Man and Superman and Three Other Plays by George Bernard Shaw Page A

more dangerous in modern society than poor women without chastity. Hardly a pleasant subject this!
    I must, however, warn my readers that my attacks are directed against themselves, not against my stage figures. They can not too thoroughly understand that the guilt of defective social organization does not lie alone on the people who actually work the commercial makeshifts which the defects make inevitable, and who often, like Sartorius and Mrs. Warren, display valuable executive capacities and even high moral virtues in their administration, but with the whole body of citizens whose public opinion, public action, and public contribution as ratepayers alone can replace Sartorius‘s f slums with decent dwellings, Charteris’s g intrigues with reasonable marriage contracts, and Mrs. Warren’s profession with honorable industries guarded by a humane industrial code and a “moral minimum” wage.
    How I came, later on, to write plays which, dealing less with the crimes of society, and more with its romantic follies, and with the struggles of individuals against those follies, may be called, by contrast, Pleasant, is a story which I shall tell on resuming this discourse for the edification of the readers of the second volume.
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    (To be continued in our next.)

MRS. WARREN’S PROFESSION

ACT I
    Summer afternoon in a cottage garden on the eastern slope of a hill a little south of Haslemere in Surrey. Looking up the hill, the cottage is seen in the left hand corner of the garden, with its thatched roof and porch, and a large latticed window to the left of the porch. Farther back a little wing is built out, making an angle with the right side wall. From the end of this wing a paling curves across and forward, completely shutting in the garden, except for a gate on the right. The common rises uphill beyond the paling to the sky line. Some folded canvas garden chairs are leaning against the side bench in the porch. A lady’s bicycle is propped against the wall, under the window. A little to the right of the porch a hammock is slung from two posts. A big canvas umbrella, stuck in the ground, keeps the sun off the hammock, in which a young lady lies reading and making notes, her head towards the cottage and her feet towards the gate. In front of the hammock, and within reach of her hand, is a common kitchen chair, with a pile of serious-looking books and a supply of writing paper upon it.
    A gentleman walking on the common comes into sight from behind the cottage. He is hardly past middle age, with something of the artist about him, unconventionally but carefully dressed, and clean-shaven except for a moustache, with an eager, susceptible face and very amiable and considerate manners. He has silky black hair, with waves of grey and white in it. His eyebrows are white, his moustache black. He seems not certain of his way. He looks over the paling; takes stock of the place; and sees the young lady. 1
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    THE GENTLEMAN 2 [ taking off his hat ] I beg your pardon. Can you direct me to Hindhead View—Mrs. Alison’s?
    THE YOUNG LADY [ glancing up from her book ] This is Mrs. Alison’s. [ She resumes her work. ]
    THE GENTLEMAN Indeed! Perhaps—may I ask are you Miss Vivie Warren?
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    THE YOUNG LADY [ sharply, as she turns on her elbow to get a good look at him] Yes.
    THE GENTLEMAN [ daunted and conciliatory ] I’m afraid I appear intrusive. My name is Praed. [ VIVIE at once throws her books upon the chair, and gets out of the hammock. ] Oh, pray don’t let me disturb you.
    VIVIE [ striding to the gate and opening it for him ] Come in, Mr. Praed. [ He comes in. ] Glad to see you. [ She proffers her hand and takes his with a resolute and hearty grip. She is an attractive specimen of the sensible, able, highly-educated young middle-class Englishwoman. Age 22. Prompt, strong, confident, self-possessed. Plain, business-like dress, but not dowdy. She wears a chatelaine at her belt, with a