'll be glad I said so.

- We're too different.

- But I...

I love you.

And... I did think you loved me.

I did not.

I thought I did at first. I'm sorry.

As for your loving me, you don't, not really.

You don't. It's only as something else.

As something you own. A painting, a Leonardo.

I don't want to be a Leonardo,

I want to be myself.

Oh, let's not go on now.

I'll only say things

that will make me unhappy afterwards.

You don't love me, evidently.

I dare say you're right not to...

...but it would help a little,

hurt a little less, if I knew why.

Because...

...you can't know anyone intimately,

least of all a woman.

I don't mean exactly that,

but you will go on asking questions.

You wrap yourself up in art,

and want to wrap me up,

so I'm breaking it off.

It's true.

True, on the whole.

You're so different tonight, like a different

person speaking with a new voice.

What do you mean? If you think

I love someone else, you're mistaken.

Of course I don't. I only meant that...

there was a... force in you

I hadn't known of up to now.

If a girl breaks off her engagement,

everyone thinks, "Oh, she has someone else."

It's disgusting, brutal!

Forgive me if I say stupid things.

My brain has gone to pieces.

I think we'd better go to bed, if you don't mind.

Let me do that for you.

I must actually thank you for what you've done.

For showing me what I really am.

I admire your courage.

Will you shake hands?

Of course I will, Cecil.

Goodnight.

I'm sorry about it.

Thank you for taking it so well.

Since the days are chillier now

and we've not, alas, a home of our own,

my sister feels we might benefit

by travel to a warmer clime.

The doctor has ordered her special bread,

but we can take that with us.

It is only getting first into a steamer

and then a train.

- Hello. So you're off, Mr. Vyse?

- Yes.

I've come to show Miss Honeychurch

a letter from our friends the Miss Alans.

"Since Florence did my sister so much good,

we think we should try Athens this winter."

Isn't it wonderful?

The Parthenon, the frieze of Phydias.

- Have you ever met these Miss Alans?

- Never.

Then you cannot appreciate

the romance of this visit.

I've never been myself,

nor do I have any plans to go.

Altogether too big for our little lot,

don't you agree? Got any matches?

Thank you.

You're quite right.

Greece is not for our little lot.

- Goodbye.

- Goodbye.

Mr. Beebe! Matches!

Matches!

Cecil's hard hit. Lucy won't marry him.

- When?

- Late last night. I must go.

- Will they want me to go down?

- Yes. Goodbye.

All right, Powell.

No, Charlotte.

Not the scissors, not when my hands are full.

- Good afternoon.

- How do you do, Mr. Beebe?

- Good gracious! What a mess things are!

- Yes.

Everyone's so horrid today, Uncle Arthur.

Let's go out to tea.

Good idea. Get your hat and coat

and I'll take you.

I'll take Minnie to the Beehive Tavern.

Care to join us, Miss Bartlett?

Oh, yes, Charlotte! I don't mind.

No. You have no one to help.

My services are better than nothing.

Oh, dear, Marian. I'm so sorry.

A delightful letter from the Miss Alans.

They're going to Greece. I'll read you some.

"Dear Mr. Beebe, I doubt we shall go

any further than Athens,

"but, if you know of a good pensione

in Constantinople, we should be so grateful."

Isn't that delightful? I do believe

they'll end by going round the world.

Delightful.

Miss Honeychurch, your brother has told me.

- Did he?

- I needn't say it will go no further.

Mother... Charlotte... Cecil... Freddy... you...

If I may say so,

I'm certain you've done the right thing.

Tell me more of the Miss Alans.

How splendid of them to go abroad.

I want them to start from Venice and then

go by cargo steamer down the Illyrian coast.

- Did Freddy say he'd drive straight back?

- No, he didn't.

I hope he won't gossip.

How splendid of them to go.

I wish they'd take me.

Would your mother spare you?

She must. I simply must go away.

I have to. Don't you see I have to go away?

Charlotte, the Miss Alans

are going to Constantinople.

No, only to Athens.

I've longed to go to Constantinople...

Athens, I mean.

In lieu of Constantinople,

could not we lure you to tea at the Beehive?

- No, thank you.

- Oh, well, Minnie, you and I must eat alone.

- Good afternoon.

- Good afternoon, Mr. Beebe.

- You must persuade Mother.

- What?

Don't you see? I must go somewhere. Anywhere!

I must get away, far, before it's known.

- What?

- That I've broken off my engagement.

- He mustn't get any ideas.

- You mean Mr. Emerson?

Charlotte, how slow you are.

There must be no gossip

at Summer Street, but to go as far as Greece!

I thought you'd be the first to go to Mother

and say Lucy must go to Greece.

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