ff^^ *»io* ^ 
 
 . <^ 
 
 
 rTi^* A 
 
 .* .'^^ -^^ \ 
 
 
 °- /\v;;^'X >°.-:^i'>o /"y^^^^^^ 
 
 
 o 
 
 <^ 'o,,* ,0 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 * 'J.' '^ ^ 
 
 
 

 • 0-7'^ 
 
 'V.^'^ * 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^0^ 
 
 • ^' 
 
 
 <>. -co' ,^^ '<^^ **•.'•* aO' V '* .rtT'\^-«- 
 
 
 
 
 
 %. J"' ^^^-^^ 
 
 
 . 
 
 % 
 
 j^'^Tr^-'^o' V'*i^'\^*'^ ^'''^^'-'.^^ 
 
 'V.^*^ * 
 
 
 
 0* *LVl'-v 
 
 
 *A0< 
 
 «>i 
 
 bV 
 
 
 
 v-^; 
 
 0^ ***.nL'-v > "^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 'bV 
 
 '>*-0^ 
 
 
 
MODERN 
 lAMERICAN PLAYS 
 
 COLLECTED WITH INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE P. BAKER 
 
 Professor of Dramatic Literature, Harvard University 
 
 m 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE 
 
 1920 
 
The professional and amateur stage rights of the plays in this 
 book are strictly reserved by the authors. Application for per- 
 mission to produce any one of the plays should be made to the 
 respective auth/yr 
 
 yO'h 
 
 
 
 1^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY 
 HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE, INC 
 
 THE QUiNN at BOOEN COMPANY 
 RAMWAY. N. J. 
 
 AUG 28 \m 
 ©CI.A576211 
 
!- 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Introduction 
 
 As 4. Man Thinks . . . Augustus Thomas 
 
 The Return of Peter Grimm David Belasco . 
 
 Romance .... Edward Sheldon 
 
 The Unchastened Woman . Louis Kaufman Ans- 
 
 pacher . 
 
 Plots and Playwrights 
 
 Edward Massey 
 
 PAGE? 
 1 
 
 101 
 215 
 
 359 
 48S 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The plays here printed are not, of course, the only five 
 which might have been selected. From the many possible 
 American plays of the last ten years these five have been 
 chosen because decided success has been theirs, and be- 
 cause today they are worthy of professional revival. There 
 is, however, a third test which has excluded many plays 
 otherwise desirable, — the selections made must show the 
 greatest possible variety. 
 
 Romance, played very successfully in the United States 
 for a season or two, was revived by Miss Doris Keane in 
 London in War time. Its " run " was over a thousand 
 nights, one of the longest on record. The central situation, 
 an unsophisticated young man infatuated with an actress, 
 is undeniably not new. We have seen it in Nance Old^ 
 field, and more recently in Barrie's Rosalind, indeed, in a 
 dozen other plays. What lifts Romance free of triteness 
 is just what produced its unusual success, the characteriza- 
 tion of Mme. Cavallini. So inseparably is the part asso- 
 ciated with Miss Keane, who first acted it, that it is im- 
 possible exactly to distinguish the contributions of the 
 author and the actress to the final effect of perfect char- 
 acterization. After all, the drama is a collaborative art, 
 and no role — even Hamlet or Lear — is seen at its best till 
 an actor of such sensitiveness and matured technique plays 
 it that not merely what the text obviously says, but its 
 slightest implications are revealed. In Mme. Cavallini, as 
 played, author and actress worked in perfect accord. 
 
 The heroine of Romance quickly wins, and thereafter 
 holds, the sympathy of the audience. The fortunes of an 
 
 V 
 
vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 unsympathetic heroine, observers of our stage have re- 
 peatedly told us, an AmericajU audience follows unwillingly. 
 It always resents, according to the same wiseacres, an 
 unhappy ending. To all this the success of The Un- 
 chastened Woman has been a positive and a very desirable 
 denial. Certainly Mr. Anspacher*s task was not easy — to 
 make a woman essentially repugnant to audiences compel 
 their attention. Nor was it enough to make Caroline 
 KnoUys interesting. The public must recognize her as a 
 type numerous enough and dangerous enough to warrant 
 making her the center of a play, which inevitably sets an 
 audience thinking how women like her may be kept from 
 the tragedies they create. Romance, then, depends for its 
 appeal on the dramatic interest with which it tells its story, 
 and especially on the complete understanding with which 
 it draws its heroine. The Unchastened Woman, too, draws 
 its central figure with perfect comprehension, but it seeks 
 to do what Romance does not, — move an audience to serious 
 thinking about the social significance of that figure. The 
 success of The Unchastened Woman undoubtedly helped 
 prepare our audiences for their recent hearty approval of 
 Mr. Ervine*s Jane Clegg and Mr. O'Neill's Beyond the 
 Horizon, 
 
 The Return of Peter Grimm and As a Man Thinks prove 
 that our drama of the past ten years has tried to keep 
 pace with the public in some of their thinking. Mr. 
 Thomas has given a thoroughly dramatic presentation of 
 one of the conservative answers to the feminists who have 
 urged complete emotional freedom for women. Mr. Belasco 
 dramatizes the borderland between the seen and the unseen 
 of which Sir Oliver Lodge has written so persuasively. 
 As a Man Thinks deals not with people of the theater, but 
 portraits from the life of the moment. How well Seelig is 
 done ! How good, because how clear yet restrained, is the 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 drawing of the Jewish side of his character! Again and 
 again^ too, the play solves the constantly recurring puzzle 
 of the dramatist: How shall I translate this argument, this 
 needed exposition of motives or central facts, into terms of 
 absorbing drama? The seeming simplicity of the emphasis 
 on the details which later make Clayton sure that it was 
 his wife who went to De Lota's apartment proves its mas- 
 tery. The central idea oi As a Man Thinks may not be 
 subtle, nor as difficult to convey in the theater as many 
 others recently attempted by our dramatists, but it must 
 be admitted that this play completely succeeds in trans- 
 lating its essential didacticism into genuine drama. 
 
 Anyone who saw Mr. Warfield in The Return of Peter 
 Grimm as the dreamy idealist, the gentle but obstinate 
 schemer, will be glad to hear that Mr. Belasco plans to 
 revive the play. But there is more in the play to com- 
 mend than central characterization. Deft touch after 
 touch makes us swiftly feel that we are on the borderland 
 between the real and the unreal: and the difficult atmos- 
 phere, once created, is perfectly sustained. Probably what 
 is most remarkable in Peter Grimm, however, is the neatness 
 and sureness of emphasis. By a well chosen phrase, hj 
 iteration, by illustration, by clever disguising of exposition 
 as an emotional scene, Mr. Belasco puts into the ninds of 
 his audience the ideas as to the occult which are essential 
 if the play is to develop with the emotional results he 
 desires. 
 
 Plots and Playwrights, a decided success originally in 
 The 47 Workshop and later with The Washington Square 
 Players, is, of course, criticism made drama. So well has 
 this been done that its three short scenes stir audiences 
 emotionally, and its long burlesque moves to laughter or 
 sympathetic tears according as an auditor has been well 
 trained in the theater or has depended on more extravagant 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 motion pictures and melodrama. Revived in 1918 at one 
 of the large War camps, the three short scenes went rather 
 tamely, but the burlesque was followed absorbedly. More 
 than one hearer turned aside to brush from his manly 
 cheek the furtive tear of sympathy for the ever trustful 
 mother and the erring daughter! 
 
 Plots and Playwrights, with its prologue, three one acts 
 slightly connected, its long burlesque, and its epilogue, is, 
 too, an interesting example of the constantly increasing 
 attempts to break free from the time-honored division of 
 a play into three, four, or five acts. 
 
 Primarily, of course, this book is intended to make its 
 plays more accessible for readers. Yet it will be disap- 
 pointing if there are not two other results. From all over 
 the country comes the demand of amateur actors for plays 
 of literary quality from the professional stage. Will not 
 acquaintance with such books as this lead readers to apply 
 to the dramatists represented for acting rights? It is far 
 more worth while to attempt the giving of a significant 
 play than to act a bad play better. Originally Plots and 
 Playwrights was produced by The 47 Workshop. 
 
 Even, however, if reading these plays does not lead to 
 amateur production of all of them, surely it will create a 
 demand for frequent revivals by local stock companies. 
 We do not see enough of some American plays of the past 
 three decades. Many years ago everyone was talking of 
 Bronson Howard's The Banker's Daughter, His farce, 
 Saratoga^ was one of the earlier plays to conquer London. 
 How many of the generation which has come into the 
 theater since 1910 have had any chance to see either of 
 these plays .^^ Why should Clyde Fitch be a man of whom 
 young people hear today, but whose plays they see hardly 
 at all? No history of the American drama can neglect his 
 work as do the managers of the stock theaters. If any 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 American company would give them as well as the English 
 actors at the Copley Theater, Boston, play the English 
 pieces of his contemporaries, they would find a sufficient 
 public to warrant the venture. There are people who 
 still talk of James A. Heme's Griffith Davenport as nota- 
 ble among the first forerunners of the newer American 
 drama. Even had the manuscript not been destroyed when 
 Mr. Heme's house was burned, we should have seen few 
 revivals of it. Surely books like this may do a little to 
 overcome this foolish worship of the recent as the neces- 
 sarily novel, this willingness to attend a poor play of the 
 moment instead of a play of proved good quality from ftie 
 nearer past. Of course, plays which seemed likely to have 
 permanent attractiveness do become strange and uninter- 
 esting, but only by the sifting process of occasional revival 
 shall we come to know which plays have for the public 
 lasting significance. 
 
 Twenty years ago we had pretty well discarded adapta- 
 tions from French and German farces which had been the 
 great successes of an earlier period. We were just emerg- 
 ing from a time when the leading American managers relied 
 principally on successes from London. Repetitions of 
 plays by Henry Arthur Jones, Sir Arthur Pinero, Oscar 
 Wilde, and G. B. Shaw were helping to shape the American 
 drama in the first dozen years of the present century. 
 The last ten years have shown that our public, while still 
 enjoying many of the best plays from across the Atlantic, 
 has welcomed most heartily the work of American dram- 
 atists. For some time it has been the custom to decry 
 post-War conditions in the American theater. Neverthe- 
 less the recovery of the drama has been quicker in New 
 York than in either London or Paris. The present Amer- 
 ican season has shown more really interesting plays, has 
 brought forward more new writers of promise than has the 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 London season. A public which heartily welcomes Beyond 
 the Horizon and Jane Clegg is not the old public. It 
 seems now as if there really were in New York an audi- 
 ence large enough to make successful any kind of drama 
 worthy attention. With that newer public created out of 
 the War, with the probable greater effectiveness of the 
 dramatists who have been writing successfully for us, with 
 the promise shown by the newer writers, this is no time 
 for pessimism. If the five plays chosen here from many 
 other possibilities show the atmosphere, characterization, 
 swift response to the interests of the public, and technique 
 already remarked, surely we have the right to hope that 
 the next decade will give us an American drama which, 
 in its mirroring of American life, will be even more varied 
 in form, even richer in content. 
 
 George P. Baker, 
 
AS A MAN THINKS 
 
 A Play in Four Acts 
 
 By 
 AUGUSTUS THOMAS 
 
 Augustus Thomas was born at St. Louis, January 8, 1859. 
 He was educated in the St. Louis public schools and studied 
 law for two years. He has been variously page boy for 
 the 41st Congress, special writer and illustrator on the 
 St. Louis, Kansas City, and New York papers, editor and 
 proprietor of the Kansas City Mirror. His plays are 
 Alabama, In Missouri, Arizona, The Earl of Pawtucket, 
 The Education of Mr. Pipp^ Oliver Goldsmith, On the 
 Quiet, Mrs, LeffingwelVs Boots, The Other Girl, The Bur- 
 glar, The Embassy Ball, The Witching Hour, The Harvest 
 Moon, As a Man Thinks, Rio Grande, Indian Summer, The 
 Copperhead, Palmy Days, 
 
 As a Man Thinks was first presented at the 39th Street 
 Theater, New York, March 13, 1911, with John Mason as 
 Dr. Seelig. 
 
 [Copyright, 1911, by Duffield & Company] 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Vedah 
 
 Dr. Seelig 
 
 Holland, Seelig's footman 
 
 Butler 
 
 Mrs. Clayton 
 
 Julian Burrill 
 
 Benjamin De Lota 
 
 Frank Clayton 
 
 Mrs. Seelig 
 
 Sutton, Clayton's footman 
 
 Miss Doane 
 
 Judge Hoover 
 
 Dick 
 
AS A MAN THINKS 
 
 ACT I 
 
 [SCENE: Drawing Room of the residence of Doctor 
 Seelig. Two small sofas set at right angles to the 
 fireplace form a kind of inglenook. At the outer ends 
 of the sofas are two marble pedestals, each surmounted 
 by an antique vase. 
 
 Time: An afternoon in late September. Vedah 
 Seelig^ a young girl, is at the piano and playing. 
 After a few bars there is the sound of a door closing, 
 Vedah listens, then speaks.] 
 Vedah. Papa? 
 Seelig. Yes. 
 Vedah. Alone } 
 
 Seelig. Alone. [He enters from the hall, Vedah 
 meets and kisses him,'\ Mother home.^ 
 Vedah. She is lying down. 
 Seelig. Is mother ill.'^ 
 Vedah. Only resting. 
 Seelig. Ah — where is the tea? 
 Vedah. It isn't time. 
 
 Seelig. [Regarding his watch,"] Quarter of five. 
 Vedah. [Laughing.] But no company. 
 Seelig. Company? My dear Vedah. Tea with me is 
 not a function — it's a stimulant. [He calls to a footman 
 passing.] Holland. 
 
 Holland. [Pausing at doorway.] Yes, sir. 
 Seelig. Tell the butler — some tea. [Holland goes.] 
 
 3 
 
4 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 Vedah. Now^ Papa. 
 
 Seelig. [Affectionately imitating her,'] " Now, Papa." 
 
 You want to drive me into dissipation. 
 
 Vedah. But the others will think they're late. 
 
 Seelig. I shan't grudge them that accuracy — they are 
 late. I don't wonder at some of them, but I'm astonished at 
 De Lota. 
 
 Vedah. [Pause.] De Lota? 
 
 Seelig. Yes. 
 
 Vedah. Is Mr. De Lota coming? 
 
 Seelig. I asked hijm to come. 
 
 Vedah. Why? 
 
 Seelig. Meet your artist — 
 
 Vedah. But, Papa — 
 
 Seelig. [Playfully,] Y\^ell, scold me. 
 
 Vedah, But — Papa. 
 
 Seelig. First to famish for a little tea — and then to be 
 reprimanded for inviting a prospective son-in-law. 
 
 Vbdah. I don't want Mr. Burrill and Mr. De Lota to 
 meet. 
 
 Seelig. Not meet — ? 
 
 Vedah. Just yet. 
 
 Seelig. Why not? 
 
 Vedah. I haven't told anybody of my engagement to 
 Mr. De Lota. 
 
 Seelig, Well? 
 
 Vedah. Well — he carries himself so — so — 
 
 Seelig. Proudly? 
 
 Vedah. So much like a proprietor that it's hard to ex- 
 plain to others — strangers especially. 
 
 Seelig. By ** strangers especially " you mean Mr. Bur- 
 rill? 
 
 Vedah. Yes. 
 
 Seelig. Is Mr. Burrill's opinion important? 
 
Act I] AS A MAN THINKS 5 
 
 Vedah. His refinement is important. 
 
 Seelig. Refinement? 
 
 Vedah. Yes — the quality that you admire in men — ► 
 the quality that Mr. De Lota sometimes lacks. 
 
 Seelig. When — for example? 
 
 Vedah. I've just told you. 
 
 Seelig. Well, tell me again. 
 
 Vedah. When he gives the impression of — of — owning 
 me. 
 
 Seelig. [Pause,'\ But after all, isn't there a compli- 
 ment in that? 
 
 Vedah. There's considerable annoyance in it. 
 
 Seelig. Oh — [A butler enters, gets tea table, which he 
 places center and goes out.^ If you and De Lota announced 
 your engagement his manner might — seem more natural — 
 to strangers especially. 
 
 Vedah. I don't wish it announced. 
 
 Seelig. It was to have been announced in September, 
 wasn't it? 
 
 Vedah. I know — but I'm waiting. 
 
 Holland. [Appearing in doorway and announcing.'] 
 Mrs. Clayton. 
 
 [Mrs. Elinor Clayton, a blonde and blue-eyed woman 
 of delicate charm and distinction, enters, 
 
 Vedah. Elinor! [Kisses her,] How good of you ta 
 come so early. 
 
 Elinor. Doctor. 
 
 Seelig. [Shaking hands with Mrs. Clayton.] Elinor.. 
 
 Elinor. [Seeing the empty tea table.] Am I the first? 
 
 Vedah. The very first. 
 
 Seelig. If I'm not — counted. 
 
 Elinor. You're first in every situation, Doctor. [To 
 Vedah.] I hope to have a moment with your father before 
 the others call. 
 
6 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 Vedah. Professionally? 
 
 Elinor. Don't I look the invalid? How's your mother? 
 Vedah. Fine, thank you. 
 
 Elinor. And to see her on a matter about as unimportant 
 .as my medical errand. 
 
 Vedah. I'll leave you together while I tell Mama. 
 
 [She goes out, 
 
 Elinor. [Sitting,'] When I came to see you last 
 time — ? 
 
 Seelig. Yes? 
 
 Elinor. You told me the truth about myself? 
 
 Seelig. My dear Mrs. Clayton. 
 
 Elinor. Of course you did as far as you told me any- 
 thing, but I thought you might be withholding something. 
 
 Seelig. I don't know a woman in better physical condi- 
 tion. [He takes a chair beside her,] 
 
 Elinor. Well, I want you to give me something to make 
 me sleep. 
 
 Seelig. Sleep ! 
 
 Elinor. I wake about four in the morning and — stay 
 iawake, 
 
 Seelig. How often has this happened? 
 
 Elinor. Ever since I came to see you — and a week 
 iDcfore that. 
 
 Seelig. 'M — [Pause,] Anything troubling you? 
 
 Elinor. No. 
 
 Seelig. Do you stay wide awake or — only partly so? 
 
 Elinor. Awake. 
 
 Seelig. Thinking? 
 
 Elinor. Yes. 
 
 Seelig. Of what? 
 
 Elinor. Oh — everything. 
 
 Seelig. But principally — ? 
 
Act I] AS A MAN THINKS 7 
 
 Elinor. Principally — [Pause,] That old trouble at 
 Atlantic City. 
 
 Seelig. Anything in Frank's conduct to revive that? 
 
 Elinor. No — but — 
 
 Seelig. What.^ 
 
 Elinor. I think — sometimes that I felt that trouble 
 more than any of us — even / thought I felt it. 
 
 Seelig. You forgave Franks didn't you? 
 
 Elinor. Yes — but it was a good deal for a wife to over- 
 look. 
 
 Seelig. You mean you didn't forgive him? 
 
 Elinor. I mean the hurt was deeper than I knew — 
 deeper than I could know except as time taught me its 
 depth. 
 
 Seelig. Your thoughts on that are what wake you in the 
 early morning? 
 
 Elinor. And keep me awake. 
 
 Seelig. Well, let's talk about it. 
 
 Elinor. I don't wish to talk about it, Doctor. 
 
 [She moves to a seat near the window. 
 
 Seelig. In surgery we sometimes find a condition where 
 a wound has healed too quickly and on the surface only. 
 The treatment is to re-open it entirely. A mental trouble 
 has its analogy. Better talk of it. [He goes to a seat 
 beside her.] Frank was foolish. Under the law you might 
 have abandoned him to his folly. In that case, with his 
 temperament — [Pause,] Two years? He'd have been — 
 well — " a failure " is too gentle a description. As it is, 
 consider his advancement in the two years — his develop- 
 ment — power. All due to your wisdom, my dear Elinor — 
 to your wisdom and forbearance — to your love for him — 
 [Pause.] That sums it up — you do love him. 
 
 Elinor. [Earnestly.] Yes. 
 
 Seelig. Frank is important — he influences public opinion 
 
-8 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 with his magazines and papers. He addresses an audience 
 of two millions, let us say. In the great scheme of the 
 world Frank is a factor — a big factor — isn't he.^ 
 
 Elinor. Yes — I suppose he is. 
 
 Seelig. [Cheeringly.'] Well, there vou are. Your abid- 
 ing love for him made all the difference between success 
 and failure. All the forces radiating from Frank really do 
 so because of your loyalty at a supreme moment. That's 
 a large commission, isn't it? The fates made you their 
 chosen instrument — their deputy. If Frank hadn't needed 
 help you couldn't have given it, could you? 
 
 Elinor. Of course not. 
 
 Seelig. [Rising energetically. '\ Well, don't regret hav- 
 ing been useful — be proud of it. 
 
 Elinor. But a man who has once committed such a fault 
 — may do so again. 
 
 Seelig. [Pleasantly,'] You're assuming that we learn 
 nothing from our mistakes — we men. 
 
 Elinor. Well, do you? 
 
 Seelig. [Smiling,'] As a physician — I'd hate to tell you 
 how much. 
 
 Elinor. I couldn't go through it again. 
 
 Seelig. You won't have to. 
 
 Elinor. [Going to Seelig.] And you won't give me 
 anything for my insomnia? 
 
 Seelig. Isn't a point of view something? 
 
 Elinor. Yes, if I can take it. 
 
 Seelig. You did take it. I saw the care go out of those 
 eyes — and the peace come into them. 
 
 Elinor. [Pause,] You're a dear. [She gratefully and 
 impulsively takes Seelig's hand.] 
 
 Vedah. May I come in? 
 
 Seelig. Yes. 
 
 [Vedah enters. 
 
Act I] AS A MAN THINKS 9 
 
 Vedah. Mama wants you to come up, Elinor. 
 
 Elinor. Yes — [As Vedah starts with her.] Oh, I'll 
 go alone. 
 
 Vedah. But don't desert me entirely. 
 
 [Elinor goes out* 
 
 Seelig. Mama not coming down? 
 
 Vedah. No. 
 
 [The Butler enters with tea service — lighted lamp, 
 etc., which he puts on the table and goes out. 
 
 Seelig. When did you first meet Mr. Burrill? 
 
 Vedah. With you — at his exhibition. 
 
 Seelig. That was in September. 
 
 Vedah. Yes. 
 
 Seeling. [Pause.] Vedah, I want to help Mr. Burrill — 
 
 Vedah. He has a lot of talent. 
 
 Seelig. I'm going to take down my beautiful vases 
 De Lota gave us. [He caresses a vase on one of the pedes- 
 tals,] 
 
 Vedah. They're deadly — 
 
 Seelig. And put up Mr. Burrill's statuettes — 
 
 Vedah. That's helping ourselves. 
 
 Seelig. I'm going to enlist Clayton in Mr. Burrill's 
 fight with the architects. 
 
 Vedah. That's " copy " for Clayton's. 
 
 Seelig. But Mr. Burrill is [Pause.] not a Jew. 
 
 Vedah. [Pouring tea.] There's no race nor religion to 
 art, is there.'* 
 
 Seelig. There frequently is to the artist. [Tenderly.] 
 Careful^ my pet. Remember — your happiness will be — with 
 your own race. [Vedah gives Seelig his tea. 
 
 Holland. [Appears and announces.] Mr. Burrill. 
 
 Vedah. Show Mr. Burrill in. [Holland goes^ 
 
 Seelig. Second call this week, isn't it? 
 
 Vedah. Yes. 
 
10 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 Seelig. You know^ he has some rights, 
 
 Vedah. You mean — ? 
 
 Seelig. His heart — 
 
 [ Enter Burrill, a young man of twenty-eight years, 
 
 Vedah. Good afternoon. 
 
 BuRRiLL. How do you do.^ [They shake hands.'] 
 
 Seelig. How are you? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Fine, thank you. 
 
 Seelig. Any more news of the court house decoration? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Nothing different. 
 
 Vedah. How will you take your tea, Mr. Burrill? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Submissively. I take it only because I admire 
 its preparation. 
 
 Seelig. We still struggle along with our vases. [He 
 indicates the vases on the pedestals,] 
 
 Burrill. I understand your reluctance to move them. 
 
 Seelig. Only waiting for your statuettes. 
 
 Burrill. They haven't come? 
 
 Seelig. No. 
 
 Vedah. I think they did. Papa. Something dreadfully 
 .heavy came this morning. 
 
 Seelig. Well ! 
 
 Vedah. I was afraid to unpack them. 
 
 Burrill. [Laughing,] They're bronze. 
 
 [Vedah gives Burrill his tea. She then goes 
 to the door and pushes the electric button, 
 
 Seelig. Do you know Clayton — the publisher — Clay- 
 ton's magazine? 
 
 Burrill. Reputation. 
 
 Seelig. He's a live wire — Clayton. 
 
 Burrill. Yes. 
 
 [The Butler enters, 
 
 Vedah. The expressman brought a package this morn- 
 ing? 
 
Act I] AS A MAN THINKS 11. 
 
 Butler. Yes, M'm — two statues. 
 
 Vedah. How do you know? 
 
 Butler. I opened it. 
 
 Vedah. You opened it! 
 
 Butler. [Looking to Seelig.] Mrs. Seelig told me to 
 open it. 
 
 Vedah. Mama told him to open it. Would you have 
 thought it? 
 
 Seelig. [To Burrill.] How was the box addressed? 
 
 BuRRiLL. To you. 
 
 Seelig. [Dryly.'] I would have thought it — yes — 
 
 Vedah. Bring the statuettes here. 
 
 Butler. They are in Mrs. Seelig's room. 
 
 Vedah. I'll go with you and get them — Excuse me — 
 
 [Vedah and the Butler go out. 
 
 Seelig. IVe asked Clayton to drop in on his way up- 
 town. 
 
 Burrill. I shall be glad to meet him. 
 
 Seelig. Mrs, Clayton is here. Have you met her? 
 
 Burrill. No. 
 
 Seelig. She was a Miss Hoover. Judge Hoover's 
 daughter. 
 
 Burrill. [Nodding,'] The newspapers keep one pretty 
 well informed. 
 
 Seelig. Unfortunate^ that notoriety. 
 
 Burrill. Can't be agreeable. 
 
 Seelig. Prosperity tries a man more than poverty does— 
 
 Burrill. So I\e read — 
 
 Seelig. Clayton makes two millions a year from his 
 publications — 
 
 Burrill. Think of it! 
 
 Seelig. His temptations were proportionate to his sud- 
 den success and — well, she is a most sensible woman. 
 
 Burrill. Forgave everything I believe. 
 
12 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 Seelig. Not too meekly — I assure you — but — they have 
 a little boy and — as I say — she is a most sensible woman. 
 As for Clayton — well I guess Clayton is sufficiently contrite. 
 
 [Vedah and the Butler re-enter, the Butler carries 
 two bronze figurines, 
 
 Vedah. [Indicating a pedestal. 'I I think the girl on 
 that pillar — And the man on that one — 
 
 Seelig. I'd put the girl here — 
 
 Vedah. Why ? 
 
 Seelig. See it first. [He tahes the female figure from 
 the Butler who places the male figure on the floor and goes 
 out.'] 
 
 Vedah. She's too darling for anything. 
 
 Seelig. [Placing the statuette on the tea table.] Your 
 figures are even handsomer here^ than at the exhibition. 
 
 Burrill. The room helps them. 
 
 Seelig. [With the statuette which he displays.] Look, 
 Vedah ! Isn't she graceful in every view ? 
 
 Vedah. She is. 
 
 Seelig. Do you know your nymph reminds me of those 
 stunning little things by Theodore Riviere ? 
 
 Burrill. That's very interesting. The girl that posed 
 for this was a model for Riviere. 
 
 Seelig. [Playfully.] Well, there you are — I shall set 
 up as a connoisseur. 
 
 Vedah. You promised to bring her photograph. 
 
 Burrill. I have brought it. 
 
 Seelig. [Half anxiously.] But — posing? 
 
 Burrill. Oh, no — street costume. 
 
 Seelig. Oh — 
 
 Burrill. There — [He takes a photograph from his 
 pocket and hands it to Vedah.] 
 
 Seelig. [Sitting comfortably.] I don't know why sculp- 
 ture is so much more modest than photography — but — it is. 
 
Act I] AS A MAN THINKS 13 
 
 BuRRiLL. The artist is a mediator. 
 
 Seelig. Does that explain it? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Doesn't it? 
 
 Seelig. I don't know — IVe never been an artist. 
 
 Vedah. Nor a photographer. 
 
 Seelig. Nor, for that matter, a beautiful female model. 
 
 Vedah. [Carrying the photograph to Seelig.] See, 
 Papa — isn't that face angelic? 
 
 Seelig. It is — It is — [To Burrill.] And I dare say 
 the lady herself was — [Indicates abandon,] 
 
 Burrill. No — she wasn't a bad sort. She has a right 
 to the face. 
 
 Vedah. [With girlish enthusiasm,'] Those eyes^ Papa! 
 And that beautiful nose and mouth. Why, anybody could 
 love her. 
 
 Burrill. Well — a good many did. 
 
 Vedah. Of whom does she make you — think? 
 
 Seelig. Some player. 
 
 Vedah. Duse. [Seelig nods,] 
 
 Burrill. The resemblance is often remarked. 
 
 Vedah. She should have been an actress. 
 
 Burrill. [Shaking his head.] She tried acting and 
 failed. 
 
 Vedah. Did you see her? 
 
 Burrill. Before my time. Antoine gave her a very 
 good chance in his theater, but — she was only a model. 
 
 Seelig. Yes, if Antoine couldn't make her act. [Vedah 
 returns the photograph to Burrill.] 
 
 Burrill. But — a fine girl for all that — warm hearted 
 — most grateful to the man who had got her the chance. 
 
 Vedah. Well, if anybody got me a place in Antoine's 
 theater I'd be grateful. [She returns to the statuette ex- 
 amining it closely,] I'm sorry we can't see her mouth. 
 
 Seelig. You can't? [Also examines the statuette.] 
 
14 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 BuRRiLL. No — our early Greeks played with those pipes 
 tied to the face. 
 
 Vedah. I'm going to put her on her pedestal. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Let me. \^He takes the statuette from the 
 tahle.^ 
 
 Vedah. Take your old vases, Papa. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Old vases ! 
 
 Seelig. [Taking the vases from the pedestals J] The 
 finest specimens in America, Mr. Burrill. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Exquisite — where did you find them? 
 
 Seelig. Benjamin De Lota brought them from Genoa. 
 De Lota does art and music for Clayton! 
 
 BuRRiLL. Charming. 
 
 Seelig. I shall promote them to my library. [He goes 
 toward the door.^ I — I regard them somewhat as a bribe. 
 
 Burrill. A bribe .'^ 
 
 Vedah. [Expostulating .'] Papa ! 
 
 Seelig. De Lota gave them to me — and in the same 
 interv^iew asked me to — to become his father-in-law — an 
 intimate and antique relation — a time-honored method. 
 [Regards vases,'] Ah, well. [Seelig goes out through the 
 library door,~\ 
 
 Burrill. [Dashed with the news,] His father-in-law. 
 
 Vedah. You hadn't heard .^ [Burrill shakes head, 
 avoiding her gaze,] Why, yes. [Pause,] May I pour you 
 some more tea? 
 
 Burrill. No, thank you. [He walks away,] 
 
 Vedah. Do you know Mr. De Lota? 
 
 Burrill. No. 
 
 Vedah. He wrote that beautiful notice in Clavton's 
 about your work. 
 
 Burrill. [Moodily at window,] I know his articles, 
 of course. 
 
 Vedah. Shan't we put up the dancing man too? 
 
Act I] AS A MAN THINKS 15 
 
 BuRRiLL. [Rousing himself,^ Let me. [He puts the 
 male figurine on the second pedestal,] 
 
 Vedah. They go well there^ don't they? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Very well. 
 
 Vedah. Attendant spirits of my fireside. 
 
 BuRRiLL. They are honored. 
 
 Vedah. Do you know why I like them? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Why? 
 
 Vedah. [Impressively. 'I They are just a girl and a 
 man — nothing more — with their pan pipes — their freedom 
 — ^the joy of existence — 
 
 BuRRiLL. [Forcing a gayety,'] That sounds like pagan- 
 ism. 
 
 Vedah, I am a pagan. 
 
 BuRRiLL. And the gentleman? 
 
 Vedah. Mr. De Lota? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Yes. 
 
 Vedah. Mr. De Lota — is a Jew. 
 
 BuRRiLL. [Pause,'] Well^ I'm a pagan myself — a Wal- 
 ter Pater pagan. 
 
 Vedah. Oh, yes. I, too^ must have the sunshine^ the 
 poetry, the festivals. 
 
 BuRRiLL. And you saw somewhat of that in my little 
 figures ? 
 
 Vedah. Yes — 
 
 BuRRiLL. You hinted as much that day at the exhibition 
 — thousands had walked by and looked at their catalogues 
 — but you — only you — interpreted them. I can't tell you 
 how much that meant to me. 
 
 Vedah. I wonder if you know — that we — [Pause,] 
 
 BuRRiLL. We what? 
 
 Vedah. Were never introduced to each other. 
 
 BuRRiLL. I hug that to my memory. 
 
 Vedah. A friend offered — but I fibbed. I said I knew 
 
16 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 you already. An introduction would have been — well — 
 [Rises impatiently J] 
 
 BuRRiLL. What? 
 
 Vedah. a strait- jacket on your dancer. [She pauses 
 and comes near Aim.] But it has been wrong to make you 
 call bere^ hasn't it.'^ 
 
 BuRRiLL. Has it.'* 
 
 Vedah. Tell me. 
 
 BuRRiLL. [With renewed fervor,"] Not if they are really 
 to be the attendant spirits. 
 
 Vedah. [Evading his manner and going to the first 
 statuette,] Why did you get her a place in Antoine's 
 theater } 
 
 BuRRiLL. I didn't. 
 
 Vedah. Then how do you know she was grateful ? 
 
 BuRRiLL. The man who got her the place — afterwards 
 committed — committed a crime and was on trial in Paris. 
 Mimi had then become a model and was posing for Riviere 
 and me and other artists. She dragged us — Antoine — 
 Riviere — me — everybody — to the court house in a frenzied 
 effort to free him. 
 
 Vedah. Maybe she loved him. 
 
 BuRRiLL. I think not — simply gratitude for his interest. 
 But that's a rare virtue. 
 
 [Mrs. Elinor Clayton returns to the room, 
 
 Vedah. Mrs. Clayton^ may I present Mr. Julian Bur- 
 rill^ the sculptor. 
 
 Elinor. Mr. Burrill. [She gives Burrill her hand,] 
 
 Vedah. Mrs. Clayton is the Mrs. Clayton. 
 
 Elinor. You must look as though you knew. 
 
 Burrill. My struggle is to conceal my knowledge — 
 
 Elinor. [To Vedah.] All that you've told me of him 
 seems to be true. 
 
 Burrill. So quickly.^ 
 
Act I] AS A MAN THINKS 17 
 
 Vedah. One or two lumps ? And look at my Greek play- 
 mates. 
 
 Elinor. [Seeing the statuettes,'] Charming. [To 
 Vedah.] Two please. [She turns to the dancing nymph.] 
 Think of wanting to vote when one may do that! 
 
 BuRRiLL. Exactly. 
 
 Vedah. And cream ? 
 
 Elinor. Lemon please. [To Burrill.] You're a 
 dangerous man. 
 
 Burrill, I } 
 
 Elinor. With that degree of flattery. 
 
 Burrill. That's a servile portrait. 
 
 Elinor. Really? 
 
 Vedah. Show Mrs. Clayton the photograph. 
 
 Burrill. [Passing the photo to Elinor.] Model. 
 
 Elinor. I know this woman. 
 
 Vedah. Resembles Duse. 
 
 Elinor. In Paris. 
 
 Burrill. Yes. 
 
 Elinor. She writes for the papers. 
 
 Burrill. I hardly think writes for the papers. 
 
 Elinor. French papers — yes. And she represents Mr. 
 Clayton's publications. 
 
 Burrill. I shouldn't have thought it. 
 
 Vedah. You've met her? 
 
 Elinor. A moment — yes — in this same hat and gown. 
 [She hands the photograph to Vedah.] Mr. Clayton said 
 she spoke no English though she understood it fairly. 
 Frank introduced her as a writer — she smiled assent — 
 
 Burrill. [Reclaiming the photograph.] Possible. 
 
 Holland. [Entering and announcing.] Mr. De Lota. 
 [Benjamin De Lota enters. He is a tall — aggressive 
 
 and intellectual Spanish Jew of thirty-five years or so. 
 
 [Holland goes out. 
 
18 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 Vedah. Good afternoon. 
 
 De Lota. [Taking her hand with much manner S\ 
 Vedah. 
 
 Vedah. Mrs. Clayton you know.'^ 
 
 De Lota- Yes — how are you. [Elinor nods to him. 
 
 Vedah. And let me introduce Mr. Burrill. 
 
 De Lota. Mr. Burrill. 
 
 l^The men shake hands, 
 
 Burrill. [Seriously,] I've an impression of having 
 met you in Paris. 
 
 De Lota. I'm often there. 
 
 Vedah. Some tea.^ 
 
 De Lota. Not any^ thank you. [To Elinor.] I 
 thought Frank was to be here.'^ 
 
 Elinor. He is. 
 
 De Lota. Good. [To Burrill.] Doctor Seelig has 
 told Frank — Mrs. Clayton's husband — about your row with 
 the architects. 
 
 Burrill. I hardly call it a row. 
 
 De Lota. Better call it a row and make it a row or 
 you'll never get a chance at the big sculpture. Once let a 
 ring do all the work and you young fellows can starve or be 
 journeymen. Thank God^ Clayton's a Westerner, believes 
 in the open shop. 
 
 Burrill. We want his influence^ but not to involve him. 
 
 De Lota. Magazines must print something. [He goes 
 to Elinor.] Frank will clasp him and his row to our 
 bosom with hooks of steely won't he? 
 
 Elinor. How do you spell steel? 
 
 De Lota. I follow the market. [To Vedah.] Where's 
 Papa? 
 
 Vedah. Finding the post of honor in his library for 
 your vases. 
 
 De Lota. [Noting the pedestals.] Oh — yours? 
 
Act I] AS A MAN THINKS 19 
 
 BuRRiLL. Yes. 
 
 De Lota. [Regarding the dancing girl.] Charming. 
 
 Elinor. Does she impress you as a co-worker.^ 
 
 De Lota. Co-worker— no — co — respondent — yes. 
 
 Elinor. I mean as a fellow member of the profession? 
 
 De Lota. Which profession? 
 
 Elinor. Journalism. 
 
 De Lota. By nothing except the willingness to ii^crease 
 her circulation. 
 
 Vedah. Mrs. Clayton says the lady represents your 
 magazine in Paris. 
 
 De Lota. I dare say Fm dull — but — ? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Not the statuette — the model — Mimi Char- 
 denet. 
 
 De Lota. Mimi Chardenet — Europa? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Yes. 
 
 De Lota. Was Mimi your model? [Burrill nods.] 
 I might have known it. [He turns admiringly to the 
 bronze.] 
 
 Elinor. Why do you say " Europa? " 
 
 De Lota. Mimi was *' Europa ** at the Quat*z Arts 
 ball this year. 
 
 Elinor. Europa — mythological^ isn't it? 
 
 De Lota. Yes. 
 
 Vedah. [As Elinor looks to her.] I remember some- 
 thing of Europa in our literature class — ^must be all 
 right. 
 
 De Lota. Disappointingly proper. 
 
 Elinor. But the lady at the ball? 
 
 De Lota. Costume — well, somewhat less than this. 
 
 Elinor. Less? 
 
 De Lota. [Nodding.] Without the pipes — mounted 
 on a sleek black bull which the students led about the 
 ball room. 
 
20 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 Elinor. Show Mr. De Lota the photograph. 
 
 De Lota. [Taking photo from Burrill.] That's Mimi. 
 
 Elinor. Let me have it again. 
 
 [De Lota gives Elinor the photograph. 
 Burrill. Can she possibly have also written.'* 
 De Lota. Mimi a blue stocking.'' I leave it to you. 
 Elinor. Frank knows this woman. 
 De Lota. Your husband.^ 
 Elinor. Yes. 
 
 De Lota. Of course. I introduced him. 
 Elinor. I was sure of it. 
 
 [De Lota is startled hy Elinor's seriousness, 
 Seelig. [Calling from the library.^ Vedah. 
 Vedah. Yes, Papa. 
 
 Seelig. You and Mr. Burrill come here a moment. 
 Vedah. [To Burrill.] He wants us — [To others.'] 
 He doesn't know you are here. 
 
 De Lota. Don't disturb him on my account. 
 Vedah. Your vases anyway — I expect — 
 Burrill. [Excusing his going.] Pardon. 
 
 [Elinor n>ods. Vedah and Burrill go to 
 the library, 
 De Lota. [Alone with Elinor.] Well.'* 
 Elinor. Well.^ 
 
 De Lota. We do meet, don't we? 
 Elinor. Vedah didn't tell me you were to be here. 
 De Lota. The Doctor invited me. 
 Elinor. Meetings of this kind — I can't help. 
 De Lota. But you won't ask me to your home. 
 Elinor. Frank asks you. 
 De Lota. I'll come when you ask me. 
 Elinor. I shan't ask you. 
 De Lota. Why.'* 
 Elinor. [Pause.] You know why. 
 
Act I] AS A MAN THINKS 21 
 
 De Lota. I don't. 
 
 Elinor. [Going to the statuette.] This model — you say 
 you introduced Frank to her? 
 
 De Lota. Yes. 
 
 Elinor. When.^ 
 
 De Lota. This year. 
 
 Elinor. Where.'' 
 
 De Lota. Paris — Quat'z Arts ball. It was her pose as 
 Europa that caught — Frank's — caught his eye. 
 
 Elinor. I remember the newspaper comment the day 
 after. On that particular night — Frank went to a meeting 
 of the American Chamber of Commerce. 
 
 De Lota, So did I. At those student dances the in- 
 teresting things don't begin until midnight. 
 
 Elinor. I see. 
 
 De Lota. [Insistentli/,'\ But you're changing the sub7 
 ject. Frank and I see a good deal of each other at the 
 office. He begins to think it strange I don't accept his 
 invitations to the house. 
 
 Elinor. Why haven't you.'* 
 
 De Lota. He said he wanted me to call, to know you 
 better — [Smiles.] I saw you'd told him nothing — so — 
 I await your invitation. 
 
 Elinor. You were away when Frank and I first met, 
 [De Lota nods.] Away when we married — [De Lota 
 nods.] I suppose all husbands ask their wives if they've 
 ever cared for anyone else — [She leaves the fireplace and 
 goes to the window.] 
 
 De Lota, [Pause.] And you said — ? 
 
 Elinor. I said no. Smile if you wish but — I hadn't 
 loved anyone as I loved him. 
 
 De Lota. [Following.] Naturally. 
 
 Elinor. So what I said was true. 
 
 De Lota. By the feminine standard — yes. 
 
^2 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 Elinor. That's one of the things I always disliked in 
 you, Ben. 
 
 De Lota. What.'^ 
 
 Elinor. Your talk of feminine standards and masculine 
 standards. In morals there is just one standard. 
 
 De Lota. [Laughing.'] Were there many other things 
 you disliked in me? 
 
 Elinor. This is one other. 
 
 De Lota. What.'^ 
 
 Elinor. Your mood of cat-like cruelty. 
 
 De Lota. Cruelty — cat-like? 
 
 Elinor. Yes — cruelty — and it goes with your smile. 
 That is like a cat's — your manner is like a cat's. When 
 you play the piano it is a cat walking on the keys. 
 
 De Lota. There were times, however, when you asked 
 me to play. 
 
 Elinor. There are times when I like cats. 
 
 De Lota. Elinor — [He starts impulsively toward her.] 
 
 Elinor. [Avoiding him.] No — 
 
 De Lota. [Regarding her with admiration,] Damn 
 it — we'd have been happy together — ^you and I. 
 
 Elinor. No. 
 
 De Lota. The history of my people supports me. 
 
 Elinor. Spanish history? 
 
 De Lota. Jewish history. Our girls have often been 
 Tunhappy when they've married outside. But our men — 
 lave absorbed the women of other races. 
 
 Elinor. You mustn't talk to me in that strain. [She 
 -walks angrily away,] 
 
 De Lota. A man in sentimental bankruptcy may at least 
 enumerate his assets. We would have been happy. 
 
 Elinor. No. 
 
 De Lota. One of us would have been happy, of 
 that — I'm sure. I loved you, Elinor, because you were 
 
Act I] AS A MAN THINKS 23r 
 
 a queen — me you sacrificed because — [Pause,] I was a 
 Jew. 
 
 Elinor. And because you are a Jew you still speak of it. 
 
 De Lota. Exactly. 
 
 Elinor. But you must cease to speak of it. • 
 
 De Lota. Not while you listen. 
 
 Elinor. [Starting toward the door,] I will never be 
 alone with you again. 
 
 De Lota. [Interposing,] Then I must tell you now. 
 
 Elinor. [Commandingly,] Play something or I shall 
 leave. 
 
 De Lota. Thank you — I prefer this way myself. [He 
 laughs and goes to the piano which he plays brilliantly and 
 with passion,] 
 
 [SeeliGj Vedah and Burrill re-enter in turn and join 
 
 Elinor. 
 
 [Enter Holland wh& whispers to Seelig. Seelig 
 
 goes out with Holland and returns with 
 
 Clayton as piano ceases, 
 
 Vedah. [Meeting Clayton and shaking his hand,] We- 
 feared you were forgetting us. 
 
 Clayton. Never — [He nods to his wife,] my dear. 
 
 Vedah. Mr. Clayton, may I present Mr. Julian Burrill.. 
 
 Clayton. [To Burrill.] I thought you an older man.. 
 
 Vedah. He Is. [Burrill laughs,] 
 
 Clayton. In the Salon six years ago^ weren't you? 
 
 Burrill. Yes. 
 
 Clayton. Medal, if I remember? 
 
 [Burrill nods, Clayton turns to Seelig> 
 with a shrug, 
 
 Seelig. No justice at all in the discrimination of these 
 architects. 
 
 Elinor. [Calmly,] That is Mr. Burrill's latest work- 
 [She indicates the dancing figurine,] 
 
54 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 Clayton. Charming. 
 
 Elinor. Do you recognize the lady? 
 
 Clayton. [Playfulli/,] I'd like to. 
 
 Elinor. Mimi Chardenet. 
 
 Clayton. Chardenet? 
 
 Elinor. You must remember — rode the black bull at 
 the Quat'z Arts ball. 
 
 [A swift glance passes between De Lota a7id 
 Clayton. 
 
 Clayton. Ah, indeed. [To Burrill.] From that cele- 
 brated model. [Burrill nods, 
 
 Elinor. [To Burrill.] Let Mr. Clayton see the photo- 
 graph. 
 
 Burrill. I can't think it would interest him. 
 
 [Clayton tries to engage Seelig in conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 Elinor. Oh, yes. [To Clayton.] Frank! [Clayton 
 turns to her.] Look at this photograph — please. [To 
 Burrill.] 
 
 Burrill. [Reluctantly yielding the photograph.] Miss 
 Seelig had some curiosity about it. 
 
 Clayton. Oh, yes. 
 
 Elinor. Mr. Burrill was inclined to doubt that the lady 
 represented your magazines. 
 
 Clayton. [Evasively.] Oh, that arrangement was 
 never completed — discussed but — [He returns the photo- 
 graph to Burrill.] 
 
 De Lota. [Trying to help the strained situation.] Mimi 
 bad more than one side to her, 
 
 Elinor. [Regarding the bronze.] So it appears. 
 
 De Lota. I mean she could think. Antoine told me that 
 she caught the meaning of a line — as quickly as any woman 
 that ever came into his theater. 
 
 Vedah. [Starting at the name.] Antoine? 
 
Act I] AS A MAN THINKS 25 
 
 De Lota. Yes, Antoine the manager. I got her a place 
 in his company. 
 
 Vedah. When was that.^ 
 
 De Lota. Oh, nine or ten years ago before she posed 
 professionally. 
 
 [Vedah looks to Burrill who avoids her 
 inquiry. 
 
 Clayton. She said she would write of the theater. 
 
 Elinor. Well — I must go. 
 
 Vedah. Really.^ Am I to be the only woman in this- 
 council of war.^ 
 
 Elinor. Leave it all to the men, my dear. 
 
 Clayton. The car's at the door — take it if you wish. 
 
 Elinor. [Frigidly,] Til walk, thank you. [Pause.J 
 Mr. Burrill, I'm very glad to have seen you. 
 
 Burrill. Thank you. 
 
 Elinor. And your model — well — a delightful reminder 
 of Paris, Mr. De Lota. [De Lota turns to her,] As you 
 also know the lady, Mr. De Lota — you shall tell me more 
 of her. I hope you'll call on us. [She gives De Lota her 
 hand,] 
 
 De Lota. I've been promising Mr. Clayton to do so. 
 
 Elinor. You must — [Going with Vedah to the hall] — 
 You'll bring Mr. Burrill to see me too } 
 
 Vedah. Delighted, Mrs. Clayton. 
 
 [Vedah and Elinor go out^ 
 
 De Lota. I put my foot in it — but — hang it, I was com- 
 pletely off guard. Mrs. Clayton said " Why Frank knows 
 this woman " and I blurted ** of course — I introduced him." 
 [Turns to Burrill for confirmation.] 
 
 Clayton. Forget it. 
 
 Seelig. Trouble.^ 
 
 Clayton. En promenade with the girl — Elinor met us^ 
 I said business. 
 
26 AS A MAN THINKS [Act I 
 
 Seelig. [Seriousli/,'] 'Mmm. Too bad after — the — 
 the other trouble so soon. 
 
 Clayton. Damn it — a man can't go to Paris and live 
 on bread and milk. I've got to know the world I live in. 
 I publish three magazines and a metropolitan newspaper. 
 
 Seelig. The wife met you walking with the woman? 
 
 Clayton. That's all — [To De Lota with some anxiety,] 
 You told her nothing more.^ 
 
 De Lota. [Ex postulating, 1 My dear Frank — 
 
 Clayton. [Relieved.] Oh, I can fix it. 
 
 [Vedah enters. 
 
 Seelig. Well — shall we discuss this business of the 
 .architects ? 
 
 Clayton. Yes. 
 
 Seelig. Suppose we go into the library — I've your 
 papers there, Mr. Burrill. 
 
 Clayton. Yes. [The men start to the library, 
 
 Vedah. Mr. Burrill! I'll send Mr. Burrill immediately. 
 
 Burrill. [To Seelig.] You permit me.^ 
 
 [Seelig pauses, regards Vedah intently, 
 [De Lota^ Clayton and Seelig go out. 
 
 Vedah. [In sudden alarm.] He is the man — I saw your 
 face when he said he had introduced this girl to Antoine. 
 
 Burrill. Antoine's name startled me — that was all — 
 and — 
 
 Vedah. You thought you'd seen him in Paris. 
 
 Burrill. Probably did — many times. 
 
 Vedah. You think you saw him in that court room — 
 on trial for a crime. 
 
 Burrill. [Evasively.] No — no. 
 
 Vedah. The man on trial had spoken to Antoine for the 
 ^rl. 
 
 Burrill. A dozen men may have done that. Engage- 
 ments in the theater require many introductions. 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 2T 
 
 Vedah. I read the doubt in your heart. You're not the 
 conventional coward that most men are — tell me. I am 
 promised to marry Benjamin De Lota — doesn't that mean- 
 any thing to you? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Mean anything! — \^He starts impulsively 
 toward Vedah^ stops and after a moment's effort at self- 
 control says calmly and tenderly,'] I love you! [Vedah 
 inhales quickly, her glance falls before Burrill's look, she 
 turns irresolutely toward the room into which De Lota has- 
 gone — a pause. 
 
 Curtain, 
 
 ACT II 
 
 [SCENE: Lounging room of Mr. Frank Clayton^s house,. 
 The walls are covered with green canvas on which is 
 a profusion of illustrations furnished to Clayton's 
 magazines by various artists. The room, square and 
 shallow and low, is furnished in mahogany and leather^ 
 Two five- foot '* arches " on either side of center open 
 to rooms back. That at right shows hallway in red, 
 with staircase leading to second story. That at left 
 shows music room in yellow with Chippendale furniture 
 and pictures in gilt frames. A sofa above fireplace 
 which is at right, stands at right angle to fireplace, 
 A low table for tobacco is at end of this sofa. On this 
 table is a big reading lamp. A large writing table is at 
 back. A smaller table near the window at left side 
 has a desk telephone. 
 
 At Rise of Curtain the stage is empty. Mrs. Seelig^ 
 and Vedah and Elinor enter from the dining room 
 by a door above the fireplace. They are in evening 
 gowns. 
 
28 AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Vedah. 
 
 Vedah. Mama? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [To Elinor.] Mr. Clayton's found my 
 gloves, but my handkerchief is gone. 
 
 Elinor. [Starting back to dining room,] I'll get it. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Let Vedah. 
 
 Elinor. No trouble. [She goes out. 
 
 Vedah. See this picture^ Mama. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Which .^ 
 
 Vedah. This. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. What is it? 
 
 Vedah. At Jerusalem. " The Wailing Wall." 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Poor fellows. It's dreadful to take re- 
 ligion so seriously. 
 
 [Elinor enters, 
 Elinor. Mr, De Lota is bringing your handkerchief — 
 iv^ouldn't let me have it. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. An excuse to join us. 
 
 [De Lota enters from the dining room waving a lace 
 handkerchief playfully, 
 
 De Lota. Found! Lady's handkerchief — no marks. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [Extending her hand,] Thank you. 
 
 De Lota. [Withholding the handkerchief,] On one 
 consideration. [To Elinor.] Mrs. Seelig says the talking 
 machine has spoiled — Celeste Aida — for her ears — [To 
 Mrs. Seelig.] If you think you are mistaken when you 
 hear Caruso to-night — you must stand up and wave this 
 to me as a signal of surrender. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. I agree — [Takes handkerchief,] because 
 we shall be too late to hear that solo. 
 
 De Lota. Sharp practice^ madam. 
 
 Elinor. Are we so late! 
 
 Vedah. Oh — let's not hurry. 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 29 
 
 De Lota. This room attracts me more than the opera. 
 [He regards the drawings on the walL^ 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Originals, aren't they.^ 
 
 Elinor. Yes. They were in the offices of the magazine 
 when Mr. Clayton bought it. 
 
 De Lota. Here's one by Frost. I used to watch for 
 his sketches when I was a boy. 
 
 [Sutton, the Clayton butler, enters with coffee, 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [At another drawing,'] And Remington 
 — [To the butler,] Thank yon— [Takes coffee,] 
 
 [Clayton and Burrill come from the dining room. 
 
 Clayton. You found the cigars.^ 
 
 De Lota. I'll take a cigarette. [He does so,] 
 
 Elinor. [To Burrill.] Here's a libretto of Aida. 
 Find that passage of which you spoke. 
 
 Burrill. There were several. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Our coffee won't interfere with your cigars. 
 
 De Lota. Do you mind.^ 
 
 Elinor. This room is dedicated to nicotine. [To Mrs. 
 Seelig.] Besides, we're going to take Mr. De Lota to the 
 piano. 
 
 De Lota. Are you? 
 
 Elinor. [To Vedah.] Aren't we? 
 
 Vedah. We are. 
 
 Burrill. Here's one place — [His pencil breaks,] Ah! 
 
 Clayton. [Offering a pencil attached to his watch chain. 
 Here. 
 
 Burrill. [Giving libretto to Clayton.] Just mark 
 that passage — ** my native land/' etc. [To Elinor.] Now 
 follow that when Aida sings Italian and note how the 
 English stumbles. 
 
 Elinor. Thank you. [To Clayton as she takes book.] 
 Will you order the car? 
 
 Clayton. I have done so. 
 
so AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 Elinor. [To De Lota.] Come. 
 
 [Elinor^ Mrs. Seelig^ Vedah and De Lota 
 go to the music room hy the arch left, 
 
 BuRRiLL. [To Clayton with whom he is alone,] See 
 here — I've an idea you'd go to the opera if it weren't for me. 
 
 Clayton. My boy, a box at the opera is the blackmail 
 — a man pays for a quiet evening at home. 
 
 BuRRiLL. [Laughing,] Many men do go. 
 
 Clayton. And sleep on the rear chairs. No ! I planned 
 to stay home — you're part of the excuse. [Sutton enters 
 with a note,] Excuse me. [Pause, Reads superscription 
 on the note,] Vedah — [Burrill gets a cigarette, Clayton 
 goes to the door of the music room and calls,] Vedah. 
 [Vedah comes to him,] They pursue you even here. [He 
 laughingly gives Vedah the note which she opens and 
 quickly scans. Sutton goes,] 
 
 Vedah. [Speaking to the ladies and De Lota who are 
 not in view,] Papa will be late. Mrs. Clayton mustn't wait 
 for us. 
 
 Clayton. Our car carries seven. 
 [Elinor and Mrs. Seelig appear in the doorway — 
 De Lota follows, they enter, 
 
 Elinor. I'm sure we can make room. 
 
 Clayton. Make room ! You're only four ! 
 
 Elinor. Mr. De Lota and I are to stop for the Under- 
 woods. » 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. And we have our cousins Friedman. 
 
 De Lota. I can take a taxi. 
 
 Vedah. That won't help — Papa is coming here — but 
 later. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. You go ahead, Mrs. Clayton. 
 
 Vedah. Yes. 
 
 Elinor. [To De Lota.] What do you think .^ 
 
 De Lota. Any time for me — but — the Underwoods — ! 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 31 
 
 [Sutton enters, 
 
 Sutton. The automobile. 
 
 [Elinor nods; Sutton goes, 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. It's all settled — you go. So much for- 
 mality. [She and Clayton go to music room.] 
 
 Elinor. Take this for me. [Hands libretto to De 
 Lota.] 
 
 Vedah. [Going out with Elinor.] Papa will probably 
 be here before you get away. 
 
 [Elinor goes upstairs talking with Vedah. 
 They disappear. 
 
 BuRRiLL. [As De Lota starts to music room.] Mr. 
 De Lota — were you in Paris eight years ago.'^ 
 
 De Lota. [Returning.] Yes — and twenty-eight years 
 ago — I'm there every year. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Did you ever — visit the Cour d'Assizes? 
 
 De Lota. Occasionally — if some interesting case were 
 on — 
 
 BuRRiLL. I remember one very interesting case — A hus- 
 band punished his wife — and also her lover — by imprison- 
 ment. 
 
 De Lota. The French law has that absurd possibility. 
 
 BuRRiLL. The lover was sentenced to a year's imprison- 
 ment. 
 
 De Lota. He was fortunate — the court in its discretion 
 might have given him two years. 
 
 BuRRiLL. You are more minutely informed on the sub- 
 ject than the average American. 
 
 De Lota. I am more minutely informed on most sub- 
 jects that the average American. I know somewhat of 
 character — ^of men's temperaments and motives^ Mr. Bur- 
 rill. And your interest in my life at Paris is very service- 
 able just now. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Indeed! 
 
32 AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 De Lota. Indeed yes. I've been at a loss to understand 
 the change in Miss Seelig's deportment toward myself. I 
 was charging it to your superior attraction. I see it was 
 due to your power of insinuation. 
 
 BuRRiLL. I have insinuated nothing about you. 
 
 De Lota. You have been direct? 
 
 BuRRiLL. I've avoided discussing your life in Paris. 
 
 De Lota. That is wise, Mr. Burrill. In fact, you could 
 do only one thing that would be more wise. 
 
 Burrill. Yes ? 
 
 De Lota. Avoid discussing any of my affairs. 
 
 Burrill. My instinct is to do that. 
 
 De Lota. Thank you! \^He turns away,'] 
 
 Burrill. [Following,'] Except with one person. 
 
 De Lota. You mean — the lady? 
 
 Burrill. I mean you. I expect to discuss them with 
 you rather frankly. 
 
 De Lota. I shall be pleased. [He throws the libretto 
 on the table and confronts Burrill.] 
 
 Elinor. [Entering,] Ready, Mr. De Lota? 
 
 De Lota. [Smiling,] You excuse me? [Burrill nods,] 
 [De Lota disappears in the hallway, 
 
 Elinor. I wish you were going with us. 
 
 Burrill. I wish I were. 
 
 [Clayton re-enters from the music room. 
 
 Elinor. You'll see Dick, won't you? 
 
 Clayton. Yes. 
 
 Elinor. He's not started to undress yet. Miss Doane 
 never knows how to manage him. 
 
 [Burrill joins Vedah and disappears with 
 her, in music room, 
 
 Clayton. [Alone with Elinor.] Don't worry. Good 
 night. 
 
 Elinor. Good night. [Clayton offers to hiss her,] No. 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS S3 
 
 Clayton. Still cross patch? 
 
 Elinor. We can't laugh it off, Frank. 
 
 Clayton. Think we can pout it off.^^ 
 
 Elinor. I think you can't tread my sensibilities into the 
 mire by your affairs with other women and expect me to 
 smile at cue. 
 
 Clayton. Women! — One girl — and a man's natural 
 curiosity about her type. Hang it — there must be some 
 freedom. 
 
 Elinor. Do you suggest more than you've had? 
 
 Clayton. I suggest domestic peace — or any other pun- 
 ishment than this deadly sulking. 
 
 Elinor. YouVe admitted you went to the woman's 
 room. 
 
 Clayton. Admitted nothing. I candidly told you I had 
 gone there — told you in order that you might know all. 
 
 Elinor. All that you were willing to tell. 
 
 Clayton. I can't keep pace with your imagination. 
 
 Elinor. Your wish to have me ** know all " is six months 
 after the fact and when her photograph accidentally ex- 
 posed you! 
 
 Clayton. If you're kicking on the tardiness of your 
 news service. I'm with vou. 
 
 Elinor. I'm resenting your breach of faith. 
 
 Clayton. Don't assume any covenant, my dear, that 
 doesn't exist. 
 
 Elinor. Do you deny your promises after the affair of 
 two years ago? 
 
 Clayton. I didn't promise to stagnate. I'm a publisher 
 with a newsman's curiosity about the world he lives in. 
 
 Elinor. And what of a woman's curiosity? 
 
 Clayton. Colossal! But not privileged. Curiosity of 
 that kind in a woman is idle and immoral! 
 
 Elinor. And in a man? 
 
34 AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 Clayton. A man's on the firing line — a woman's in the 
 commissariat. 
 
 Elinor. Which is a fine way of saying you have a 
 license for transgression that your wife has not. 
 
 Clayton. If you will — yes. 
 
 Elinor. [After a defiant pause,'] You're mistaken. 
 [De Lota enters in wrap and carrying Ms hoi, 
 
 De Lota. Ready? 
 
 Elinor. Yes. [To Clayton.] You'll go up to Dick 
 occasionally } 
 
 Clayton. Certainly. 
 
 Elinor. [Calls,'] Good night, Mr. Burrill — good night 
 [To Mrs. Seelig and Vedah.] I feel awfully selfish. 
 [Mrs. Seelig^ Vedah and Burrill come from music room. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Good night. 
 
 Vedah. Lovely time at dinner. 
 
 [Elinor and De Lota start out, 
 
 Clayton. [Getting the libretto from table,] Here — 
 isn't this your libretto.^ 
 
 Elinor. Thank you. [Talces it and goes out with De 
 Lota.] [Sound of front door closing,] 
 
 [Mrs. Seelig, Vedah and Burrill are with 
 Clayton. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Now, if Papa doesn't come for us — you 
 have us both on your hands. 
 
 Dick. [Coming down the stairs and calling,] Mama 
 — Mama. 
 
 Clayton. Mama's gone, Dick. Don't let him call that 
 way, Miss Doane. 
 [Dick and Miss Doane, the governess, appear in hallway. 
 
 Dick. I want Mama. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Here's Auntie Seelig, my dear — won't she 
 do? 
 
 [Miss Doane and Dick enter. 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 35 
 
 Clayton. It's much after his bed time. 
 
 Miss Doane. I don't think he's well, Mr. Clayton. 
 
 Dick. My throat hurts. 
 
 Clayton. Throat hurts? 
 
 Miss Doane. He complained at supper. I didn't tell 
 Mrs. Clayton because she's so easily alarmed. 
 
 Clayton. [Taking Dick to the lamp.] Let me see 
 your throaty Dick. Open your mouth. [To Burrill.] 
 You know anything about throats.^ 
 
 Burrill. Not inside. 
 
 Vedah. Mama does. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Papa Seelig's coming in a few minutes, 
 Dick — he'll cure your throat. [To Clayton as she takes 
 the boy's face in her hands,] Feverish. 
 
 Clayton. [To Miss Doane.] Let him wait then and 
 see the Doctor, 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Doctor can see him better in the nursery. 
 Come Dick — Auntie Seelig will tell you a pretty story while 
 Miss Doane gets you to bed. 
 
 Dick. [To Clayton.] Carry me. 
 
 Clayton. [Laughing.] Carry you? You're taking ad- 
 vantage of all this sympathy. [Picks him up.] Excuse me 
 — [To Burrill and Vedah.] 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. What is a father for — with his magazines 
 and newspapers — if he can't carry a little boy upstairs, eh ? 
 [Goes with Miss Doane after Clayton who 
 carries Dick upstairs. 
 
 Vedah. Looks sick, doesn't he? 
 
 Burrill, [Nodding.] Poor kid. 
 
 Vedah. He wants his mother. If Papa says he's ill I 
 can go to Mrs. Clayton's box and let her know. 
 
 Burrill. Yes. 
 
 Vedah. Have you noticed the disposition of our two 
 parties ? 
 
36 AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 BuRRiLL. Disposition? 
 
 Vedah. Mr. De Lota escorts Mrs. Clayton. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Mr, Clayton doesn't care for the opera. 
 
 Vedah. Some of my friends have been good enough to 
 comment on the frequency of Mr. De Lota's calls. 
 
 BuRRiLL. [Pause,] Do you care? 
 
 Vedah. A woman's natural — pride. 
 
 BuRRiLL. But — heartaches? [Vedah shakes head,] 
 Does Mrs. Clayton know of your engagement? 
 
 Vedah. No. [Pause,] Have you done what I asked 
 you? 
 
 BuRRiLL. What? 
 
 Vedah. A letter to Paris. 
 
 BuRRiLL. There's none to whom I could write — on such 
 a subject. 
 
 Vedah. Your model friend — she is still there? 
 
 BuRRiLL. I suppose so. 
 
 Vedah. Why not a line to her? 
 
 BuRRiLL. [Evasively,] She owes me nothing. 
 
 Vedah. Well—? 
 
 BuRRiLL. She'd probably take alarm and forward the 
 letter to the man himself. 
 
 Vedah. Why ** forward " — has he left the country ? 
 
 BuRRiLL. [Quickly recovering,] Probably — or perhaps 
 not — but — either way — nothing accomplished. 
 
 Vedah. Either way nothing lost. Won't you try? 
 
 BuRRiLL. [Disturbed,] It isn't a manly thing to do — 
 even against a rival, 
 
 Vedah. [Smiling,] Thank you. 
 
 BuRRiLL. WTiy? 
 
 Vedah. Rival. ^ 
 
 BURRILL. Well? 
 
 Vedah. So far you've said only that you loved me. 
 
 BuRRiLL. You don't resent — rival? 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 37 
 
 Vedah. Does any woman? 
 
 BuRRiLL. [With quick look about,] You know^ if there 
 weren't so many doors here — [Approaches her,] 
 
 Vedah. [Retreating,] No — 
 
 [Clayton re-appears on stairs. 
 
 BuRRiLL. [Changing the subject,] And all originals. 
 [Indicates the framed sketches,] 
 
 Vedah. So wonderful to have them, isn't it.'' 
 [Enter Clayton. 
 
 Clayton. Boy's certainly not himself. 
 
 Vedah. Poor child. 
 
 [Sutton enters, 
 
 Sutton. [Announcing,] Dr. Seelig. 
 [Enter Seelig. He is in evening dress and wears a cloak. 
 
 Seelig. Good evening Frank. [Shakes hands with 
 Clayton.] Mr. Burrill. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Doctor. 
 
 Seelig. [To Vedah.] Sorry to be late. Where's 
 Mama ? 
 
 Clayton. With Dick — complains of his throat. Have 
 you time to look at him.^ 
 
 Vedah. Certainly. 
 
 Seelig. What is more important? Go up? 
 
 Clayton. [Nodding,] The nursery. [Sutton takes 
 Seelig^s cloak and hat,] 
 
 Seelig. Get ready, my dear. [Goes into hall and up- 
 stairs with Clayton.] 
 
 Vedah. [Resuming the interrupted talk with Burrill.] 
 But write to that girl. 
 
 Burrill. [Smiling,] I did say I loved you. 
 
 Vedah. A month ago. 
 
 Burrill. Yes. 
 
 Vedah. And now? 
 
 Burrill. There isn't any stronger word or I'd use it. 
 
^8 AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 Vedah. [Seriously.'] It isn't a thing a man says to a 
 girl — betrothed to another man — is it? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Not generally. 
 
 Vedah. That is another proof that you recognize Mr. 
 De Lota as that man of the court room. You must — 
 do something. 
 
 BuRRiLL. [Easily,'] Does it really matter? 
 
 Vedah. Matter? Why — we're engaged — aren't we — he 
 and I? 
 
 BuRRiLL. I've said I love you. 
 
 Vedah. Yes. 
 
 BuRRiLL. And you've listened to it — because — you 
 love me. 
 
 Vedah. [Pause.] Well? 
 
 BuRRiLL. [Shaking head,] Not Mr. De Lota, I shall 
 marry you — so what difference does it make what he did 
 in Paris? 
 
 Vedah. I know my father. Mr. De Lota is of our 
 faith, there would have to be good reason for breaking with 
 him now. 
 
 [Clayton comes downstairs with Mrs. Seelig. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Breaking the engagement — would mean no 
 distress to you? 
 
 Vedah. [In half coquetry,] Why have I listened to 
 you? 
 
 [Enter Mrs. Seelig and Clayton. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [Getting her wrap.] Not ready? 
 
 Vedah. Where's Papa? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. We are to send the car back to him. 
 He wants to wait a while with Dick. 
 
 Vedah. Excuse me. [Goes to hall.] 
 
 Clayton. [To Mrs. Seelig.] Can I help you? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. It's very easy, this cloak. 
 
 [Clayton assists Vedah with her wrap. 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS $9 
 
 BuRRiLL. Allow me. [Holds cloak for Mrs. Seelig.] 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [To Clayton as she goes,^ I won't say 
 anything to Elinor until Doctor comes. 
 
 Vedah. Good night. [Gives hand to Burrill and goes 
 out with Mrs. Seelig.] 
 
 [Clayton and Burrill come down to the fire- 
 place. 
 
 Clayton. Wonderful man with children^ this Seelig. 
 
 Burrill. I thought principally surgical cases .^^ 
 
 Clayton. He's at the head of the hospital for crippled 
 children but great in diagnosis — medicine — anything. 
 
 Burrill. Heidelberg, Miss Vedah tells me. 
 
 Clayton, [Getting a cigar.] Postgraduate yes — but 
 New York family. Father left him ten millions. 
 
 Burrill. Might have struggled through with that. 
 
 Clayton. His heart makes him a doctor. If ever I go 
 to Heaven and that old Jew isn't there I'll ask for a rain 
 check. 
 
 Burrill. [Lights cigarette,] I understand they receive 
 Jews. 
 
 Clayton. Heaven? [Burrill nods.] Yes — very care- 
 lessly managed. Sit down. Judge Hoover will be here 
 presently — he tells me you're acquainted. [He sits as 
 Burrill takes a chair,] 
 
 Burrill. [Nodding.] We meet at the Club. 
 
 Clayton. Mrs. Clayton's father. 
 
 Burrill. I know. 
 
 Clayton. I'd have had Judge to dinner but — [Pause.] 
 How long you been in the Club? 
 
 Burrill. Two years only. 
 
 Clayton. Perhaps you know? 
 
 Burrill. What? 
 
 Clayton. The way Hoover's resisted the admission of 
 Jews? He hates 'em. 
 
40 AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 BURRILL. No. 
 
 Clayton. Blackballed Seelig. What rot, eh? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Foolish antipathy. 
 
 Clayton. I love 'em — not the cheap ones. I hate cheap 
 Yankees and cheap cattle of all kinds — but a classy Jew 
 with education and culture — 
 
 BuRRiLL. I agree with you. 
 
 Clayton. While we think in vulgar integers — ^they 
 think in compound fractions. 
 
 Burrill. True. 
 
 Clayton. Damn it — [Looks about in playful caution,] 
 I'm so wrong that I like their noses. 
 
 Burrill. [Laughing,] Not all of them. 
 
 Clayton. Yes, all of them. Dismiss your prejudice 
 for a while. See how insignificant our average Scandinavian 
 and North Europe noses become. [Burrill nods,] But — 
 don't tell father-in-law Hoover you like 'em. 
 
 Burrill. [Laughs,] I won't. [Seeing Seelig who re- 
 appears on the stairs.] The Doctor. 
 
 [Clayton and Burrill rise, Seelig enters. 
 
 Seelig. Don't disturb yourselves, gentlemen. 
 
 Clayton. How do you find him? 
 
 Seelig. [Pause,] I'll look at him again when he's 
 quiet. I hope some of the trouble may be only excitement. 
 
 Clayton. Cigar? 
 
 Seelig. [Shakes head,] Thank you. 
 
 Clayton. [Standing by the fire,] His mother tells me a 
 singular thing. She was holding Dick's hand as he napped 
 on her bed this afternoon — babies him a good deal. She 
 was reading — to herself — an old book of Stockton's — some 
 treasure trove — men carrying sacks of gold from cave to 
 ship. Dick suddenly waked — sat up and said: " Where — 
 Where's all that money?" Elinor said, ** What money?" 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 41 
 
 Dick said ** that gold those — those men had ! *' Reading 
 to herself! 
 
 Seelig. \^Easily,'] Yes. [Pause,'] The connection be- 
 tween mother and child is more subtle^ more enduring than 
 our physiologies even suggest. 
 
 [Seelig and Burrill sit. 
 
 Clayton. Elinor invited the Underwoods to the opera — 
 or I don't think she would have gone herself. 
 
 Seelig. Courtlandt Underwoods.'^ 
 
 Clayton. Yes. 
 
 Seelig. Mrs. Underwood's suddenly ill. That*? where 
 I was delayed this evening. 
 
 Clayton. Too ill to go out? 
 
 Seelig. Oh yes. 
 
 Clayton. [Thoughtfully.'] — M'm. 
 
 Seelig. [To Burrill.] Doesn't the opera attract you.^ 
 
 Burrill. Yes^ but — more important business here. 
 
 Clayton. Those architects have sued us. 
 
 Seelig. Sued you? 
 
 Clayton. [Nodding,] Libel. My editor insinuated 
 graft in the sculpture awards and they jumped us. 
 
 Seelig. [Laughing,] Well. [Looks to Burrill.] You 
 insurgent artists are getting prompt action. 
 
 Burrill. Yes — I feel a little guilty at involving Mr. 
 Clayton. 
 
 Clayton. [Reassuringly,] We'll take care of that. 
 [To Seelig.] The Judge is coming to confer with us — 
 Judge Hoover. [Seelig nods. Hoover appears in hall,] 
 Ah — here he is. 
 
 Hoover. [Removing his overcoat,] Hello^ Frank. 
 
 Clayton. Waiting for you. [Meets Hoover who comes 
 into room, Seelig rises,] Dr. Seelig^ you know. 
 
 Hoover. Good evening. 
 
42 AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 Seelig. Judge. 
 
 Hoover. How are you^ Burrill? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Good evening — [Shake handsel 
 
 [Enter Sutton. 
 
 Sutton. Automobile for Dr. Seelig. 
 
 Seelig. Tell him to wait^ please. [Sutton goes. 
 
 Clayton. [Anszvering Hoover's look.'] Doctor's been 
 good enough to stay and see Dick. 
 
 Hoover. [Anj:ic' ^y.] Boy sick? 
 
 Seelig. These sudden fevers; can't tell immediately. 
 
 Hoover. [To Burrill.] Poor little Dick — when he's 
 ill it gets me right in the stomach. Man's an idiot to have 
 grandchildren. 
 
 Seelig. Still a pardonable weakness. 
 
 Hoover. [To Burrill.] I did a stupid thing. Left 
 the copies of those letters you sent me — the photographs — 
 all at my office. 
 
 Burrill. Originals are at my studio — only two blocks. 
 
 [Starts out. 
 
 Clayton. [To Hoover.] Do w^e need them? 
 
 Hoover. Better have them. 
 
 Burrill. Won't be five minutes. [Goes out. 
 
 Hoover. Doctor, may Dick see his grandfather? 
 
 [Miss DoANE appears down the stairs. 
 
 Seelig. I'm waiting for him to get quiet, but — 
 
 [Miss Doane enters. 
 
 Hoover. No, vou're the boss. 
 
 Miss Doane. Doctor. 
 
 Seelig. Ready? 
 
 [Miss Doane nods. Seelig goes with her and 
 upstairs. 
 
 Hoover. [Alone with Clayton.] Nearly scared me out 
 of a year's growth. 
 
 Clayton. Dick? 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 43 
 
 Hoover. Seelig. I feared you'd asked him to sit in this 
 conference. 
 
 Clayton. [Shaking head.'] I know your prejudice too 
 well for that. 
 
 Hoover. Not him expressly — but the whole breed — and 
 it isn't prejudice. Observation and experience. 
 
 Clayton. I'll chance 'em. 
 
 Hoover. Chance is the word. T^^'s libel suit's a proof 
 of it. [Gets a cigarette,'] 
 
 Clayton. An Irishman wrote the editorial. 
 
 Hoover. [Nods,] On information furnished by a Jew. 
 Wasn't it.^ 
 
 Clayton. De Lota! Yes — but De Lota's pretty 
 cautious. 
 
 Hoover. [Shaking head in disapproval,] Bad lot — 
 I know him. He'll get in some nasty scandal before he 
 finishes and it'll react on your business. 
 
 Clayton. Why do you say that.^ 
 
 Hoover. A rounder — stamping ground the Great White 
 Way. 
 
 Clayton. His contract's the Great White Way — he 
 does art and music for us. 
 
 Hoover. I passed his side street hotel on my way here. 
 De Lota sneaking in with a girl. 
 
 Clayton. [Easily.] Guess you're mistaken. 
 
 Hoover. I called him. 
 
 Clayton. His hotel .^ [Hoover nods.] De Lota stops 
 at the Ducal Apartments. 
 
 Hoover. [Nods.] Ducal Apartments.^ 
 
 Clayton. That's a bachelor place — women not admitted. 
 
 Hoover. Not admitted nor permitted after eleven o'clock. 
 
 Clayton. I'd hate to know as much about this town 
 as you do. 
 
 Hoover, Wait till you're mj age. 
 
44 
 
 Clayton. 
 a girl? 
 
 Hoover. 
 
 Clayton. 
 
 Hoover. 
 
 Clayton. 
 
 Hoover. 
 
 Clayton. 
 
 Hoover. 
 a fan. 
 
 Clayton. 
 
 Hoover. 
 
 Clayton. 
 
 Hoover. 
 
 Clayton. 
 
 Hoover. 
 
 Clayton. 
 
 Hoover. 
 
 AS A MAN THINKS 
 \_After a disarming 'pause, ^ 
 
 [Act II 
 What kind of 
 
 Didn't get her number — she scooted ahead. 
 
 You spoke to him? 
 Called to him. 
 
 Called? 
 Yes — I was forty feet away. 
 
 Had your nerve with you. 
 The girl dropped something — I thought it was 
 
 Well? 
 
 'Twasn't — but that's why I called De Lota. 
 How do you know it wasn't? 
 I picked it up. 
 What was it? 
 A libretto. 
 What libretto ? 
 
 Don't know — but grand opera — I remember 
 that and libretto. 
 
 Clayton. You threw it away? 
 Hoover. No — kept it. 
 Clayton. Where is it? 
 Hoover. Overcoat pocket. 
 
 Clayton. [Pause,^ I'd like to see it. Think I could 
 have some fun with De Lota. 
 
 Hoover. [Going up to hallway, '\ My idea too — fun 
 and word of caution. [Gets coat and returns feeling in 
 pocket for libretto.] 
 
 Clayton. Caution — naturally. 
 
 Here it is. [Reads,] Aida. 
 [Taking libretto savagely,] Aida — let me 
 
 Hoover. 
 
 Clayton 
 see it. 
 
 Hoover. 
 chair,] 
 
 What's the matter? [Puts coat on a 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 45 
 
 Clayton. [In sudden anger, throws book,] The dog! 
 Damn him — damn both of them! 
 
 Hoover. What is it? See here — Who's with Dick? 
 
 Clayton. Not his mother — no! [Points to libretto on 
 the floor,] Marked. I did that myself^ not an hour ago, 
 and gave it to her. 
 
 Hoover. To Elinor? 
 
 Clayton. [Calling as he rushes to the halL] Sutton! 
 Sutton ! 
 
 Hoover. Hold on, Frank — there's some mistake. 
 
 Clayton. [Gets overcoat and hat,] Get me a cab — 
 never mind — I'll take Seelig's machine. [Disappears.] 
 Here! Doctor Seelig says to take me to — [He goes out. 
 Door bangs.] [Sutton enters from dining room, 
 
 Sutton. Is master Dick in danger, sir? 
 
 Hoover. [Nervously,] I don't know, Sutton. Where's 
 his mother? 
 
 Sutton. Opera, sir. 
 
 Hoover. With whom? 
 
 Sutton. Mr. De Lota. 
 
 Hoover. That'll do. [Sutton goes.] 
 
 [Enter Seelig from upstairs. 
 
 Hoover. Doctor Seelig. 
 
 Seelig. Judge Hoover. 
 
 Hoover. Mr. Clayton was summoned hurriedly — he 
 took your automobile. 
 
 Seelig. I'm glad it could be of service. 
 
 Hoover. I'll get you a cab. [Goes to telephone.] 
 
 Seelig. I'm not going, thank you — simply sending a 
 prescription. [Starts toward push button.] 
 
 Hoover. Perhaps you'd — better go — Doctor Seelig. 
 
 Seelig. [Stopping,] Why so. Judge? I've a very sick 
 little patient upstairs. 
 
 Hoover. Your pardon! But — [Pause.] Mr. Clayton's 
 
46 AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 just had some disturbing news — . The — I think the family 
 would rather be left to themselves this evening. 
 
 Seelig. I shan't intrude past professional requirement — 
 believe me. [Rings.~\ 
 
 Hoover. I do believe you ! Doctor. [Nervously getting 
 his coat from the chair,'] You and I are not especially inti- 
 mate — but in your own sphere of usefulness I respect you. 
 
 Seelig. Thank you. 
 
 Hoover. A physician is not unlike a lawyer in his re- 
 lations to his client. [Seelig nods,'] I ask you to treat 
 sacredly and with discretion — any matter that comes to 
 your knowledge here — tonight, 
 
 Seelig. My obligation to do that^ Judge Hoover — has 
 a firmer anchorage than even your request. 
 
 Hoover. I know it — excuse me. Clayton's news — bears 
 on me, too, a little. 
 
 [Enter Sutton in response to Seelig's ring. 
 
 Hoover. Sutton — Mr. Burrill will return. Say that 
 important business has called me away. 
 
 Sutton. Yes, sir. 
 
 Hoover. And well make another appointment. 
 
 [Quickly goes out. 
 
 Seelig. Sutton — 
 
 Sutton. Yes, sir [Returns,] 
 
 Seelig. Is there someone who can take this prescription 
 to the druggist and wait for it.^ 
 
 Sutton. Yes, sir. 
 
 Seelig. And go quickly? 
 
 Sutton. Yes, sir. 
 
 Seelig. Frazer's. 
 
 [Sutton nods and leaves, 
 
 Seelig. [At 'phone,] Bryant 6151. [Pause — regards 
 watch.] Hello — Frazer's? [Pause.] Doctor Seelig. Im 
 sending a prescription by messenger — from Mr. Frank 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 47 
 
 Clayton's. Will you please fill it as promptly as possible? 
 [Pause.] Thank you. [Hangs up 'phone,] 
 
 [BuRRiLL and Sutton appear in hall. Bur- 
 rill carries a package of papers. 
 
 Sutton, Mr. Clayton and Judge Hoover have been 
 called away. Judge Hoover said he'd make another 
 appointment. [Sutton and Burrill enter, 
 
 3uRRiLL. Oh — [Pause,] Well — I'll leave this envelope 
 for them — they may care to see it when they come in. 
 [Seeing Seelig.] How's the boy^ Doctor .^^ 
 
 Seelig. Quite ill — poor baby. 
 
 Burrill. Too bad — [To Sutton.] I'll speak with the 
 Doctor a moment. Sutton bows — and goes out,] 
 
 Burrill. You have a minute or two? 
 
 Seelig. [Still seated at 'phone table,] I've sent for 
 some medicine — and am free until it comes. 
 
 Burrill. [Approaching,] I want to thank you. Doctor, 
 for your interest in my work. 
 
 Seelig. It's been a pleasure, Mr. Burrill. 
 
 Burrill. It's been a lesson to me. 
 
 Seelig. Lesson? 
 
 Burrill. [Nodding,] I'm reprehensively ignorant on 
 most subjects, especially religion and — well — your interest 
 in sculpture — your toleration of it surprised me. 
 
 Seelig. Why? 
 
 Burrill. I'd always thought there was something in 
 your tenets that forbade any graven image. 
 
 Seelig. Only as objects of idolatry I think. The words 
 are: "Nor bow down and worship them." As works of 
 art I don't know any prohibition. My dear old father was 
 a very orthodox believer — closed his office on Saturday and 
 all that — but he was a liberal patron of the arts. In fact, 
 I don't know a Jew among a fairly extensive circle — that 
 feels as you — as you feared, Mr. Burrill. 
 
48 AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 BuRRiLL. You are not so orthodox as your father then? 
 
 Seelig. Not orthodox at all. 
 
 BuRRiLL. I got a contrary impression. 
 
 Seelig. From Judge Hoover.^ 
 
 BuRRiLL. From Miss Vedah. 
 
 Seelig. Vedah? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Yes. It is of her I wish to speak. 
 
 Seelig. Ah! 
 
 BuRRiLL. I wouldn't speak of her — if — if I didn't think 
 a mistake was being made^ Dr. Seelig. 
 
 Seelig. A mistake! 
 
 BuRRiLL. Yes — I mean that my own feelings are not my 
 sole guide. I think that Miss Vedah — likes me. 
 
 Seelig. I'm glad you see it. I have cautioned her myself 
 — and now perhaps you will aid me. 
 
 BuRRiLL. I speak to you about it as a matter of honor. 
 You — youVe been so ready to invite me to your house and 
 all that — and — 
 
 Seelig. And to tell you early of Vedah's engagement? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Yes — so my duty is to be a trifle old fashioned^ 
 if 3^ou will, and to tell you that — I mean to increase her — 
 regard for me — all I can. 
 
 Seelig. Her regard? Only that? 
 
 BuRRiLL. I've no right to speak for her — so — 
 
 Seelig. Has Vedah said more? 
 
 BuRRiLL. I've said more. She knows that I love her. 
 
 Seelig. You told her so? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Yes. 
 
 Seelig. Then this caution to me is somewhat late, isn't it ? 
 
 BuRRiLL. But unavoidably. If I didn't think she cared 
 more for me than for — the man to whom she's engaged^ I 
 don't think I'd have spoken. 
 
 Seelig. You mean to me? 
 
 BuRRiLL. To either of you. 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 49 
 
 Seelig. Why not f.rst to me? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Until I was sure there was no need to distress 
 yoxx, as I felt you would be/ as I feel you are. [Walks away 
 as having said all that is possible,^ 
 
 Seelig. [Pause, slowly rises and approaches Burrill.] 
 In asking your patient understanding, Mr. Burrill — I am 
 fortunate that you are a sculptor. 
 
 Burrill. How so, Doctor? 
 
 Seelig. Most sculptors think in large symbols. The 
 little span of human life takes its true proportion. 
 
 Burrill. This life is all I'm sure of. I fear its rather 
 important to me. 
 
 Seelig. It*s all any of us is sure of. [Pause,] I'm not 
 a religionist, Mr. Burrill — but — [Pause.] It has been 
 wisely written, *' Of all factors that make races and indi- 
 viduals what they are the most potent is religion." It would 
 be a very sorry world without it. 
 
 Burrill. There can be more than one religion, however, 
 can't there ? 
 
 Seelig. There should be. Even to grind corn there 
 must be two millstones. And for the world to grow in 
 religion there must be more than one idea. [Pause.] The 
 belief in one God is the trust given to the Jew — the precious 
 idea of which every Jewish woman is custodian and which 
 to transmit — the Jew suffers and persists. You see, Mr. 
 Burrill, that there is something here to think of. 
 
 Burrill. Yes. 
 
 Seelig. The Christian faith itself needs our testimony. 
 It is built upon our foundation — and whenever a daughter 
 quits us the religious welfare of the whole world is the 
 loser. 
 
 Burrill. I don't see that. 
 
 Seelig. Pardon the pride, which our proverb says ** Goes 
 often before a fall " and let me call your recollection to the 
 
50 AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 nobility of this trust which a Jewish girl abandons if she 
 marries elsewhere. [Burrill nods,] [A pause,] W^en 
 Egypt w^orshiped Isis and Osiris and Thoth, Israel pro- 
 claimed the one God. When India knelt to Vishnu and Siva 
 and Kali, Israel prayed only to Jehovah and down past 
 Greece and Rome, with their numerous divinities from Jove 
 to Saturn, Judah looked up to one God. What a legacy — 
 what a birthright! How small our personal desires grow 
 in comparison. As a sculptor, who writes in bronze that 
 all time may read, what message can you leave if one so 
 grand as this fails of your respect.^ 
 
 Burrill. It has my respect sir. 
 
 Seelig. I was sure of it. Is it too much to ask that a 
 girl shall have time to think of this? 
 
 Burrill. No, sir! I shall say nothing to her more than 
 I have said, which is I love her and I know she loves me. 
 
 [Seelig bows slowly, Burrill respectfully 
 acknowledges the how, 
 [Elinor enters excitedly, sees Burrill and Seelig and 
 quickly passes to the music room. Hoover comes in. 
 
 Hoover. [^Nervously,] Mr. Burrill — you will have to 
 excuse Mr. and Mrs. Clayton tonight.^ 
 
 Burrill. I know — good night. [^Goes quickly out,] 
 [Hoover turns helplessly toward Seelig^ who with a ges- 
 ture of comprehension, goes upstairs. As Seelig 
 goes, Elinor enters by the other arch, 
 
 Elinor. Don't leave me, father. [She walks excitedly.] 
 
 Hoover. I won't. But I'm not only your father — I'm 
 your attorney — a counsellor. Let me have the truth, Elinor. 
 The door was locked? 
 
 Elinor. [Sitting,] De Lota locked it in sheer playful- 
 ness. I was begging him to open it when Frank came. 
 
 Hoover. But why there at all? Why in De Lota's 
 rooms ? 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 51 
 
 Elinor. Just plain madness. Twice at dinner the con- 
 versation got onto Mr. Burrill's sculpture. Frank has had 
 an affair with Burrill's model. [Rises and walks; throws 
 her cloak onto the tahleJ\ 
 
 Hoover. When.^ Not since the trouble of Atlantic City .^ 
 
 Elinor. This year in Paris — I*ve made him almost 
 admit it. De Lota introduced them. Tonight when we 
 found the Underwoods couldn't go — and we were alone for 
 the evening, De Lota and I — he proposed seeing some 
 Japanese carvings he has in his rooms. 
 
 Hoover. But, Elinor — you're not an infant. A proposal 
 of that kind is only a mask for lawlessness. 
 
 Elinor. I am lawless. He claims the right to follow his 
 fancy and does follow it — my right is equal. He introduced 
 me to this very woman on the Boulevard — but I didn't 
 strike her, did I.'' 
 
 Hoover. Did Frank strike De Lota? 
 
 Elinor. Like a cheap bully. [The front door is slammed 
 violently, Clayton enters^ pale with excitement.] 
 
 Clayton. You came here, did you? 
 
 Elinor. Why shouldn't I? You haven't made it such 
 a sanctified temple that I'm unworthy to enter it. 
 
 Clayton. [To Hoover.] She can't stay. 
 
 Hoover. [Going to Clayton.] See here, Frank. 
 You're in no state of mind to make any important decision. 
 
 Clayton. The facts make the decision — 
 
 Hoover. You haven't got the facts? 
 
 Clayton. I've got all I can stand and we won't vul- 
 garly discuss them. I decline to live with an adulteress. 
 
 Elinor. I'm not that — but I am an indignant and cruelly 
 neglected woman. 
 
 Clayton. She's your daughter. Now take her from my 
 house or — I'll have the servants do it! 
 
 [Strides into the music room. 
 
52 AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 Elinor. [Impetuously.] Coward! His house — 
 
 Hoover. Elinor — that's not the way. 
 
 Elinor. I haven't worked in his office — but every step 
 in his success we consulted and agreed upon. His house! 
 You know that every investment — 
 
 Hoover. He doesn't mean it. He's excited beyond 
 control — any husband would be. 
 
 Elinor. In every tight place it was your legal advice 
 that— 
 
 Hoover. We can't go into that now, my dear. Humor 
 him — avoid a scene before the servants. I'll take you to a 
 hotel and — 
 
 Elinor. Hotel! The cruelty of it — turned like a com- 
 mon woman onto the street. [Sinks overwhelmed into a 
 chair.] 
 
 Hoover. Only a day or two. If things were only as you 
 say at De Lota's we can get Frank to believe us — 
 
 Elinor. After what I've forgiven him! Oh, dad — 
 
 Hoover. Don't — don't! Change your gown and we'll 
 go. Tomorrow will put another color on everything. 
 [Helps her up and leads her protesting 
 toward the hall. 
 
 Elinor. [Resentfully.] The injustice of it — ! The 
 cruelty — ! The — 
 
 [Seelig comes downstairs and meets Hoover 
 and Elinor in the doorway, 
 
 Seelig. Pardon — 
 
 Hoover. [Trying to pass.] Mrs. Clayton isn't well. 
 
 [Seelig enters. 
 
 Seelig. [Taking Elinor's hand.] I see — but come 
 from the hall. Dick will hear you. 
 Elinor. Dick.^ 
 Seelig. Yes, 
 
Act II] AS A MAN THINKS 53 
 
 Elinor. Dick's ill — ? I'll go to him. 
 
 Seelig. [Restraining Elinor.] One moment — [To 
 Hoover.] You go to him. 
 
 Hoover. The situation here, Doctor — 
 
 Seelig. I think. Judge Hoover, I comprehend the situa- 
 tion here, please go. [Hoover goes upstairs, 
 
 Elinor. [As Seelig brings her further into the room,'] 
 I can't leave without seeing my boy. 
 
 Seelig. Leave! [Slowly,] No — no — but you must be 
 calm when you go to him. There must be no excitement 
 whatever. 
 
 Elinor. [Hysterically,] I can't be calm and go away 
 from him — if he*s ill. You know the boy, Doctor. How 
 much we are to each other — all his life — IVe never neg- 
 lected him. 
 
 Seelig. I know. 
 
 Elinor. It's too much to bear — [Falls weeping into the 
 chair at fireplace,] 
 
 [Clayton enters 
 
 Clayton. [With suppression,] If there's any man. 
 Doctor, your people should have run straight with — I'm 
 the man. 
 
 Seelig. My people? 
 
 Clayton. [Pointing to Elinor.] Locked in Ben De 
 Lota's rooms. 
 
 Seelig. My people ! [Pause,] A Jew ! 
 
 Clayton. [Vehemently,] A Jew, 
 
 Seelig. [Pause,] There was another Jew — if one of 
 His people may quote Him — [Puts hand on Elinor^s head,] 
 " Are you to cast the first stone? " 
 
 Clayton. I'm no hypocrite — I never subscribed to his 
 code — and I'll not begin the living hell — of life with a dis- 
 honored woman. 
 
54. AS A MAN THINKS [Act II 
 
 Elinor. [Rising defiantly,] I'm not dishonored. I 
 only claim the right you exercise for yourself to go where 
 life interests me. If it's honorable and moral for you — 
 it's equally honorable and equally moral for me. 
 
 Clayton. Every right you may possibly claim you have 
 fully earned by your visit to Ben De Lota's room. I'm 
 going to make your equality complete. From now on, 
 you'll protect yourself and you'll earn the substance your 
 vanity squanders. 
 
 Elinor. Ah! — 
 
 Seelig. [Interrupting Elinor's outburst.'] One mo- 
 ment — don't speak, my child. [Pause, Calms Elinor to 
 her chair,] Your difference must wait. Just now Mrs. 
 Clayton. must be composed. 
 
 Clayton. [Explosively,] We're past the consideration 
 of her nerves. Just now Mrs. Clayton must take what she 
 needs for the night and leave — her trunks will follow her. 
 [Goes to the push button and rings,] 
 
 Seelig. [In masterful calm.] No Frank — she shall 
 not leave. 
 
 Clayton. She'll not — 
 
 Seelig. She shall not. 
 
 Clayton. [Angrily.] What have you got to do with it.'^ 
 
 Seelig. Every thing! There's a little boy upstairs — 
 no one shall move him until I give permission, and his life 
 for the next few days will depend on the mother that gave 
 it him. 
 
 [Enter Sutton. 
 
 Clayton. [Pause,] Sutton — [Pause — Seelig looks 
 sharply and steadily at Clayton.] pack my valise — and 
 send it to the Club. 
 
 Sutton. Yes, sir. [Goes out, 
 
 Clayton. [Leaving the room,] Good night. Doctor 
 Seelig. 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 55 
 
 Seelig. [Quietly.] Good night. 
 
 [Elinor still seated turns weeping to Seelig 
 who embraces her paternally. 
 Curtain. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 [SCENE: Library in house of Doctor Seelig. Door at 
 back lets into Drawing Room which formed the first 
 act. Another door to left lets into the hallway. Large 
 diamond paned and leaded window with seat at right. 
 Mantel and fireplace are at back. Over mantel is 
 picture of Judith. Other pictures are heavily framed 
 on wall. Book-cases height of mantel are at all walls. 
 The ceiling is carved and heavily beamed. Near win- 
 dow is library table with lamp. In front of table and 
 masking it is heavy sofa. Big easy chairs flank and 
 half face the fire. A second table has a telephone. On 
 mantel are De Lotahs two vases. Other ornaments 
 complete shelf furniture. General tone of scene and 
 carpet is red and gold. 
 
 At Rise of Curtain Burrill is discovered waiting. 
 [Holland enters. 
 Holland. Miss Seelig will be down immediately. 
 Burrill. Thank you. [Exit Holland, 
 
 [Burrill scans the book shelves, 
 [Vedah enters. 
 Vedah. Julian ! [Extends both hands."} 
 Burrill. My sweetheart! [Kisses her.} 
 Vedah. Together after all the talk and tears and family 
 councils. 
 
 Burrill. Have there been tears .^ 
 Vedah. [Nodding.} Some. 
 
56 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 BuRRiLL. You poor dear. 
 
 Vedah. I've tried so hard not to care for you. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Have you.^ [^^^y ^^f together on the sofa.] 
 
 Vedah. Yes. Read the persecutions of my ancestry 
 and blamed it all on yours and then said, with Mercutio, 
 " A plague on both your houses." 
 
 BuRRiLL. I hope you are as incurably smitten as Mer- 
 cutio was when he said that. 
 
 Vedah. I think I must be. Wasn't there something 
 about a church door? 
 
 BuRRiLL. You angel! 
 
 Vedah. Our critics write that the vice of our race is 
 display. 
 
 BURRILL. Well? 
 
 Vedah. And I fear it's true. I have a great envie to 
 have the noted American sculptor in our box and all the 
 opera glasses saying, ** Vedah Seelig ! She's caught hijn 
 at last." 
 
 BuRRiLL. Have you manoeuvred greatly? 
 
 Vedah. Shamelessly — not even introduced to you. 
 
 BuRRiLL. I know it — but we've met, haven't we? 
 [Kisses her.] 
 
 Vedah. [Resisting tardily,'] That isn't being done, you 
 know, until the engagement is announced. 
 
 BuRRiLL. How does one tell? 
 
 Vedah. I suppose — one doesn't tell? 
 
 BuRRiLL. What have you been doing since I saw you? 
 
 Vedah. Home mostly. You know Mrs. Clayton is visit- 
 ing us? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Mrs. Clayton? 
 
 Vedah. And little Dick. He has the room that was 
 my nursery. I've spent a lot of time with Dick. 
 
 BuRRiLL. And what operas — what parties? 
 
 Vedah. Twice to the opera. 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 57 
 
 BURRILL. With — ? 
 
 Vedah. Mama. Then once to the theater. 
 BURRILL. With — } 
 Vedah. Mama and papa. 
 
 BuRRiLL. No suitors.^ [Vedah shakes her head,"] Not 
 even one.^ 
 
 Vedah. You mean have I seen Mr. De Lota? 
 
 BURRILL. Well? 
 
 Vedah. He is out of the city. 
 
 BURRILL. Oh. 
 
 [Mrs. Seelig enters, 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Vedah! [Burrill and Vedah rise. 
 
 Vedah. Mama. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Mr. Burrill. \^Gives hand.] 
 
 Burrill. Mrs. Seelig. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. You didn't tell me Mr. Burrill had called. 
 
 Vjedah, Did you wish to kndw? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Of course. [She goes to the telephone,'] 
 Give me 2500 Plaza^ please. iPause.] I want to speak to 
 Doctor Seelig if he's there. [Pause,'] Mrs, Seelig. 
 
 Vedah. Why do you want him^ Mama? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. You'll see in good time. 
 
 Vedah. [To Burrill.] A girl never grows up in her 
 mother's mind. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Yes. That you^ Samuel? [Pause.] Will 
 you be home soon? [Pause.] Well^ nothing important — 
 except — [Pause.] Mr. Burrill is here — and — I thought 
 I'd ask him to wait for you — [Pause,] No — [Pause.] 
 No — well — I think it much better for you to do it your- 
 self — [Burrill and Vedah quickly exchange glances and 
 Burrill comically interests himself in the books,] Perhaps 
 — but are you coming? [Pause.] Thank you. [Hangs 
 up 'phone,] 
 
 Vedah. WTiat is it? 
 
58 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. You know — [To Burrill.] Sit down^ 
 Mr. Burrill — [Mrs. Seelig and Vedah sit together,] 
 Vedah's father and I have had a good many talks about — 
 about you and Vedah. 
 
 Burrill. Yes.^ 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. We haven't always agreed. 
 
 Burrill. I m sorry to be the cause of any difference. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. It's Doctor's fault. I've always said to 
 him, don't invite any men to your house in whom you 
 wouldn't be willing to see your daughter interested. 
 
 Vedah. But Mama, Papa didn't invite Mr. Burrill. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. I know, but Papa was with you. That 
 was the time for him to have been firm. And not go locking 
 the stable after — 
 
 Vedah. Oh, Mama, don't make me into a stolen horse. 
 
 Burrill. No — see what I'd be. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [To Vedah.] You'd better listen. 
 
 Burrill. Pardon. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Vedah's our only child, Mr. Burrill, and 
 my first wish is to see her happy — but — 
 
 Vedah. Mama means that any unhappiness of mine 
 wouldn't matter if she had another daughter. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Mr. Burrill understands me, I'm sure. 
 
 Burrill. I do, Mrs. Seelig. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. But Doctor and I agree that Vedah 
 should think calmly. 
 
 Vedah. That's expecting a good deal. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. The Doctor is — going to — well, not let 
 you see so much of each other, and I want to prepare you, 
 Mr. Burrill, for his talk with you. 
 
 [Enter Holland. 
 
 Holland. Mr. De Lota and Judge Hoover. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Judge Hoover! Excuse me. [Follows 
 Holland out,] 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 59 
 
 BuRRiLL. Mr. De Lota? 
 
 Vedah. Yes. And now with Papa going to talk — 
 you haven't informed yourself about that Paris affair. 
 
 BuRRiLL. I wouldn't talk that no matter what I knew. 
 
 Vedah. It's on my mind all the time. 
 [Enter Mrs. Seelig. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. You go to the living room — [Vedah and 
 BuRRiLL start out,] I'll join you. [Vedah and Burrill 
 go to drawing room.] Come in, gentlemen. 
 
 [Enter Hoover and De Lota from the hall. 
 
 Hoover. Some years since we met, Mrs. Seelig. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Yes — [To De Lota.] You've been 
 away, Benjamin? 
 
 De Lota. [Nods,] How is Mrs. Clayton's son? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Doctor says he may go out in a day or 
 two. 
 
 De Lota. [To Hoover in tone of congratulation,'] Ah! 
 
 Hoover. It's been very good of you, Mrs. Seelig, to have 
 him and his mother here. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. A change of surroundings — and Dick's 
 always called me Auntie. [Elinor enters hy the door 
 from hall.] 
 
 Elinor. Father! 
 
 Hoover. My dear. [Kisses her.] 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. We shall see you later, Mr. De Lota ? 
 
 De Lota. Oh — yes — yes. 
 
 [Mrs. Sejslig goes into the drawing room 
 closing the door after her. 
 
 Elinor. You two come — here together. 
 
 Hoover. I brought Mr. De Lota — yes. 
 
 Elinor. Why? 
 
 Hoover. Sit down, my dear. It's going to take more 
 than a minute. [Elinor sUs,] And you — [De Lota 
 sits,] When have you heard from Frank? 
 
60 
 
 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 [Anxiously rising. '\ Don't they know where 
 
 Elinor. 
 he is? 
 
 Hoover. Good Heavens, Elinor — don't answer my ques- 
 tion by asking another. 
 Elinor. But don't they? 
 Hoover. Don't who know where he is? 
 Elinor. Anybody. 
 
 Hoover. Hundreds I suppose — but have you heard from 
 him? 
 
 No. 
 
 Doesn't he ask after little Dick? 
 He 'phones Doctor Seelig every day. 
 But you? 
 No. [Pause.] 
 Frank has instructed Colonel Emory to begin 
 
 Elinor. 
 Hoover. 
 Elinor. 
 Hoover. 
 Elinor. 
 Hoover. 
 suit. 
 
 Elinor. 
 Hoover. 
 Elinor. 
 Hoover. 
 Elinor. 
 
 You mean? 
 
 Divorce. 
 
 Oh! 
 
 You expected it, didn't you? 
 
 Not after his conduct with this second woman 
 — this sculptor model in Paris. 
 
 Hoover. That wasn't condoned, eh? 
 
 Elinor. Not after I discovered it. 
 
 Hoover. What — what proof have you of that affair? 
 
 Elinor. He admitted it. 
 
 Hoover. [Quickly,] He did? 
 
 Elinor. Almost. 
 
 Hoover. I fear " almost " won't go in court. 
 
 Elinor. And — Mr. De Lota knows it. He told me 
 
 so. 
 
 De Lota. [As Hoover turns to him.] My opinion. 
 Hoover. You told Mrs. Clayton that, did you? 
 De Lota. My opinion — yes. 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 61 
 
 Hoover. Have you and she met since — Clayton and I 
 — came to your hotel? 
 
 De Lota. No. 
 
 Hoover. Communicated? [De Lota shakes head.] 
 Oh — then you told her — this opinion of yours with an idea 
 of its influence upon her? 
 
 De Lota. I answered her questions. 
 
 Hoover. And a damn fine mess you*ve made of it. 
 
 De Lota. Perhaps Judge Hoover^ we'd better get to the 
 purpose of our call. 
 
 Hoover. Perhaps. [To Elinor.] I don't need to tell 
 you, Elinor, that this thing's awkward for me, 
 
 Elinor. I know. 
 
 Hoover. The other side can subpoena me — and my testi- 
 mony can't help you — [Pause.] If we go about it rightly, 
 however, Colonel Emory thinks Frank can be persuaded to 
 let you get the decree. 
 
 Elinor. No. 
 
 Hoover. No? 
 
 Elinor. The reason for not getting a divorce two years 
 ago is much greater now. 
 
 Hoover. You mean — ? 
 
 Elinor. I mean Dick. 
 
 Hoover. It's better for Dick to have the blame fixed on 
 his father than upon you. 
 
 Elinor. I'm not guilty. 
 
 Hoover. My dear Elinor, I'm your father — and — and 
 I believe you — but [Pause.] I'm an attorney and I have 
 been a Judge. The case is against you. 
 
 Elinor. [To De Lota.] You know I'm not a guilty 
 woman. 
 
 De Lota. I do — but your father is right. We must face 
 the situation as it is. I love you, Elinor. [Comes to her.] 
 
 Elinor. [Recoiling.] Don't say that to me. 
 
62 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 Hoover. My dear^ I've brought Mr. De Lota here that, 
 unpleasant as it is, he might say it — in my hearing. 
 
 Elinor. You? 
 
 Hoover. Yes. If we can't arrange it as Colonel Emory 
 proposes — [Pause,] Mr. De Lota's willing to marry you. 
 
 Elinor. Oh! [Covers her face in revulsion.'] 
 
 Hoover. [Soothing her.] Don't — don't do that. It 
 isn't what any of us hoped for some years ago — but it's a 
 devilish sight better, my dear, than it all looked last month. 
 
 Elinor. There can't be such injustice in the world — that 
 he may go unscathed and little Dick and I — no — no — I 
 can't live and have it come to that. I won't consent to any 
 such arrangement of it all. 
 
 Hoover. It's little Dick I'm asking you to think of. 
 
 Elinor. He's all I am thinking of. He's like his father 
 — it's his father's name he'll carry through his life and I'm 
 not going even to propose to blacken it. 
 
 Hoover. What are you going to do.^ 
 
 Elinor. Defend myself — defend my boy's mother. 
 
 Hoover. Against the boy's father.^ 
 
 Elinor. Yes. 
 
 Hoover. And if the court gives Clayton a decree of 
 divorce ? 
 
 Elinor. Then I shall live — live so that he'll see some 
 day he was mistaken. 
 
 Hoover. There's one point we mustn't overlook. Dick's 
 how old? 
 
 Elinor. He's seven. 
 
 Hoover. The court may award his custody to Clayton. 
 
 Elinor. [Greatly agitated.] Oh no! Father! They 
 won't — they can't do that. 
 
 Hoover. I don't know. 
 
 Elinor. You can think — arrange some way to avoid 
 that. 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 63 
 
 Hoover. I have thought of one way — you won't listen. 
 If we can persuade Clayton to be the defendant^ that set- 
 tles it. If we fight him as you propose, his anger may 
 lead him to take the boy. 
 
 Elinor. Divorce ! 
 
 De Lota. And no certainty it can be kept quiet. 
 
 Elinor. You mean the papers? 
 
 De Lota. Yes. If Mr. Clayton lets you get the decree 
 — only the Chardenet girl will be named. 
 
 [Elinor rings push button by fireplace. 
 
 Hoover. What are you doing .^ 
 
 Elinor. Tell Mrs. Seelig — 
 
 De Lota. No — no — 
 
 Hoover. Why } 
 
 Elinor. Because Doctor Seelig has told her nothing. 
 [Enter Holland. 
 
 Hoover. One minute. 
 
 Holland. [Going,] Yes, sir. 
 
 Elinor. Holland — ask Mrs. Seelig to come here. 
 
 [Holland goes. 
 
 Hoover. Wait *till Frank decides, 
 
 Elinor. Fve decided. 
 
 Hoover. But you may reconsider. 
 
 De Lota. Yes — why tell her now? 
 
 Elinor. She has a right to know. 
 
 Hoover. What right? 
 
 Elinor. A wife's right — a mother's right. The right 
 of a woman who has taken an outcast into her home. 
 
 Hoover. You were not an outcast, Elinor — you could 
 have come to me. 
 
 Elinor. In your club? 
 
 Hoover. I'd have gone to a hotel. 
 
 De Lota. I beg of you, Elinor — wait — or at least don't 
 tell everything. My position in this house is — peculiar. 
 
64 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 Hoover. Your position? 
 
 De Lota. Yes — a tacit engagement to — Vedah. 
 
 Elinor. Oh! How vile it all makes me. 
 
 De Lota. The more reason to be careful. 
 [Enter Mrs. Seelig. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. My dear.^ 
 
 Hoover. [Cautioning.'] Elinor! 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. What is it.'* [Starts to Elinor.] 
 
 Elinor. Wait — [Pause.] — until I tell you — [Pause.] 
 — doctor told you only that it would be good for Dick to 
 come here.'' Nothing more.'' 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Nothing. 
 
 Elinor. Not — my trouble — with Frank? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. No — and don't you tell it^ my dear^ if it 
 agitates you. Besides^ Frank has lots to worry him. We 
 mustn't judge too quickly. 
 
 Elinor. He wants a divorce. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. He does? 
 
 Elinor. [Nodding.] He's already gone to a lawyer 
 about it — father has just told me. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Because [Looks at Hoover who nods 
 toward De Lota.] Frank's jealous — of Benjamin? [To 
 Elinor.] 
 
 Elinor. I had no idea Vedah was engaged to him. 
 Oh^ it's too — too horrible. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. W^hat ideas men can get in their heads. 
 
 Elinor. No, I'm to blame, Mrs. Seelig. I deserve it all 
 — I did go to his rooms — the Doctor knows. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Your rooms — [De Lota nods.] Together? 
 
 De Lota. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. But, my dear Elinor — 
 
 Elinor. The Doctor believes me — I was crazy — rebel- 
 lious — vengeful — striking back — bitterly resentful of deceit 
 Frank had been newly guilty of. I went as much in the 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 65 
 
 name of all women despitefully treated as I did in assertion 
 of my own freedom. And then — I came to my senses. I'm 
 not guilty or I wouldn't be in your home — 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. My dear! [Takes Elinor in her arms.} 
 
 [Enter Seelig. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [Quietli/.] She*s just told me. 
 
 Seelig. [To Hoover.] Col. Emery called on me this 
 afternoon. 
 
 Hoover. Then you know .^ 
 
 Seelig. Yes. 
 
 Hoover. Naturally somewhat of a shock. [Indicates 
 Elinor.] 
 
 Seelig. Yes. 
 
 Hoover. We haven't any right to expect less from 
 Clayton. 
 
 Elinor. No right .^ Did I divorce him two years ago 
 when he was guilty — really guilty.^ Did I.'* 
 
 Hoover. No ! You made a scene with the woman and 
 got a rotten lot of newspaper notoriety — but the offense 
 you condoned. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. And a man that's been forgiven all that 
 shouldn't talk about divorce if his poor wife loses her head 
 for a minute. It's unbearable the privileges these men 
 claim — and the double standard of morality they set up. 
 
 Seelig. These men.^ 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. All of them. And that woman dramatist 
 with her play was right. It is " a man's world." 
 
 Seelig. It's a pretty wise world, my dear. 
 
 Elinor. You think I should.be made to suffer? 
 
 Seelig. I think you do suffer. 
 
 Elinor. That my offense is less forgivable than Frank's 
 was? 
 
 Seelig. [Pause.] You have my pity, Elinor^, and shall 
 have my help but I can't lie to you. 
 
66 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 Elinor. That Vm more guilty than he? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [Pause,] Don't ask that of a Jew, my 
 dear — however liberal in his religion he pretends to be. My 
 father was an orthodox Rabbi — I know. 
 
 Seelig. What do you know? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Our ancient law — from which all your 
 ideas come. A man's past was his own. He was not for- 
 bidden as many wives as he wanted, but if a poor girl had 
 made a mistake and concealed it from these lords of crea- 
 tion, she was stoned to death unless she was the daughter 
 of a priest — in which case she was to be burnt alive. It's 
 always been a man's world. 
 
 Seelig. Elinor. [Pause.'] Do you hear that rattle of 
 the railroad? 
 
 Elinor. Yes. 
 
 Seelig. All over this great land thousands of trains 
 run every day starting and arriving in punctual agreement 
 because this is a woman's world. The great steamships, 
 dependable almost as the sun — a million factories in civili- 
 zation — the countless looms and lathes of industry — the 
 legions of labor that weave the riches of the world — all — 
 all move by the mainspring of man's faith in woman — 
 man's faith. 
 
 Elinor. I want him to have faith in me. 
 
 Seelig. This old world hangs together by love. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Not man's love for woman. 
 
 Seelig. No — nor woman's love for man, but by the love 
 of both — for the children. 
 
 Elinor. Dick! 
 
 Seelig. Men work for the children because they believe 
 the children are — their own — believe. Every mother knows 
 she is the mother of her son or daughter. Let her be how- 
 ever wicked, no power on earth can shake that knowledge. 
 Every father believes he is a father only by his faith in 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 67 
 
 the woman. Let him be however Wrtuous^ no power on 
 earth can strengthen in him a conviction greater than that 
 faith. There is a double standard of morality because upon 
 the golden basis of woman's virtue rests the welfare of 
 the world. 
 
 Elinor. Have I — lost everything? 
 
 Seelig. Frank must be convinced of your love and your 
 loyalty. 
 
 Elinor. I do love him. 
 
 Seelig. Of course. [To De Lota.] Why are you 
 here ? 
 
 De Lota. To — do anything that is in my power — to as- 
 sure Mrs. Clayton that she will have my protection if — it 
 comes to the worst. 
 
 Seelig. Well — that's where it would be. 
 
 De Lota. And there must be some things you want to 
 say to me? 
 
 Seelig. There are. 
 
 Hoover. [To Seelig.] Clayton's always had great 
 respect for your opinion, Dr. Seelig. 
 
 Seelig. I'll see Clayton, of course. [To Mrs. Seelig.] 
 You 'phoned me that Mr. Burrill — 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. He's there. [Indicates living room,] 
 
 Seelig. Have you seen your grandson. Judge Hoover? 
 
 Hoover. No. 
 
 Elinor. You must — Dick's asked for you — [Rises,] 
 Come. 
 
 Seelig. On your way out I'll see you again. 
 
 [Hoover and Elinor go out. 
 
 Seelig. [To Mrs. Seelig.] You entertain Mr. Bur- 
 rill a moment. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. He doesn't lack entertainment. 
 
 Seelig. What? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Vedah's with him. 
 
68 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 Seelig. [Starting to door.] I thought we'd agreed 
 about that? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Doesn't this trouble make a difference ? 
 
 Seelig. It can't affect our decision concerning Burrill. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Not before Vedah. [Seelig goes to living 
 room,] 
 
 De Lota. Perhaps the trouble can be fixed, Mrs. Seelig 
 — if the doctor talks to Clayton. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. It can't be ** fixed " as you call it, with 
 me. 
 
 De Lota, You won't tell Vedah .^ -^ 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. I won't have to tell Vedah, she loves this 
 artist. 
 
 De Lota. But to marry a Christian! 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. When she might have you. 
 
 De Lota. It's taught me something. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. No doubt. But, I won't sacrifice my girl 
 to finish your education. 
 
 [Re-enter Seelig with Burrill. 
 
 Seelig. Mr. Burrill is going. He first wishes to speak 
 with Mr. De Lota. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Why? 
 
 Seelig. Sarah! 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Pardon. 
 
 Burrill. A business matter, Mrs. Seelig. If you are 
 leaving, Mr. De Lota, I'll walk with you — if you permit. 
 
 De Lota. I have some business with Dr. Seelig. 
 
 Burrill. Could you spare us a few minutes? 
 
 Seelig. Well? De Lota? 
 
 De Lota. With pleasure. 
 
 Seelig. [Going,] Sarah. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [In undertone,] You told him? 
 
 [Seelig nods. Goes out with Mrs. Seelig. 
 
 De Lota. Well? 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 69 
 
 BuRRiLL. I'm going to give you a chance to retire from 
 this, Mr. De Lota, without exposure. 
 
 De Lota. Good of you. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Miss Seelig believes that you have served time 
 in a penitentiary. 
 
 De Lota. You told her that.'* 
 
 BuRRiLL. I hadn't met you when I told Miss Seelig that 
 the man who got an engagement in Antoine's Theater for 
 Mimi Chardenet had been in prison. Then you came into 
 the room and told the rest yourself. 
 
 De Lota. Miss Seelig's belief is based on those two 
 remarks ? 
 
 BuRRiLL. Yes. 
 
 De Lota. Reinforced, I suppose by your own opinion. 
 
 BuRRiLL. I have tried to conceal my opinion. 
 
 De Lota. What is your opinion, Mr. Burrill ? 
 
 BuRRiLL. That I saw you sentenced in the Cour d'Assizes 
 to a year's imprisonment. 
 
 De Lota. And you threaten to say so? 
 
 Burrill. I hope I'm a little cleaner than that, I threaten 
 nothing. 
 
 De Lota. What is it you're doing? 
 
 Burrill. I foresee trouble — I inform you of it. 
 
 De Lota. You mean you foresee Miss Seelig asking me 
 a question? 
 
 Burrill. Yes ! I foresee your answer failing to satisfy. 
 I foresee her doubt grow deeper — I foresee her going to 
 her father with that doubt. 
 
 De Lota. And then? 
 
 Burrill. I foresee Doctor Seelig asking what I 
 know. 
 
 De Lota. Ah! Now we have it. Disguised, but still 
 the threat. You tell Doctor Seelig your belief. 
 
 Burrill. I shall decline to express my belief. 
 
70 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 De Lota. Same thing, isn't it? Your reluctance and 
 your shrugs being quite as convincing. 
 
 BuRRiLL. You can hardly ask me to lie for you. 
 
 De Lota. Miss Vedah may believe me. 
 
 BuRRiLL. No, she has asked me more than once to write 
 to Paris. 
 
 De Lota. It would make this bluff of fair play very con- 
 vincing if you did write to persons whose names I can 
 furnish you. 
 
 BuRRiLL. You mean arrange a deception. 
 
 De Lota. I mean write — show Miss Seelig your letters. 
 Wait — show her the answers. 
 
 BuRRiLL. You make it pretty hard to keep still, believe 
 me. 
 
 De Lota. You think I*m unworthy to marry this girl. 
 
 BuRRiLL. I know you are. 
 
 De Lota. [Pause,] I'm going to tell you the truth 
 about that Paris affair. 
 
 BuRRiLL. I don't care to hear it. 
 
 De Lota. You don't want the truth .^ 
 
 BuRRiLL. I don't want your confidence. I won't be 
 bound by it. 
 
 De Lota. You're a man's man, Burrill — you fight in the 
 open. Your part in this architect's row shows that. Now, 
 in fair play — [Telephone rings,] 
 
 BuRRiLL. Someone will come to answer that. Our inter- 
 view's at an end. 
 
 De Lota. Wait. [Goes quickly to telephone and takes 
 receiver from its hook.] They may not come. [Pause,] 
 I have served a year in a French prison. Captain Dreyfus 
 served even longer for the same prejudice. 
 
 Burrill. Your crime was proven. 
 
 De Lota. I'm as good as you, Mr. Burrill, or any 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 7l 
 
 bachelor that spends his several years in Paris. That im- 
 prisonment was a decoration. 
 
 BURRILL. Rot! 
 
 De Lota. I'm not a male ingenue. Doctor Seelig knows 
 IVe had my wild oats and I'll make a clean breast of it — 
 my sufferings for my race will not be held against me, 
 Vedah Seelig is a Jewess, remember^ and — 
 
 BuRRiLL. Be still, she's a clean^ high-minded girl — 
 she'll forgive adultery in you no quicker than she'd forgive 
 it anywhere. 
 
 De Lota. You think so.^ 
 
 BURRILL. I do. 
 
 De Lota. And that belief determines you to bring it to 
 her knowledge.'^ 
 
 BuRRiLL. It is already brought to her knowledge. You 
 did that. 
 
 De Lota. And you make the consequence as sinister as 
 if it had been planned.'* 
 
 BuRRiLL. I won't conspire to hoodwink a girl into marry- 
 ing you. [Enter Seelig.] [Pause, 
 
 Seelig. That 'phone rang? 
 
 De Lota. Yes — I was going to answer it. 
 
 Seelig. I answered it — on the branch — upstairs. I 
 heard what you were saying. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Through that? 
 
 Seelig. Yes. [Seelig replaces receiver on 'phone, 
 
 De Lota. I was telling Mr. Burrill a story — for a 
 magazine. 
 
 Seelig. [To Burrill.] Is that true? 
 
 Burrill. I can't answer you. 
 
 Seelig. In prison! 
 
 De Lota. The man I was quoting. 
 
 Seelig. Why should a man in a story say: ** Vedah 
 
72 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 Seelig is a Jewess, remember/' Why should Mr. Burrill 
 interrupt you to defend her? 
 
 Burrill. Good day, Doctor. [Burrill goes, 
 
 Seelig. Your confession — just now — [Indicates 'phone,"] 
 
 De Lota. At that time in Paris, with public hatred at a 
 white heat, an obsolete law was dug up to persecute a 
 foreigner and a Jew. 
 
 Seelig. What law? 
 
 De Lota. Imprisoning a man on the complaint of a 
 woman's husband. 
 
 Seelig. We are fortunate to learn it. 
 
 De Lota. There are some Jews I'd expect to condemn 
 me — apostates, renegades, that join the wolves, but not you. 
 That imprisonment was my share of the hatred the race 
 sustains. You're big enough to see that and dismiss it. As 
 for the offense itself — well — you know men, Doctor Seelig. 
 You're a physician — not a Rabbi. 
 
 Seelig. Clayton's home was not your first adventure? 
 
 De Lota. I didn't know this man in Paris. 
 
 Seelig. You knew Clayton? 
 
 De Lota. Yes. 
 
 Seelig. That's enough. 
 
 De Lota. And Mrs. Clayton? 
 
 Seelig. What of her? 
 
 De Lota. You brought her here, 
 
 Seelig. Well? 
 
 De Lota. You excuse her and condemn me? 
 
 Seelig. [Pause,'] There is a cynical maxim that every 
 country has the kind of Jews it deserves. This generous 
 New York deserves the best. A Jew has destroyed the 
 home of a benefactor, a Jew intimate in my own home 
 approved by me and mine. I shall do what I can to repair 
 that destruction. 
 
 De Lota. There's some extenuation. 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 73 
 
 Seelig. What? 
 
 De Lota. This engagement to Vedah is not the first 
 time I have believed I was in love. There was one other 
 — when I was much younger. The father of the Christian 
 girl was a Jew-baiter. 
 
 Seelig. Well.'^ 
 
 De Lota. I was thrown over — not because I wasn't a 
 man — not because I hadn't ability — nor ambition — nor 
 strength — nor promise of success but — I was a Jew. 
 
 Seelig. You will pay that price — the price of being a 
 Jew — almost every day of your life. 
 
 De Lota. I know — in money — in opportunity — in sensi- 
 bilities — yes; but that time I paid it — with all those and 
 — more. [Pause,] Consider then the temptation when 
 that woman who had thrown me over and married her 
 Christian found that she still could listen to the Jew. 
 
 Seelig. [Pause.] This would be a proud moment for 
 me^ Benjamin, if one of my own people had told me that 
 story just as you have told it except — that his revenge had 
 been to protect this Christian woman from herself. 
 [Noise at door, Clayton enters violently, 
 
 Clayton. [To Holland who restrains him.] Don't 
 put your hand on my arm. [Seeing De Lota.] I thought 
 so. 
 
 Seelig. [Interposing,] Thought what? 
 
 Clayton. I called you on the 'phone — I heard that 
 dog's voice. 
 
 Seelig. One moment — [To De Lota, who confronts 
 Clayton] Go. [De Lota starts out.] 
 
 Clayton. He came here to see her. 
 
 De Lota. [Angrily returning.] Yes. To see her! 
 
 Seelig. [Loudly and again interposing.] I said go. 
 
 [De Lota sullenly goes, 
 
 Clayton. And you stand for it. Your house. 
 
74 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 Seelig. Judge Hoover was with Mrs. Clayton — also 
 Mrs. Seelig — then I. 
 
 Clayton. And my boy. Where was Dick? 
 
 Seelig. In his room. 
 
 Clayton. Well, I want him. He shan't be corrupted by 
 their damned assignations. 
 
 Seelig. His first call, Frank, and his last. 
 
 Clayton. That part of it doesn't interest me. 
 
 Seelig. And your threatened divorce was the reason. 
 
 Clayton. I thought they'd get together on that. Well 
 — I want Dick. [Pause,] Send for him, please. 
 
 Seelig. In a minute. He'll be glad to see you — but you 
 mustn't say anything before him you'll regret. 
 
 Clayton. I promise. I just want him, that's all. 
 
 Seelig. He's with his mother, you know. 
 
 Clayton. Well? 
 
 Seelig. And Judge Hoover is also with Elinor. 
 
 Clayton. What of it? 
 
 Seelig. Nothing — except — well, the boy. There 
 mustn't be a dispute, Frank. 
 
 Clayton. Say that to them. 
 
 Seelig. And you can't treat Mrc. Clayton as though 
 she were a guilty woman. 
 
 Clayton. Why can't I? 
 
 Seelig. Because in the first place she isn't guilty. 
 
 Clayton. Isn't? 
 
 Seelig. No. 
 
 Clayton. She fools you, Seelig. 
 
 Seelig. The physician who takes a woman through the 
 sacred crises of her life — mental as well as physical — can't 
 be deceived, Frank, and in the second place you have for- 
 feited the right to judge her — you came into court yourself 
 imclean. 
 
 Clayton. And therefore can't resent adultery. 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 75 
 
 Seelig. Her defiant visit to De Lota's rooms wasnt 
 adultery. 
 
 Clayton. Damnation ! when a woman's gone that far^ 
 the specific degrees of her behavior aren't important. 
 
 Seelig. They're very important, especially when they 
 show recovery. A woman who stops at the edge of the 
 precipice instead of taking the headlong plunge, mustn't 
 be thrown into the gulf — and that by the man she herself 
 had already rescued — by the man whose brutality forced 
 her into the peril. 
 
 Clayton. Brutality ! 
 
 Seelig. A word ill chosen — I meant bestiality — who are 
 you to pass sentence upon her } 
 
 Clayton. Unfortunately the man who married her, 
 
 Seelig. Why! Dismiss the moral view of marriage. 
 Consider it only as our modern and manly and commercial 
 mind is organized to consider it — a civil covenant — no more, 
 
 Clayton. What then? 
 
 Seelig. Why, even then your position is that of a thief 
 — a confessed embezzler — complaining in his hypocrisy of 
 what? — that his partner's books appear inaccurate. That 
 is the proportion. On the sacred side of the relation you 
 are doubly guilty — guilty of your immoral conduct — guilty 
 of your base example and guilty of goading a good woman 
 into desperate things. For God's sake, Frank Clayton, 
 cleanse your mind of its masculine conceit, prejudice, self- 
 ishness and partiality — recognize your own destructive work 
 — admit it — regret it, undo it, and ask a good woman's for- 
 giveness. [Clayton laughs ironically, 
 [Hoover and Elinor enter. Her appearance stills Clay- 
 ton, as he turns and sees her. 
 
 Elinor. Frank? [^Extends her hand pleadingly, '\ 
 
 Clayton. Well? 
 
 Elinor. I'm in the dust — forgive me. 
 
76 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 Seelig. [In undertone.'] Judge — 
 
 [Starts out. Hoover following, 
 
 Clayton. [Checking them,] No — none of that. Let*s 
 not contrive any interview of repentance. 
 
 Elinor. You — you're not going to drag the — the whole 
 story into the courts. 
 
 Clayton. I'm going to — [Pause.] do only what is 
 necessary. 
 
 Elinor. [Sits — speaJcs with effort at control,] As we 
 forgive — those that trespass against us — 
 
 Clayton. It's too late to adjust matters with a few 
 appropriate quotations. 
 
 Hoover. You won't waive any right by a reasonable 
 delay. 
 
 Seelig. None — so for pity's sake^ Frank^ tell Colonel 
 Emory to wait. 
 
 Clayton. I've retained my own counsel — I don't ask 
 other advice. 
 
 Elinor. [Brokenly,] Why — why do you come to see 
 me? 
 
 Clayton. I don't! I came because your friend Mr. 
 De Lota was here with you. 
 
 Elinor. Frank! 
 
 Hoover. I brought De Lota. 
 
 Clayton. [Explosively.] I don't object. [Then with 
 fateful control,] I'm just going to take Dick out of the 
 muck, that's all. 
 
 Elinor. Dick! 
 
 Hoover. [Bristling,] THe law prescribes the only way 
 that— 
 
 Elinor. [Quickly interposing,] Father — don't — don't. 
 We mustn't talk of law and its wrangle over Dick. Frank's 
 perfectly right. If I were meeting Mr. De Lota after the 
 terrible mistake of that night Dick shouldn't be in my 
 
Act III] AS A MAN THINKS 77 
 
 care at all. [Turns to Clayton.] It — it was on account 
 of the suit — that's all. If you let Colonel Emory do that 
 cruel thing without believing me. Father brought him — 
 Dick wasn't here. I said that I wouldn't bring up my 
 jealousy of that woman in Paris — nothing to blacken the 
 name of Dick's father — didn't I.^ [Turns to Hoover.] 
 
 Hoover. She did. 
 
 Elinor. [Again to Clayton.] You must see Dick — 
 but leave him here^ Frank^ until you know the very truth 
 — about — it all. You get him^ father — 
 
 Hoover. [Going,] Of course. I've seen fifty cases that 
 looked worse than this smoothed out by a little patience. 
 
 Elinor. [Anxiously.] Get Dick. 
 
 Clayton. You saw De Lota.^ 
 
 Elinor. With father. 
 
 Hoover. [Turning,] De Lota's statement to me, Frank, 
 was identical with Elinor's. 
 
 Clayton. Never mind. 
 
 Hoover. [Coming back,] I've got to mind — you're not 
 informed. Elinor and De Lota were friends before you 
 ever came to New York. [Elinor tries to silence Hoover.] 
 
 Clayton. Friends ? 
 
 Elinor. [Pause, and as Clayton glares at her,] Yes. 
 [To Hoover.] Get Dick. Go — don't say any more. 
 
 [Hoover goes, 
 
 Clayton. [Accusingly.] I introduced De Lota to you 
 only a year ago. 
 
 Elinor. I know, but — 
 
 Clayton. Why pretend you were not acquainted.^ 
 
 Elinor. I — I was considering his feelings. 
 
 Clayton. What do you mean by that? 
 
 Elinor. Before I knew you — we were engaged. 
 
 Clayton. Engaged ! 
 
 Elinor. He and I. Father objected on account of De 
 
78 AS A MAN THINKS [Act III 
 
 Lota's race — and — Father forbade me ever to speak of it 
 in his hearing. When you and I met I was still over- 
 sensitive about it and — 
 
 Clayton. [Furiously.'] No^ by God! It won't do. 
 You can't square it. I see it now. IVe been a dupe for 
 years and years. 
 
 Elinor. I never saw him again until you brought him 
 home. 
 
 Clayton. Don't^ I'm through with it. [Going.] 
 
 Elinor. Frank — don't go — wait! See Dick! 
 
 Clayton. [Turning.] Dick. 
 
 Elinor. You must see your boy. 
 
 Clayton. My boy! How do I know he's my boy? 
 
 [Elinor and Seelig both exclaim, 
 
 Elinor. Oh! 
 
 Seelig. Frank! 
 
 Clayton. You've lived a lie about that blackguard all 
 along until I trap you in his room. 
 
 Elinor. But Dick — our babv Dick. For God's sake, 
 Frank, don't say a thing like that. 
 
 Clayton. Why not, if it's here — here — [Striking fore- 
 head.] And hell itself can't burn it out. 
 
 Seelig. [At the door.] Frank — it's the boy. 
 
 Clayton. No — no ! 
 
 [Turns and goes rapidly out by the other door. 
 [Enter Dick. 
 
 Elinor. [To Seelig.] What have I done.'* I didn't 
 know — I didn't know. 
 
 Dick. [To Elinor.] Where's Papa? 
 
 Elinor. [With a heartbroken cry.] Ah! [Kneels and 
 takes Dick in her arms.] My boy — my boy — [Brushes 
 back his hair.] Our baby — boy. [Kisses and embraces 
 him hysterically, sobbing.] 
 
 Curtain. 
 
Act IV] AS A MAN THINKS 79 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 [SCENE : Same as Act II, the Lounging Room at Clayton's. 
 A large couch is drawn up in front of fire. The room 
 is lighted only by the lamp on the small table and 
 a candlelabrum near the telephone. The pictures on 
 the ivall are awry, and there is a look of general deso- 
 lation about the place. A window is open at left side 
 of room and the sound of church bells comes in. 
 
 Discovered: Clayton on couch near fire — steamer 
 rug over him — he in dressing gown and slippers. His 
 shoes are on floor.'] 
 
 [Enter Sutton from dining room carrying tray. 
 
 Sutton. I beg pardon^ sir. 
 
 Clayton. Well.'' 
 
 Sutton. I've a bowl of bouillon and some toast — I 
 thought maybe you'd try it, sir. 
 
 Clayton. [Indifferently.'] Thank you, Sutton. 
 
 Sutton. [Putting tray on table at head of the couch,] 
 Shall I put it nearer.^ [Clayton shakes head.] If you'd 
 rather'^have a milk punch, sir? 
 
 Clayton. No. 
 
 Sutton. Or an egg-nogg — [Clayton shakes head,] 
 
 Clayton. You might shut that window. 
 
 Sutton. Yes, sir. [Going to the window.] 
 
 Clayton. Those damn bells — 
 
 Sutton. Yes, sir. [Closes window,] 
 
 Clayton. When did Doctor Seelig say he'd come? 
 
 Sutton. As soon as possible. 
 
 Clayton. And it's been three hours. 
 
 Sutton. Nearly three hours, yes, sir. There's the door 
 — may be Doctor now. [Goes to hall,] 
 
80 AS A MAN THINKS [Act IV 
 
 [Clayton re-arranges pillow and lies down again. 
 [Hoover's voice is heard outside, 
 Sutton. \^Also outside,'] He's lying down — in the 
 smoking room. 
 
 [Enter Sutton. 
 
 [Hoover and Elinor appear in hallway, 
 
 Sutton. [Leaning over the back of the couch,] Pardon^ 
 sir — Judge Hoover! 
 
 Clayton. [Shaking head,] No — 
 
 Sutton. And Mrs. Clayton, sir. 
 
 Clayton. [Sitting up,] Here? 
 
 Hoover. [Entering,] I don't want to intrude, Frank, 
 but — it seems necessary. Come in, Elinor ! 
 
 [Sutton goes. Elinor comes down to the 
 couch. 
 
 Clayton. You'll have to see my attorney. I'm not able 
 to talk any business. 
 
 Elinor. [Tenderly.] You're ill, Frank? 
 
 Clayton. [Coldly.] Resting a minute — 
 
 Elinor. I'm sorry to disturb you, but — it's for Dick. 
 [Pause,] [Clayton motions slightly to a chair which 
 Hoover places — Elinor sits.] You know that to-morrow 
 is — a holiday? [Clayton nods,] Dick's eager about it — 
 
 Clayton. [Complainingly to Hoover.] This isn't 
 necessary, is it? 
 
 Elinor. Dick's talked for days about his tree and 
 hanging up his stocking by the big fireplace at home. Our 
 difference, Frank, mustn't put a blight on the boy's 
 Christmas. 
 
 Clayton. [In undertone,] My God ! What drivel ! 
 
 Elinor. Drivel when I repeat it — if you will — but not 
 as little Dick talks it day after day. His love for you 
 isn't drivel. 
 
Act IV] AS A MAN THINKS 81 
 
 Clayton. [To Hoover.] You promised Emory to 
 begin suit if I'd keep quiet. 
 
 Hoover. Yes. 
 
 Clayton. Nearly a month ago. 
 
 Hoover. I know — but — [Turns to Elinor.] 
 
 Elinor. / refuse. There's nothing left me to live for 
 but my baby and his happiness. I won't — I won't bring 
 an accusation against his father — [Clayton moves away 
 wearily to mantel — Elinor rises,] You are his father 
 and only your wish to crush me makes you pretend to doubt 
 it. I've forfeited your love^ I know — I'm not here to plead 
 against that — but to avoid any scar I can for the boy's 
 heart. I want you to let Dick come here to-morrow — 
 [Clayton moves impatiently,] Not with me — with Miss 
 Doane. I want you to see him — and take him in your 
 arms — 
 
 Clayton. [Shakes head,] No — 
 
 Hoover. [With some indignation.] Whatever he is — 
 he's a child^ and for seven years this was his home. 
 
 Clayton. There'll be other anniversaries. He may as 
 well learn now. 
 
 Elinor. No — not now. When he's old enough to under- 
 stand I'll tell him — the truth. 
 
 Clayton. What is the truth .^ 
 
 Elinor. That his mother — was a foolish woman who 
 thought her husband didn't understand her. That his 
 father punished her out of all proportion to her offense^ but 
 only as women must expect punishment. 
 
 Clayton. [Sneering.] 1 know — because men are brutes. 
 
 Elinor. Because — God has put into woman's keeping 
 a trust — of which no one — neither husbands nor fathers 
 tell them truly — about which the world in its vain disputes 
 of equality misleads them — of which they learn only through 
 their own suffering. 
 
82 AS A MAN THINKS [Act IV 
 
 ClxWton. [Leaving Elinor and going to Hoover.] 
 This kind of thing is — what I try to escape. 
 
 Elinor. [Following, '\ Let Dick spend his Christmas 
 morning here. [Clayton shakes head,] You used to ask 
 after him every day until you took this cruel pose of pre- 
 tending that he's not your boy. 
 
 Clayton. [To Hoover.] Please — 
 
 Elinor. I couldn't tell you in Doctor Seelig's presence 
 plainly enough. You know Father's insane antipathy to — 
 [Pause.] to those people. Any word — the most sacred — 
 any name — the most honored — by scornful repetition be- 
 comes a reproach^ and I had grown fearful of ridicule 
 about my former friendship for — Ben De Lota. That was 
 my sole reason for silence. 
 
 Clayton. [Wearily.] My God ! 
 
 Hoover. Elinor, Frank ! [Indicates hall.] 
 
 Burrill. [Outside.] Is he too ill to be seen a moment? 
 
 Hoover. [Peering cautiously into hall.] Woman, too. 
 
 [Enter Sutton. 
 
 Sutton. Mr. Burrill, sir. 
 
 Clayton. I said no one but Doctor Seelig. 
 
 Sutton. Miss Seelig, Doctor's daughter, is with Mr. 
 Burrill. 
 
 Elinor. Father! [Going quickly out by dining room 
 door.] 
 
 Hoover. [Following.] I want a word, Frank, when 
 they're gone. 
 
 Clayton. But not with her. 
 
 Hoover. No — she'll go. [Hoover leaves, 
 
 Clayton. My coat! [Sutton gets Clayton's coat and 
 
 waistcoat from the table — Clayton takes them and nods 
 
 for Sutton to go.] [Sutton goes. 
 
 [Clayton feebly unbuttons his dressing 
 
 gown, pauses, wearily throws coat and 
 
Act IV] AS A MAN THINKS 8S 
 
 waistcoat to a chair from which they slip 
 to the floor, Clayton sits on the couch, 
 [BuRRiLL and Vedah enter, 
 
 BuRRiLL. Sorry to disturb you^ Mr. Clayton. 
 
 Vedah. And your man says you're not well. 
 
 Clayton. Nothing! Won't you be seated.^ [Vedah 
 takes chair Burrill places for her,'\ 
 
 BuRRiLL. I'm — [Pause,] That is, we're — well, I 
 wanted to thank you for my contract on the court-house 
 sculpture. 
 
 Clayton. They gave it to you, did they.'* 
 
 Burrill. Yes. The finished marble must be up in a 
 year. Material — workmen — studio — everything's cheaper 
 on the other side — 
 
 Clayton. I know. 
 
 Burrill. So I'm sailing day after to-morrow — unless 
 you need me here in the architect's libel suit! 
 
 Clayton. They've withdrawn that. 
 
 Burrill. They have.^ [Clayton nods, Burrill turns 
 eagerly to Vedah.] Then we go — 
 
 Vedah. Yes ! 
 
 Burrill. Vedah and I have been married. 
 
 Clayton. Married.^ 
 
 Burrill. Half an hour ago. 
 
 Vedah. Yes. [Rises and stands by Burrill.] 
 
 Burrill. [Taking Vedah^s hand,] I'm the happiest 
 man alive. 
 
 Clayton. [Moodily,] Half an hour.^ Ah, yes. [With 
 an effort rises and goes to them,] Well, I congratulate 
 you both. 
 
 Vedah. Papa and Mama don't know it yet. [Burrill 
 goes to the fireplace,] 
 
 Clayton. An elopement? 
 
 Vedah. Is it.^ If we didn't leave the city.'^ 
 
84 AS A MAN THINKS [Act IV 
 
 [Enter Sutton. 
 
 Sutton. Mrs. Seelig, sir. 
 
 [Vedah anxiously goes to Burrill. 
 [Enter Mrs. Seelig. 
 
 [Sutton goes out, 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Vedah. [Sees Burrill.] You know your 
 father's wishes. 
 
 Burrill. WeVe been married^ Mrs. Seelig. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Vedah! 
 
 Vedah. Yes, Mama. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. When? 
 
 Vedah. At five o'clock. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. How? Who married you? 
 
 Burrill. A Justice of the Peace. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Frank! [Turns to Clayton.] 
 
 Vedah. [Going to her mother.^ Remember your par- 
 ents objected to Papa. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [To Clayton.] My father was a Rabbi 
 — Doctor Seelig's ideas were advanced — even his own 
 people thought so. 
 
 Vedah. No couple could be happier than you have been. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Is this happiness — my only daughter runs 
 away — why? To-day? Why secretly? 
 
 Burrill. I'm sailing for Paris. 
 
 Vedah. [Returning to Burrill.] To be gone a year. 
 
 Burrill. The separation was impossible. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Couldn't you have trusted Vedah that 
 long? 
 
 Vedah. It was I, Mama. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. You? 
 
 Vedah. To risk a sculptor in Paris? Oh no! 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Well, go home and tell your poor father. 
 
 Vedah. I want you with us^ Mama. 
 
 BunRiLL. I'm willing to tell the Doctor alone. 
 
Act IV] AS A MAN THINKS 85 
 
 Vedah. [7n alarm,'] No. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Very well^ wait for me and we'll meet 
 Papa together. 
 
 Vedah. [To Clayton.] Good-bye! 
 
 [They shake hands^ 
 
 Clayton. Good-bye. [Shakes hands with Burrill.J 
 Bon voyage. 
 
 BuRRiLL. Thank you. [Starts out with Vedah.] 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [Impulsively,] Vedah! [Vedah turns, 
 Mrs. Seelig embraces and kisses her,] 
 
 BuRRiLL. Thank you^ Mrs. Seelig. [Goes out with 
 Vedah.] 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [Sighing and turning to Clayton who is- 
 at the fireplace,] I left Elinor — waiting for Judge Hoover^ 
 When I go back I want to carry her some comfort. 
 
 Clayton. Your arrival will do that, Mrs. Seelig. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. I hope so. This is Christmas Eve, vom 
 know. 
 
 Clayton. Yes. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Little Dick has always foimd his stocking^ 
 — in there. [Indicates the music room,] 
 
 Clayton. Mrs. Clayton mustn't use Dick to break down 
 my decision. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. I bought a little tree — [Indicates its^ 
 height,] 1 caught the Christian shopkeeper smiling — but 
 no matter. I had Sutton take it in at the tradesman's en- 
 trance. [Clayton turns away,] 1 know. You think that 
 is more indelicacy characteristic of the race — but Vedah is 
 going with that young man — my own heart is alive to the 
 suffering around us. Yours? — yes! it comes soon enough to 
 us all — but Frank ! — that little boy who is — 
 
 Clayton. Please ! Mrs. Seelig, the doctor's ordered me 
 to avoid all excitement. [Sits wearily on couch,] 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [Sympathetically,] He didn't tell us.. 
 
as AS A MAN THINKS [Act IV 
 
 Clayton. Not Doctor Seelig. 
 
 Mas. Seelig. Oh! 
 
 Clayton. A specialist — but he doesn't help me. Sutton 
 *phoned and I'm waiting for Doctor Seelig now. 
 
 Mas. Seelig. Now? I can't meet him here. But that 
 tree's in the house and you must let us bring Dick over. 
 
 [Enter Hoover. 
 
 Hoover. Pardon. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. I'm going — Good night. [^She goes, 
 
 Clayton. [Pause,'] Where is — ? 
 
 Hoover. Elinor.'^ [Clayton nods.] She left immedi- 
 ately. [Clayton lies down on couch.] She's — not — a bad 
 woman, Frank! What she said about my opposition was 
 true — but we all learn. I didn't know the hearts those 
 people had in 'em — [Pause.] And her girlish affair with 
 De Lota was — well, you know Elinor's craze for music. 
 That's the explanation — attraction was mostly artistic. 
 
 [Enter Sutton. 
 
 Sutton. Doctor Seelig. 
 
 Clayton. You'll have to excuse me, Judge. 
 
 Hoover. Sorry to see you — ill, old man. 
 
 [Enter Seelig. 
 
 Seelig. Good evening. 
 
 Hoover. Good evening. Doctor. [Going, extends hand.] 
 I wish you — [Pause,] the compliments of the season. 
 
 Seelig. The same to you, Judge. 
 
 [Hoover goes,] [Sutton takes Seelig^s hat 
 and coat, 
 
 Seelig. Well, Frank — under the weather.'* [Leans over 
 hach of couch,] 
 
 Clayton. Pretty rotten. 
 
 Seelig. Need a little air in here. 
 
 Clayton. I couldn't stand the damned bells. 
 
Act IV] AS A MAN THINKS 8T 
 
 Seelig. Better stand them a minute. 
 
 [Opens window. The sound of church 6e{Zr 
 is heard, 
 
 Clayton. *' Peace on earthy good will to men." 
 
 Seelig. How long have you been this way.^ [Taking 
 Clayton's pulse,] 
 
 Clayton. Been here — since last night. 
 
 Seelig. Drinking? 
 
 Clayton. Very little. 
 
 Seelig. Pain anywhere? 
 
 Clayton. Some — back of my neck near the shoulders. 
 
 Seelig. Headache? [Clayton shakes head.] No other^ 
 pains? [Clayton shakes head.] What kept you in the- 
 house ? 
 
 Clayton. I feel all in— rotten tired. 
 
 Seelig. I'd have come earlier^ Frank, but a long lisL. 
 Then there was an accident to a little chap on Third Ave-^ 
 nue — they brought him to the hospital — smaller than your- 
 boy. We operate on him at eight-thirty. [Regards watcJuJ 
 When I got away from that the police stopped us at every 
 cross street. Wonderful sight on the Avenue — people 
 seem to have money. I think a prosperity Christmas. 
 
 [Picks up the coat and waistcoat from ihe^ 
 floor — folds them. Straightens pictures 
 on wall. 
 
 Clayton. Can't we have that window closed now? 
 [Pause — Seelig closes the window, shutting out the sound 
 of the hells.] Ha! " Glad tidings of great joy." 
 
 Seelig. Comes only once a year. 
 
 Clayton. You any respect for the whole business — 
 that Christ fabrication? 
 
 Seelig. [Going to fireplace.] You mean the Churcfc 
 idea — the creeds? 
 
 Clayton. Yes. 
 
S8 AS A MAN THINKS [Act IV 
 
 Seelig. [Pause.'l Tve outgrown the one my own mother 
 started me in, but I take off my hat to the man. 
 
 Clayton. Why ! 
 
 Seelig. Oh^ He knew — He'd worked it all out. 
 
 Clayton. Worked what out? 
 
 Seelig. This thing we call Life. He knew the essence 
 of it. 
 
 Clayton. I don't see that. 
 
 Seelig. " As a man thinketh " — that was His answer. 
 
 Clayton. What does that answer.^ 
 
 Seelig. Everything. When I felt your pulse there and 
 let go your hand you carried it back to the couch — so. 
 
 Clayton. Expect me to keep it out there like a hat-rack? 
 
 Seelig. I'd hoped you would drop it a little. 
 
 Clayton. Why? 
 
 Seelig. Hoped you'd relax. Let's try it now. [Lifts 
 Clayton^s hand,^ Don't tense those muscles — put your 
 weight on me. [Drops hand,'] There ! 
 
 Clayton. Well, what does that do? 
 
 Seelig. That's the only part of your body that's relaxed 
 — Now a deep breath and let go. Don't hold yourself up 
 from the couch. So ! [Clayton does as told and percepti- 
 bly relaxes,] 
 
 Clayton. Nerves, I know. 
 
 Seelig. [Tapping his own forehead.] It's this. Why, 
 I have patients — business men — who are always tied up 
 like a wet fishing line — sleep that way. Do you know why 
 i:hat wrinkle is between your eyes? 
 
 Clayton. I'm sick, that's why. 
 
 Seelig. Because the wrinkle's in your mind. That coat 
 T took from the fioor said mental wrinkles, *' As a man 
 thinketh," my dear Frank. [Pause,] What is it i!ow — 
 come ? 
 
 Clayton. You don't have to ask, do you? 
 
Act IV] AS A MAN THINKS 89^ 
 
 Seelig. I do ask. 
 
 Clayton. Just to keep my mind on it, I suppose.'* 
 
 Seelig. No — I want to hear you talk about it. 
 
 Clayton. My mind will be all rights Til be all right^^ 
 when that damned dog is dead in hell ! 
 
 Seelig. [Pause.] You hate him pretty bitterly, don't 
 you.^ 
 
 Clayton. I hate him the best I know how. 
 
 Seelig. You know what good hating does to the hater? 
 
 Clayton. You mean to me.^ 
 
 Seelig. [Nodding,] To everybody. Kills him. 
 
 Clayton. Kills him? [Seelig nods. 
 
 Seelig. [Pause.] Hate generates one of the deadliest 
 poisons in nature. IVe had trouble in my time saving a 
 baby that had nursed milk from the breast of an angry 
 woman. You've heard of the bite of a blue gum negro being 
 poison. 
 
 Clayton. Knew a man who lost his thumb that way. 
 
 Seelig. Well, it is no more poisonous than the bite of a 
 red gum negro, or the bite of a red gum white man, if 
 either of them gets angry enough, the blue gum negro is 
 just a little nearer the animal and gets mad quicker, that's 
 all. Now, you lie here with this grouch of yours and you 
 generate constant^ an internal poison. I haven't any medi- 
 cines that can beat that. 
 
 Clayton. When I get so much of it in me that I shoot 
 that cur, as I shall some day, they'll call it murder. 
 
 Seelig. [Pause.] I used to get pretty angry when I 
 was younger, but I think it was more to show off. 
 
 Clayton. You mean I do this to '' show off! " 
 
 Seelig. I mean you are influenced by public opinion^ 
 If you and he were the only creatures left in the world 
 you'd admit he didn't do much more than you'd have done 
 in his place. 
 
so AS A MAN THINKS [Act IV 
 
 Clayton. You mean I'd go into another man's home 
 4ind ruin it? 
 
 Seelig. This man didn't come into your home and ruin 
 IL He meets an old sweetheart^ meets her when she thinks 
 she is being neglected. 
 
 Clayton. [Sitting up,] Neglected? Why, she had 
 this house and our summer place at Newport — a forty-five 
 hoTse-power limousine — she had — 
 
 Seelig. See here, Frank, you were neglecting her. He 
 did what nine men out of ten would do. He knows the price 
 that's being paid, and I know, that he'd walk around the 
 Belt Line to-night in the snow, barefooted, to have the 
 Tecord closed. 
 
 Clayton. Suppose you think I ought to hunt him up 
 .and shake hands with him? 
 
 Seelig. No — don't think you should ever see him again, 
 •even mentally; but it doesn't need murder to acquire that 
 attitude. I want you to be big enough to dismiss it. That's 
 why I quote this carpenter-prophet of Nazareth — a truth 
 that took me a post-graduate course to learn and twenty- 
 five years to demonstrate — He found out by himself. He 
 said in one of his first sermons: ^^ Forgive, and ye shall be 
 forgiven; give and it shall be given unto you, good measure 
 pressed down, shaken together and running over shall men 
 give unto your bosom." 
 
 Clayton. Oh that religious elation — 
 
 Seelig. It wasn't religion He was preaching, but a 
 good working rule of life. This precept of good-will — 
 people regard the words " Good-will " as interchangeable 
 with " Peace/' but will is active, good-will is a constructive 
 force. I've seen sick people get well merely through two 
 or three hearty good wishers rooting for them. I've figured 
 it out that there's an influence circulating through all 
 jnen when they'll permit it, just as the current through 
 
Act IV] AS A MAN THINKS 91 
 
 that lamp goes through all other lamps in this hoose. 
 Stop it in the man by avarice or cupidity^ divert it bjr 
 envy^ turn it back by hate, and something goes wrong- 
 with the machinery. ** Give and it shall be given unta 
 you." 
 
 Clayton. You take Him too literally, Doctor. 
 
 Seelig. The mistake is not taking Him literally enough, 
 I've cured many taking that sermon literally. \^Sits beside 
 Clayton on his couch.~\ 1 find what is on the patient's 
 mind. Generally some hate or fear — sometimes regret or 
 remorse — then I try to show the patient that yesterday is 
 yesterday, that his past life doesn't concern him any more 
 than last year's snow. If I can get a man looking ahead — 
 hopeful — anxious to get on the job — why he's cured. 
 
 Clayton. [Doggedly.^ I'll look ahead when I get even 
 with this fellow. 
 
 Seelig. Well, say you've got even — that you've dealt 
 him some deadly blow^ irreparably injured him or his hap-- 
 piness ! What then ? My dear Frank^ there is nothing, 
 so disappointing as a satisfied revenge. 
 
 Clayton. I can't forget it. 
 
 Seelig. Yes you can. 
 
 Clayton. It's here on my mind. [Covers his eyes and 
 forehead,] 
 
 Seelig. Because your mind is empty. Work is the: 
 answer to your condition. 
 
 Clayton. [Shaking his head,] Too late for that noir^ 
 
 Seelig. Nonsense! Take this parable of the eleventk 
 hour. The men in that were kicking because those who 
 had worked one hour got as much as those who had put itt 
 a full day. Remember what the Nazarene proposed to pay^ 
 
 Clayton. What? 
 
 Seelig. Peace of mind. A sharehold in what He called 
 the Kingdom of Heaven. The eleventh hour men worked 
 
92 ' AS A MAN THINKS [Act IV 
 
 only one hour, but they worked — the last hour. You get 
 that peace of mind, whenever — you work, whenever you do 
 something — and the splendid thing is, it's never too late io 
 do it, [Rises vigorously — stands at mantel,'] 
 
 Clayton. [Wearily,] Good God, Doctor, a man can't 
 get up and work at something he doesn't care for in order 
 to forget something he's thinking of all the time. It's well 
 enough for you — always called in by some poor devil who 
 thinks you can help him. Give me your job and your 
 equipment for it and I'll talk hope and clean living myself. 
 
 Seelig. [Half sadly,] I know that attitude. It's al- 
 ways the next pasture that seems the greenest. If I have 
 any regret it is that instead of being a physician I wasn't 
 a priest. I think most diseases are not physical so much 
 as they are mental or spiritual. 
 
 Clayton. Well, I'd like to do that kind of thing myself. 
 
 Seelig. You can do it. 
 
 Clayton. I can.'* 
 
 Seelig. Yes — only you have to begin. 
 
 Clayton. You mean with myself.^ 
 
 Seelig. I mean with the work that's nearest to you, 
 Frank. If I wanted you to walk around Central Park you 
 would have to get up, you would have to walk to the door; 
 you would have to go down the steps; you would have to 
 "Walk to Central Park. In other words, you would have to 
 <iover the ground that is nearest to you. Now, in the work 
 you say you would like to do, you've also got to cover the 
 ground that's nearest you. Suppose you were going to save 
 somebody and you had your choice — whom would you save ? 
 Why, the people dearest to you. You would save — little 
 Dick— eh. > 
 
 Clayton. [In pain.] Don't talk of Dick. 
 
 Seelig. I've got to talk of him. The boy isn't getting a 
 father's care. 
 
Act IV] AS A MAN THINKS 93 
 
 Clayton. You advised me not to take him. 
 
 Seelig. I still advise that. He is getting a mother's 
 care^ but he needs a father's also. Now suppose you could 
 save little Dick. The next dearest person to you would 
 be his mother, wouldn't she? 
 
 Clayton. She's made her bed. 
 
 Seelig. Yes, but after you've made beds there's some- 
 thing more to do than lie in them. After a reasonable 
 time you are to get up and get out of them. 
 
 Clayton. She's all right — free to do as she likes. 
 
 Seelig. No, she isn't. She's a slave to her remorse — 
 she's looking back. She can't realize that yesterday is 
 yesterday and that a dead yesterday is just as dead as 
 Babylon. Now, you want work to do — why not do that ? 
 
 Clayton. Overlook what she's done? 
 
 Seelig. Yes — overlook what she's done. She wasn't 
 perfect — nobody is. She makes one mistake — with you it's 
 final. You don't judge anyone else that way. I've seen 
 you throwing little Dick the baseball teaching him to hold 
 it and not to break his chubby fingers — standing two yards 
 from him — drop and drop and drop it. You didn't get 
 tired — you were developing the boy. Now the assumption 
 is that Elinor came to you with her character fully de- 
 veloped; but my dear old friend, character never stops de- 
 veloping if we are in the right line. There's still the 
 perfecting of a fine woman. You want something to do — 
 do that. 
 
 Clayton. All right — Tell her. — [Pause,] I forgive 
 her [Pause.] but that I'm through with it just the same. 
 
 Seelig. I'll not carry lies to her. If you forgive her 
 you'll go where she is — you'll go looking forward and not 
 backward — [Clayton shakes head, pause — Seelig regards 
 watch.] I hate to leave you in this mood, Frank. 
 
 Clayton. I'll — be all right. 
 
94 AS A MAN THINKS [Act IV 
 
 Seelig. Why not get in the machine and take a run 
 through the Park — only a half hour — because I must get 
 back to the hospital. 
 
 Clayton. [Pause.] You won't try any snap judgment 
 on me — no driving up to your door and making a scene of 
 it? 
 
 Seelig. Chauffeur will take your order. 
 
 [Pause. Clayton begins to put on his shoes. 
 Seelig goes to the telephone. 
 
 Clayton. What are you doing? 
 
 Seelig. I can't be home to dinner. ['Phones.'\ Yes — 
 operator. Give me 319 Plaza — Plaza — yes. 
 
 Clayton. I think — [Pause.] Mrs. Seelig was here; 
 just before you came — 
 
 Seelig. Yes? 
 
 Clayton. [Pause.] They expect you at dinner. 
 
 Seelig. ['Phoning.] Holland? [Pause.] This is 
 Doctor — I'll speak to Mrs. Seelig — [Speaks to Clayton.] 
 What did she want? 
 
 Clayton. Oh — Dick's Christmas principally. 
 
 Seelig. That reminds me — I told Dick I'd see you 
 ['Phones.] Hello? — yes Sarah? I can't get home to dinner 
 dear — [Pause.] No — impossible. [Pause.] I'm at Frank 
 Clayton's — [Pause.] Nothing — that is, nothing serious. 
 He's going out with me — just to get the air, that's all. 
 What's that? [Pause.] Yes, I'll speak to her. 
 
 Clayton. Speak to whom? 
 
 Seelig. [Speaking to Clayton.] Mrs. Seelig wants 
 to know if I won't speak to your wife. ['Phones.] Hello 
 — that you, Elinor? [Pause.] Yes — he's all right — per- 
 fectly. [Pause.] Not yet, but we're going out — in the car 
 — I'll give it to him. 
 
 Clayton. Give what? 
 
 Seelig. Just a minute. [Turns to Clayton who is put- 
 
Act IV] AS A MAN THINKS 95 
 
 ting on his coat.] It was a Christmas gift — from little Dick 
 — he asked me to bring it here. 
 Clayton. What is it? 
 
 [Seelig takes small package from his pocket 
 and hands it to Clayton. As Clayton 
 opens package Seelig turns attention to 
 'phone again. 
 Seelig. Yes^ I'm still here — yes. [^Listens in silence as 
 Clayton undoes the package which contains a photograph 
 in a leather case. Clayton bends over it, deeply moved,] 
 Yes — yes — very well — thank you — good night. 
 Clayton. {^Quickly.] Wait. 
 
 Seelig. {^Startled by loudness of Clayton's call.] 
 Wait. [Laughs and complains.] I said wait a minute. 
 Clayton. She at that 'phone? 
 Seelig. Yes. 
 
 Clayton. [Angrily.] Let me have it — there are a few 
 things I want to say to her. 
 
 Seelig. [Protesting.] Not in that mood^ Frank. 
 Clayton. It's all a frame up to torture me. [Takes 
 'phone speaks angrily.] Hello! [Anger goes from his 
 face — whole manner changes — tone becomes gentle and af- 
 fectionate.] Dick, that you, Dick? [Pause.] Yes, I hear 
 you — [Pause.] I got it, my boy, thank you — [Pause.] 
 You bet I like it— [Pause.] The tree? [Pause.] Yes, by 
 the big fireplace— [Paw^e.] To-night? Well— [Pau^e.] 
 Then — [Pause and effort.] Tell her to come — with you! 
 [Drops 'phone on table, receiver hanging 
 towards the floor. Sinks into chair face 
 down on elbow sobbing. Seelig walks 
 to 'phone, hangs up receiver. Clayton 
 reaches out his right hand blindly. See- 
 lig takes it — holds it reassuringly and 
 firmly. Gives Clayton a tonic slap on 
 
96 AS A MAN THINKS [Act IV 
 
 hack and helps him rise. Clayton walks 
 back to chair facing the fire. 
 
 Seelig. [Solemnli/.] Frank ! There is one moment in 
 a woman's life — dazed by chloroform — wrung with pain — 
 when her physician hears her speak the name of the man 
 for whom she suffers. [Pause.] Every vestige of that 
 doubt you uttered in my library must be effaced from your 
 heart. [Rings push button.'] 
 
 Clayton. I didn't — invent the doubt. 
 
 Seelig. I know. 
 
 Clayton. I think — [Pause.'] I hope to God 1*11 get 
 rid of it — in time. 
 
 Seelig. It mustn't mar this reunion. [Pause.] When 
 I started for this house — I hoped — for what has occurred. 
 [Indicates 'phone.] I didn't know just how it would come 
 about — but — I knew — that doubt had to be removed. 
 
 Clayton. I don't want to think of it. 
 [Enter Sutton. 
 
 Seelig. [To Sutton.] A gentleman is outside in a cab^ 
 just behind my car.^ Ask him to come in. 
 
 [Sutton goes. 
 
 Clayton. [Quickly turning.] Who is it? [_Pause.] 
 Who.> 
 
 Seelig. I want you to be calm Frank. 
 
 Clayt(5n. Who? 
 
 Seelig. [Calmly,] The one you hate. 
 
 Clayton. No! By God^ no! 
 
 [Starts toward the hall. 
 
 Seelig. [Interposing and catching him.] Frank — if 
 you had to go under the knife you'd trust me as a surgeon^ 
 wouldn't you ? 
 
 Clayton. [Struggling to free himself.] You're bung- 
 ling this job. 
 
 Seelig. [Still holding Clayton.] I'm not bungling it. 
 
Act IV] AS A MAN THINKS 97 
 
 [Enter De Lota. 
 
 Clayton. Don't come in here. 
 
 De Lota. Mr. Clayton — 
 
 Seelig. [Between the two men.] Speak only when I 
 bid you — [Pause, To Clayton.] Now listen! [To De 
 Lota.] Before Mr. Clayton introduced you to Mrs. Clay- 
 ton a year ago — when had you last seen her.'* 
 
 De Lota. About eight years before. 
 
 Seelig. That is nine years ago. 
 
 De Lota. Nine years ago. 
 
 Clayton. What's one lie more or less. 
 
 Seelig. Where were you eight years ago.^ 
 
 De Lota. In France. 
 
 Seelig. [Sternly.] Where! 
 
 De Lota. [Pause.] The prison de La Sante, in Paris. 
 
 Seelig. For how long a term? 
 
 De Lota. One year. 
 
 Seelig. I asked you to bring your prison paper of 
 discharge. [De Lota hands paper to Seelig. Seelig 
 regards paper and displays it to Clayton.] You read 
 French — numerals at least. The date is there. 
 
 Clayton. [After a glance.] Well.'* 
 
 Seelig. Also Mr. Burrill was in the court-room when 
 Mr. De Lota was sentenced. [Pause.] To show this 
 paper^ to admit in your hearing — this fact has not jjeen an 
 easy thing for Benjamin De Lota to do. He does it at my 
 urging — the appeal of one Jew — to another Jew. He is 
 going — he lives by writing criticism. His signature to an 
 article has a money value — and despite these personal mis- 
 takes^ I believe his influence in print is wholesome. He 
 leaves your magazines. Of course, he can't expect their 
 recommendation, but I have promised him — your silence. 
 
 Clayton. [Pause.] I shan't — [Pause.] Interfere. 
 
 [Seelig turns — De Lota goes. 
 
98 AS A MAN THINKS [Act IV 
 
 Seelig. [Hand on Clayton^s shoulder.] I'm proud 
 of you — [Pause.] Now forgive an old practitioner who 
 knew he had to cauterize quickly. 
 
 Clayton. You're — a friend all right. [Pause.] Prison! 
 
 Seelig. That year. 
 
 Clayton. And I made that rotten accusation. What a 
 brute I've been! 
 
 Seelig. My dear Franks that also is yesterday. [Pause 
 and change of manner.] Dick is coming to-night? 
 
 Clayton. Yes. 
 
 Seelig. And his mother — [Clayton nods.] I'll leave 
 you alone. 
 
 Clayton. I'd rather you were here. 
 
 Seelig. I'll wait as long as I can. [Consults watch.] 
 
 Clayton. [Seated on couch.] There's some troubling 
 news for you. 
 
 Seelig. For me? 
 
 Clayton. [Nodding.] I'd like to cushion it if I could. 
 
 Seelig. You mean bad news ! 
 
 Clayton. Depends. 
 
 Seelig. [Pause.] Well — 
 
 Clayton. [Carefully.] You know — Vedah — rather 
 fancied Burrill, don't you? 
 
 Seelig. Yes. 
 
 Clayton. Burrill is sailing in a day or two — and — 
 
 Seelig. [Pause.] Well? 
 
 Clayton. Well — they've been — [Pause.] 
 
 Seelig. [Calmly.] Married? 
 
 Clayton. To-day. [Seelig nods ruminatively. 
 
 [Enter Dick. Mrs. Seelig and Elinor appear in arch. 
 
 Dick. [Running to Clayton.] Papa! 
 
 Clayton. Why, Dick boy! 
 
 [Embraces him. Elinor goes into the music 
 room. Mrs. Seelig comes down. 
 
Act IV] AS A MAN THINKS 99 
 
 Dick. [To Seelig.] Did you give it to him? 
 
 Seelig. [Still brooding.] Yes. 
 
 Dick. [To Clayton.] You like it? 
 
 Clayton. You bet I liked it. [Dick laughs — Clayton 
 leading Dick toward the music room speaks to Mrs. 
 Seelig.] I told the Doctor. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. You mean — ? 
 
 Clayton. Vedah and Burrill. 
 
 [Goes with Dick into music room. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [Coming to Seelig's side.] Samuel. 
 
 Seelig. [Pause.] You knew it? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. I had no idea of it — but he has to cross 
 the ocean. They love each other — Vedah was almost 
 broken-hearted. We wanted Vedah to sacrifice her life to 
 teach the idea of one God — but Samuel — [Pause. Puts 
 hand on Seelig's arm.] 
 
 Seelig. Well? 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. The one God was wiser than my father, 
 who was a Rabbi. He may be wiser than we are. [Pause 
 — Seelig gently lifts her hand and kisses it. Pause,] 
 Samuel — they're at home. Come forgive them and let's 
 be happy at dinner. [Seelig shakes head.] You mean 
 you won't forgive them? 
 
 Seelig. [Pause.] I mean only that I can't come to 
 dinner. There is a surgery case at the hospital. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. [Pleading.] Let someone else. 
 
 Seelig. [Shaking head.] Too important. 
 
 Mrs. Seelig. Who is it? 
 
 Seelig. A little boy from the East Side. I don't re- 
 member his name, but the appointment is for eight thirty. 
 [Mrs. Seelig leaves his side.] 
 
 [Elinor enters, Clayton and Dick appear 
 in doorway after her. Elinor comes 
 down to Seelig. 
 
100 AS A MAN THINKS [Act IV 
 
 Seelig. It's all right? 
 
 [Elinor nods yes — takes Seelig^s face in 
 both hands and kisses him, 
 Dick. [To Clayton in childish treble.] She kissed 
 him — 
 
 Curtain, 
 
THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 
 
 A Play in Three Acts 
 
 By 
 DAVID BELASCO 
 
 David Belasco was born in San Francisco, July 25, 
 1859. He received his early education under a Catholic 
 priest at Vancouver, B. C, and graduated from Lincoln 
 College, California, in 1875. He was stage manager of 
 the Baldwin Theatre, San Francisco, in 1878, and later 
 stage manager of the Grand Opera House and the Metro- 
 politan Theatre in the same city. During these years, 
 besides his original work, he was engaged in dramatizing 
 novels and adapting foreign plays. In 1880 he took charge 
 of production for Mallory Brothers at the Madison Square 
 Theatre, New York City. In 1887 he went to Charles 
 Frohman. From 1902 he was manager and proprietor of 
 the Republic Theatre, and from 1908 of the Belasco The- 
 atre. Among his plays are May Blossoms (1884), Lord 
 Chumley (1887), The Heart of Maryland (1895), Ma- 
 dame Butterfly (1900), Mme. du Barry (1901), The Girl 
 of the Golden West (1905), The Return of Peter Grimm 
 
 (1911). 
 
 The Return of Peter Grimm was first produced at the 
 Belasco Theatre, New York, October 17, 1911, with David 
 Warfield as the leading character. It is to be revived in 
 1920 with Mr. Warfield again as Peter Grimm. 
 
 For the courteous permission to print this play for the 
 first time, the present editor desires to express his personal 
 thanks to the author. 
 
 [Copyrighted] 
 
" Only one thing really counts — only one thing — love. 
 It is the only thing that tells in the long run: nothing else 
 ^endures to the end/* 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Peter Grimm 
 
 V Frederik, his nephew 
 ijAMEs Hartman 
 
 Andrew MacPherson 
 Rev. Henry Batholommey 
 
 V Colonel Tom Lawton 
 . William 
 
 CATHERINje 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey 
 
 Marta 
 
 The Clown 
 
 SYNOPSIS 
 
 The scene of the play is laid in the living room of Peter 
 Grimm's home at Grimm Manor, a small town in New York 
 State, founded by early settlers from Holland. 
 
 The first act takes place at eleven o'clock in the morning 
 on a fine spring day. 
 
 The second act passes ten days later, towards the close 
 of a rainy afternoon. 
 
 The third act takes place at twenty minutes to twelve 
 on the same night. 
 
 NOTE 
 
 The author does not advance any theory as to the proba-» 
 bility of the return of the main character of this play. For 
 the many, it may be said that Peter could exist only in the 
 minds of the characters grouped about him — in their sub- 
 conscious memories. For the few, his presence will embody 
 the theory of the survival of the persistent personal energy. 
 This character has, so far as possible, been treated to accord 
 with either thought. 
 
THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 
 
 ACT I 
 
 [SCENE: The scene shows a comfortable living room in 
 an old house. The furniture was brought to America 
 by Peter Grimm^s ancestors. The Grimms were, for 
 the most part, frugal people, but two or three fine 
 paintings have been inherited by Peter. A small old- 
 fashioned piano stands near the open window, a few 
 comfortable chairs, a desk with a hanging lamp above 
 it and an arm-chair in front of it, a quaint old fireplace, 
 a Dutch wall clock with weights, a sofa, hat rack, and 
 mahogany flower pot holders, are set about the room; 
 but the most treasured possession is a large family 
 bible lying on a table, A door leads to a small office 
 occupied by Peter^s secretary. Stairs lead to the 
 sleeping-rooms above. Through the window, hot houses, 
 beds of tulips and other flowers, shrubs and trees are 
 seen, *' Peter Grimm^s Botanic Gardens " supply 
 seeds, plants, shrubbery and trees to the wholesale, as 
 well as retail trade, and the view suggests the im- 
 portance of the industry. An old Dutch windmill, 
 erected by a Colonial ancestor, gives a quaint touch to 
 the picture. Although Peter Grimm is a very wealthy 
 man he lives as simply as his ancestors, 
 
 DISCOVERED: As the curtain is raised, the room 
 is empty; but Catherine is heard singing in the dining 
 room, James Hartman, Peter's secretary, opens his 
 
 103 
 
104 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 door to listen, a small bundle of letters in his hand. 
 He is a well set up young man, rather blunt in his 
 manner and a trifle careless in his dress. After a 
 pause, he goes back into the office, leaving the door 
 ajar. Presently Catherine enters. In spite of her 
 youth and girlish appearance, she is a good thrifty 
 housekeeper. She wears a simple summer gown, and 
 carries a bunch of gay tulips and an old silver pitcher 
 from which she presently pours water into the Harle- 
 quin Delft vase on Peter Grimm's desk. She peeps 
 into the office, retreating with a smile on her lips as 
 James appears.] 
 
 Catherine. Did I disturb you, James ? 
 James. [On the threshold.] No indeed. 
 Catherine. Do you like your new work? 
 James. Anything to get back to the gardens, Catherine. 
 I've always done outside work and I prefer it; but I would 
 shovel dirt rather than work for any one else. 
 Catherine. [Amused.] James! 
 
 James. It's true. When the train reached the Junction 
 and a boy presented the passengers with the usual flower 
 and the *' compliments of Peter Grimm," — it took me back 
 to the time when that was my job; and when I saw the old 
 sign, ** Grimm's Botanic Gardens and Nurseries " — I 
 wanted to jump ofif the train and run through the grounds. 
 It seemed as though every tulip called " hello *' to me. 
 
 Catherine. Too bad you left college! You had only 
 one more year. 
 
 James. Poor father! He's very much disappointed. 
 Father has worked in the dirt in overalls — a gardener — 
 all his life; and of course, he over-estimates an education. 
 He's far more intelligent than most of our college pro- 
 fessors. 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 105 
 
 Catherine. I understand why you came back. You 
 simply must live where things grow: mustn't you, James? 
 So must I. Have you seen our orchids.^ 
 
 James. Orchids are pretty; but they're doing wonder- 
 ful things with potatoes these days. I'd rather improve the 
 breed of a squash than to have an orchid named after me. 
 Wonderful discovery of Luther Burbank's — an edible cac- 
 tus. Sometimes I feel bitter thinking what I might have 
 done with vegetables, when I was wasting my time studying 
 
 Greek. 
 
 Catherine. [Changing suddenly.] James: why don't 
 you try to please Uncle Peter Grimm? 
 
 James. I do; but he is always asking my opinion and 
 when I give it, he blows up. 
 
 Catherine. [Coaj:ingly.] Don't be quite so blunt. Try 
 to be like one of the family. 
 
 James. I'm afraid I shall never be like one of this 
 
 family. 
 
 Catherine. Why not? I'm no relation at all; and yet — 
 James. [Making a resolution.] I'll do my best to agree 
 
 with him. [Offering his hand.] It's a promise. 
 
 [They shake hands, 
 
 Catherine. Thank you, James. 
 
 James. [Still holding her hand.] It's good to be back, 
 Catherine. It's good to see you again. 
 
 [He is still holding her hand when Fred- 
 ERiK Grimm enters. He is the son of 
 Peter Grimm's dead sister and has been 
 educated by Peter to carry on his work. 
 He is a graduate of Amsterdam College, 
 and in appearance and manner, sug- 
 gests the foreign student. He has man- 
 aged to pull through college creditably, 
 making a specialty of botany. Peter has 
 
106 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 given him the usual trip through Europe 
 and Frederik has come to his rich uncle 
 to settle down and learn his business. He 
 has been an inmate of the household for a 
 few months. He poses as a most industri- 
 ous young man, but is, at heart, a shirker, 
 Frederik. Whereas uncle? 
 
 James. Good morning, Frederik. Your uncle's watching 
 father spray the plum trees. The black knot's after them 
 again. 
 
 Frederik. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Uncle 
 wakes me up every morning at five — creaking down the 
 old stairs. [Eyeing Catherine admiringly ,1 You're look- 
 ing, uncommonly pretty this morning, Kitty. 
 
 [Catherine edges away and runs upstairs to her room. 
 Frederik. Hartman ! 
 James. Yes ? 
 
 Frederik. Miss Catherine and you and I are no 
 longer children — our positions are altered: please remem- 
 ber that. I'm no longer a student home for the holidays 
 from Amsterdam College. I'm here to learn the business 
 which I am expected to carry on. Miss Catherine is a 
 young lady now, and my uncle looks upon her as his 
 daughter. You are here as my uncle's secretary. That's 
 how we three stand in this house. Don't call me ** Fred- 
 erik " and hereafter be good enough to say: " Miss Grimm." 
 James. [Amiably,'] Very well. 
 
 Frederik. James: there's a good opportunity for a 
 young man like you in our Florida house. I think that if I 
 spoke for you — 
 
 James. Why do you wish to ship me off to Florida ? 
 Frederik. I don't understand you, Hartman. I don't 
 wish to ship you off. I am merely thinking of your future. 
 You seem to have changed since — 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM lOT 
 
 James. We've all grown up, as you just said. 
 
 [James has laid some mail on the desk and 
 is about to leave the room, when Frederik 
 speaks again, but in a more friendly 
 manner. 
 
 Frederik. The old man's ageing: do you notice it? 
 
 James. Your uncle's mellowing, yes; but that's only to 
 be expected. He's changing foliage with the years. 
 
 Frederik. He's growing as old fashioned as his hats. 
 In my opinion, this would be the time to sell. 
 
 James. [Astonished.] Sell.^ Sell a business that has 
 been in the family for — why, it's his religion! 
 
 Frederik. It's at the height of its prosperity. It would 
 sell like that! [Snapping his fingers,] What was the last 
 offer the old man refused from Hicks of Rochester.^ 
 
 James. [Noticing the sudden friendliness — looking at 
 Frederik, half amused, half disgusted.] Can't repeat 
 correspondence, Mr. Grimm. [Amazed,] Good heavens! 
 You surprise me ! Would you sell your great, great grand- 
 father.^ I learned to read by studying his obituary out 
 in the peach orchard: '* Johann Grimm of Holland, an 
 upright settler." There isn't a day your uncle doesn't 
 tell me that you are to carry on the work. 
 
 Frederik. So I was, but it's not my religion. [Sar- 
 castically.] Every man can't be blessed like you with the 
 soul of a market gardener — a peddler of turnips. 
 
 James. [Thinking — ignoring Frederik.] He's a great 
 old man — your uncle. It's a big name — Grimm — Peter 
 Grimm. The old man knows his business — he certainly 
 knows his business. [Changing.] God! It's an awful 
 thought that a man must die and carry all that knowledge 
 of orchids to the grave! I wonder if it doesn't all count 
 somewhere. ... I must attend to the mail. 
 
108 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 [Peter Grimm enters from the gardens. He 
 is a well preserved man of sixty, very 
 simple and plain in his ways. He has 
 not changed his style of dress in the past 
 thirty years. His clothing, collar, tie, hat 
 and shoes are all old fashioned. He is an 
 estimable man, scrupulously honest, gentle 
 and sympathetic; but occasionally he 
 shows a flash of Dutch stubbornness. 
 Frederik. I ran over from the office^ Uncle Peter^ to 
 make a suggestion. 
 Peter. Yes ? 
 
 Frederik. I suggest that we insert a full page out of 
 your new tulip in our mid-summer floral almanac. 
 
 Peter. [Who has hung up his hat on his own particvlar 
 peg, affably assenting.^ A good idea! 
 Frederik. The public is expecting it. 
 Peter. You think so, my boy? 
 
 Frederik. Why Uncle: youVe no idea of the stir this 
 tulip has created. People stop me in the street to speak 
 of it. 
 
 Peter. Well, well: you surprise me. I didn't think it 
 so extraordinary. 
 
 Frederik. IVe had a busy morning, sir, in the packing 
 house. 
 
 Peter. That's good. I'm glad to see you taking hold 
 of things, Fritz. [Humorously, touching Frederik affec- 
 tionately on the shoulder.] We mustn't waste time; for 
 that's the stuff life's made of. [Seriously.] It's a great 
 comfort to me, Frederik, to know that when I'm in my little 
 private room with James, or when I've slipped out to the 
 hot houses, — you are representing me in the offices — young 
 Mr. Grimm. . . . James: are you ready for me? 
 James. Yes, sir. 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 109 
 
 Peter. I'll attend to the mail in a moment. [Missing 
 Catherine — he calls, according to the household signal,] 
 Ou — 00 ! [He is answered by Catherine^ who immedi- 
 ately appears from her room and comes running down- 
 stairs,] Catherine: I have news for you. IVe named the 
 new rose after you: ** Katie — a hardy bloomer.'* It is as 
 red as the ribbon in your hair. 
 
 Catherine. Thank you, Uncle Peter, thank you very 
 much. And now you must have your cup of coffee. 
 
 Peter. That's a fine little housewife ! A busy girl about 
 the house: eh, Fritz .^ Is there anything you need to-day, 
 Katie .^ 
 
 Catherine. No, Uncle Peter: I have everything I need, 
 thank you. 
 
 Peter. Not everything — not everything my dear. 
 [Smiling at Frederik. James, ignored, is standing in the 
 background.] Wait! Wait till I give you a husband. I 
 have my plans. [Looking from Frederik to Catherine.] 
 People don't always know what I'm doing, but I'm a great 
 man for planning. Come Katie: tell me on this fine spring 
 morning, what sort of husband would you prefer.^ 
 
 Catherine. [Annoyed — with girlish impatience.] You're 
 always speaking of weddings. Uncle Peter. I don't know 
 what's come over you of late. 
 
 Peter. It's nesting time . . . spring weddings are 
 in the air; besides my grandmother's linen chest upstairs 
 must be used again for you, [Impulsively drawing Cath- 
 erine to him] my house fairy. [Kisses her,] There: I 
 mustn't tease her. But I leave it to Fritz if I don't owe her 
 a fine husband — this girl of mine. Look what she has done 
 for me. 
 
 Catherine. Done for you? I do you the great favor 
 to let you do everything for me. 
 
 Peter. Ah, but who lays out my linen? Who puts 
 
no THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 flowers on my desk every day? Who gets up at dawn to 
 eat breakfast with me? Who sees that I have my second 
 cup of coffee? But better than all that — who brings youth 
 into my old house? 
 
 Catherine. That's not much — youth. 
 
 Peter. No? We'll leave it to Fritz. [Frederik* 
 amused, listens in silence,'] What should I be now — a rough 
 old fellow — a bachelor — without youth in my house, eh? 
 God knows ! Katie has softened me towards all the ladies 
 — er — mellowed me as time has mellowed my old pictures. 
 [^Points to a picture,] And I was growing hard — hard and 
 fussy. 
 
 Catherine. [^Laughing,] Ah, Uncle Peter: have I 
 made you take a liking to all the rest of the ladies ? 
 
 Peter. Yes. It's just as it is when you have a pet: 
 you like all that breed. You can only see your kind of 
 kitten. 
 
 James. [Coming down a step, impressed by Peter^s 
 remark — speaking earnestly,] That's so, sir. [The others 
 are surprised,] I hadn't thought of it in that way^ but it's 
 true. You study a girl for the first time, and presently you 
 notice the same little traits in every one of them. It makes 
 you feel differently towards all the rest. 
 
 Peter. [Amused.] Why, James, tvhat do you know 
 about girls ? " Bachelor " is stamped all over you — you're 
 positively labelled. 
 
 James. [Good naturedly,] Perhaps. 
 
 [Goes back to the office. 
 
 Peter. Poor James ! What a life before him ! When 
 a bachelor wants to order — three rib roast, who's to eat it? 
 I never had a proper roast until Katie and Frederik came to 
 make up my family; [Rubbing his hands] but the roasts 
 are not big enough. [Giving Frederik a knowing look,] 
 We must find a husband. 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 111 
 
 Catherine. You promised not to — 
 
 Peter. I want to see a long, long table with plenty of 
 young people. 
 
 Catherine. I'll leave the room, Uncle. 
 
 Peter. With myself at the head, carving, carving, carv- 
 ing, watching the plates come back, and back, and back. 
 [As she is about to go,] There, there: not another word of 
 this to-day. 
 
 [The 'phone rings, James re-enters and answers it, 
 
 James. Hello! [Turns.] Rochester asks for Mr. Peter 
 Grimm to the 'phone. Another message from Hicks* green- 
 houses. 
 
 Peter. Ask them to excuse me. 
 
 James. [Bluntly,] You'll have to excuse him. 
 [Listens,] No, no, the gardens are not in the market. 
 You're only wasting your time. 
 
 Peter. Tc ! Tc ! James ! Can't you say it politely } 
 
 [James listens in 'phone, 
 
 Frederik. [Aside to Peter,] James is so painfully 
 blunt. [Then changing,] Is it — er — a good offer .^^ Is 
 Hicks willing to make it worth while? [Catching his 
 Uncle's astonished eye — apologetically ,] Of course, I know 
 you wouldn't think of — 
 
 Catherine. I should say not! My home.'' An offer .^^ 
 Our gardens.'^ I should say not! 
 
 Frederik. Mere curiosity on my part, that's all. 
 
 Peter. Of course, I understand. Sell out.'* No indeed. 
 We are thinking of the next generation. 
 
 Frederik. Certainly, sir. 
 
 Peter. We're the last of the family. The business — 
 that's Peter Grimm. It will soon be Frederik Grimm. The 
 love for the old gardens is in our blood. 
 
 Frederik. It is, sir. 
 
 [Lays a fond hand on Peter's shoulder. 
 
112 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 Peter. [Struck.] I have an idea. We'll print the 
 family history in our new floral almanac. 
 
 Frederik. [Suppressing a yawn,'] Yes, yes, a very 
 good idea. 
 
 Peter. Katie: read it to us and let us hear how it 
 sounds. 
 
 Catherine. [Reads.] " In the Spring of 1709 there 
 settled on Quassick Creek, New York State, Johann Grimm, 
 aged twenty-two, husbandman and vine dresser, also 
 Johanna, his wife." 
 
 Peter. Very interesting. 
 
 Frederik. Very interesting, indeed. 
 
 Catherine. " To him Queen Anne furnished one square, 
 one rule, one compass, two whipping saws and several 
 pieces. To him was born — " 
 
 Peter. [Interrupting ,] You left out two augers. 
 
 Catherine. [Reads,] O, yes — *' and two augers. To 
 him was born a son — " 
 
 Peter. [Who knows the history hy heart, has listened, 
 his eyes almost suffused — repeating each word to himself, 
 as she reads. He has lived over each generation down to 
 the present and nods in approval as she reaches this point,] 
 The foundation of our house. And here we are prosperous 
 and flourishing — after seven generations. We'll print it, 
 eh, Fritz? 
 
 Frederik. Certainly, sir. By all means let us print it. 
 
 Peter. And now we are depending upon you, Frederik, 
 for the next line in the book. [To Catherine — slyly — 
 as she closes the hook,] If my sister could see Frederik, 
 what a proud mother she would be! 
 
 James. [Turning from the 'phone to Peter.] Old man 
 Hicks himself has come to the 'phone. Says he must speak 
 to Mr. Peter Grimm. 
 
 Frederik. Make short work of him, uncle. 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 113 
 
 Peter. [At the 'phone.] How are you, my old friend? 
 . . . How are your plum trees? [Listens.] Bad, eh? 
 Well, we can only pray and use Bordeaux Mixture. . . . 
 No. . . . Nonsense! This business has been in my 
 family for seven generations. Why sell? I'll see that it 
 stays in the family seven generations longer! [Echoing,] 
 Do I propose to live that long ? N — no ; but my plans will, 
 [Looks towards Frederik and Catherine.] How? Never 
 mind. Good morning. [Hangs up the receiver, 
 
 James. Sorry to disturb you, sir, but some of these letters 
 are — 
 
 Frederik. I'm off. 
 
 Peter. [Who has lifted a pot of tulips to set it in the 
 sun — standing with the pot in his hands.] And remember 
 the saying: [A twinkle in his upraised eyes] ** Thou, O God, 
 sellest all good things at the price of labor." 
 
 [Smells the tulips and sets them down. 
 
 Frederik. [Goes briskly towards the door,] That's 
 true, sir. I want to speak to you later, uncle — [Turning, 
 looking at James] on a private matter. 
 
 [He goes off looking at his watch, as though 
 he had a hard day's work before him, 
 
 Peter. [Looking after Frederik.] Very capable young 
 fellow, Frederik. I was a happy man, James, when I heard 
 that he had won the prize for botany at Amsterdam College. 
 I had to find out the little I know by experience. 
 
 James. [Impulsively,] Yes, and I'll wager you've for- 
 gotten more than — 
 
 [Catching a warning glance from Catherine he pauses, 
 
 Peter. What? 
 
 James. Nothing, sir. I — 
 
 Catherine. [Tugging at Peter^s coat — speaking to 
 him apart, as James busies himself at the desk.] Uncle 
 Peter: I think you're unfair to James. We used to have him 
 
114 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 to dinner very often before he went away. Now that he's 
 back^ you treat him like a stranger. 
 
 Peter. [Surprised,'] Eh? I didn't know that I — 
 [Petting Catherine.] A good^ unselfish girl. She thinks 
 of everybody. [Aloud,] James^ will you have dinner with 
 us to-day.'* 
 
 James. [Pleased and surprised,] Thank you^ sir: yes, 
 sir. 
 
 Peter. It's • a roast goose, — cooked sweet, James. 
 [Smacks his lips,] Fresh green herbs in the dressing and 
 a Figaro pudding. Marta brought over that pudding receipt 
 from Holland. [Marta, an old family servant, has entered 
 with the air of having forgotten to wind the clock. She 
 smiles happily at Peter^s allusion to her puddings, attends 
 to the old clock, and passes off with Catherine. Peter 
 sits at the desk, glancing over the mail,] Katie's blossom- 
 ing like a rose. Have you noticed how she's coming out 
 lately, James? 
 
 James. Yes, sir. 
 
 Peter. You've noticed it, too? 
 
 [Picks up another letter, looking over it. 
 
 James. Yes, sir. 
 
 Peter. [Pausing, taking off his eyeglasses and holding 
 them on his thumb. Philosophically ,] How prettily nature 
 accomplishes her will — making a girl doubly beautiful that 
 a young man may yield his freedom the more easily. Won- 
 derful ! [During the following, he glances over letters,] 
 A young girl is like a violet sheltered under a bush, James ; 
 and that is as it should be, isn't it? 
 
 James. No sir, / don't think so. 
 
 Peter. [Surprised,] What? 
 
 James. I believe people should think for themselves — 
 not be. . . . 
 
 Peter. Go on. 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 115 
 
 James. — er — 
 
 Peter. Well ? 
 
 James. [Remembering his promise to Catherine.] 
 Nothing. 
 
 Peter. Go on, James. 
 
 James. I mean swallowed up. 
 
 Peter. Swallowed up.'* Explain yourself^ James. 
 
 James. I shouldn't have mentioned it. 
 
 Peter. Certainly, certainly. Don't be afraid to express 
 an honest opinion. 
 
 James. I only meant that you can't shape another's 
 life. We are all free beings and — 
 
 Peter. Free.'* Of course Katie's free — to a certain ex- 
 tent. Do you mean to tell me that any young girl should 
 be freer ? Nonsense ! She should be happy that I am here 
 to think for her — /.' We must think for people who can't 
 think for themselves; and a young girl can't. [Signing an 
 answer to a letter after hastily glancing over it,] You have 
 extraordinary ideas, James. 
 
 James. Excuse me, sir; you asked my opinion. I only 
 meant that we can't think for others — any more than we 
 can eat or sleep for them. 
 
 Peter. [As though accepting the explanation,] O . . . 
 I see what you mean. 
 
 James. Of course, every happy being is bound by its 
 nature to lead its own life — that it may be a free being. 
 Evidently I didn't make my meaning clear. 
 
 [Giving Peter another letter to sign, 
 
 Peter. Free? Happy.'* James, you talk like an anar- 
 chist! You surprise me, sir. Where do you get these ex- 
 traordinary ideas? 
 
 James. By reading the modern books and magazines, sir, 
 and of course — 
 
 Peter. I thought so. [Pointing to his books,] Read 
 
116 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 Heine. Cultivate sentiment. [Signing the letter,] Happy .^ 
 Has it ever occurred to you that Katie is not happy ? 
 
 James. No, sir; I can't truthfully say that it has. 
 
 Peter. I imagine not. These are the happiest hours 
 of her life. Young ... in love . . . soon to be 
 married. 
 
 James. [After a long pause,] Is it settled, sir? 
 
 Peter. No; but I'll soon settle it. Anyone can see how 
 she feels towards Frederik. 
 
 James. [After a shorter pause.] Isn't she very young to 
 marry, sir.'* 
 
 Peter. Not when she marries into the family; not when 
 / am in the house, [Touching his chest] to guard her — to 
 watch over her. Leave it to me, [Enthusiastically,] Sit 
 here, James, Take one of Frederik's cigars. [James 
 politely thanks him, but doesn't take one,] It's a pleasure 
 to talk to someone who's interested ; and you are interested, 
 James ? 
 
 James. Yes, sir: I'm much more interested than you 
 might think. 
 
 Peter. Good. We'll take up the mail in a minute. 
 Now : in order to carry out my plans — 
 
 Catherine. [Sticking her head in the door,] Ready 
 for coffee? 
 
 Peter. Er — a little later. Close the door, dear. [She 
 disappears, closing the door,] In order to carry out my 
 plans, I have had to use great diplomacy. I made up my 
 mind to keep Katie in the family ; being a rich man — every- 
 body knows it — I've had to guard against fortune hunters. 
 However I think I've done away with them, for the whole 
 town understands that Katie hasn't a penny — doesn't it, 
 James ? 
 
 James. Yes, sir. 
 
 Peter. Yes, I think I've made that very clear. My 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 117 
 
 dream was to bring Catherine up to keep her in the family 
 and it has been fulfilled. My plans have turned out beauti- 
 fully for she is satisfied and happy. 
 
 James. But did you want her to be happy simply be- 
 cause you are happy^ sir ? Don't you want her to be happy 
 because she is happy.'' 
 
 Peter. If she's happy, why should I care.^ 
 
 \Pichs up the last letter, 
 
 James. If she's happy. 
 
 Peter. {^Losing his temper,'] What do you mean.^ 
 That's the second time you've said that. Why do you harp 
 on — 
 
 James. [Rising.'] Excuse me, sir. 
 
 Peter. [Angrily.] Sit down. What do you know? 
 
 James. Nothing, sir. . . . 
 
 Peter. You must know something to speak in this 
 manner. 
 
 James. No, I don't. You're a great expert in your line, 
 Mr. Grimm, and I have the greatest respect for your 
 opinion; but you can't mate people as you graft tulips. 
 And more than once, I've — I've caught her crying and I've 
 thought perhaps. . . . 
 
 Peter. [Pooh-poohing.] Crying? Of course! Was 
 there ever a girl who didn't cry? . . . You amuse me 
 . . . with your ideas of life. . . . Ha! Haven't I 
 asked her why she was crying — and hasn't she always said : 
 *' I don't know why — it's nothing." They love to cry. 
 [Signs the last letter.] But that's what they all cry over — 
 nothing. James: do you know how I happened to meet 
 Katie? She was prescribed for me by Doctor MacPherson. 
 
 James. [Taking the letter.] Prescribed? 
 
 Peter. As an antidote. I was growing to be a fussy 
 old bachelor with queer notions. You are young, but see 
 that you don't need the Doctor, James. Do you know how 
 
118 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 I was cured? I'll tell you. One day when I had business 
 nn the city, the Doctor went with me, and before I knew 
 what he was at — he had marched me into a home for 
 babies. • . . Katie was nearest the door — the first one. 
 Pinned over her crib was her name: '* Catherine Staats, 
 aged three months.'* She held out her little arms . . . 
 "SO friendless — so pitiful — so alone — and I was done for. 
 We brought her back home, the Doctor, a nurse and I. The 
 first time I carried her up those stairs — all my fine bache- 
 lor's ideas went out of my head. I knew then that my 
 theories were all humbug. I had missed the child in the 
 house who was to teach me everything. I had missed many 
 .children in my house. From that day I watched over her 
 life. [Rising, pointing towards the head of the stairs,"] 
 James: I was born in this house — in the little room where 
 I sleep; and her children shall one day play in the room 
 in which I was born. . . . That's very pretty, eh.'' 
 [Wipes his eyes, sentimentally.] I've always seen it that 
 way. 
 
 James. [Coolly.] Yes; it's very pretty if it turns out 
 ■well. 
 
 Peter. How can it turn out otherwise? 
 
 James. To me, sir, it's not a question of sentiment — 
 of where her children shall play, so long as they play 
 happily. 
 
 Peter. What? Her children can play anywhere — in 
 China if they want to? Are you in your senses? A fine 
 reward for giving a child all your affection — to live to see 
 her children playing in China. No, sir ! I propose to keep 
 ray household together, by your leave. [Banging his 
 clenched fist on the desk.] It's my plan. [Cleans his pipe, 
 looking at James from time to time. James posts the letters 
 in a mail box outside the door. Peter goes to the window, 
 calling off.] Otto! Run to the office and tell Mr. Fred- 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 119 
 
 erik he may come in now. [The voice of a gruff Dutchman: 
 " Het is pastoor's dag/' It is the pastor's day,] Ah, yes; 
 I had forgotten. It's William's day to take the flowers to 
 the Pastor. [A knock is heard and as Peter calls " Come 
 in," William, a delicate child of eight, stands timidly in the 
 doorway of the dining room, hat in hand.] How are you 
 to-day, William? [Pats William on the shoulder. 
 
 William. The Doctor says I'm well now. 
 
 Peter. Good! Then you shall take flowers to the 
 church. [Calls off,] A big armful, Otto! [Mart a has 
 entered with a neatly folded clean handkerchief , which she 
 tucks into William's breast pocket. In a low voice to 
 James.] There's your example of freedom! William's 
 mother, old Marta's spoiled child, was free. You remem- 
 ber Annamarie, James } — let to come and go as she pleased. 
 God knows where she is now . . . and here is William 
 with the poor old grandmother. . . . Run along with the 
 flowers, William. [Gives William some pennies as he 
 goes,] How he shoots up, eh, Marta? 
 
 Marta. [With the hopeless sorrow of the old, as she 
 passes off.] Poor child . . . poor child. 
 
 Peter. Give Katie more freedom, eh.'* O no! I shall 
 guard her as I would guard my own, for she is as dear to 
 me as though she were mine, and by marriage, please God, 
 she shall be a Grimm in name, 
 
 James. Mr. Grimm: I — I wish you would transfer me 
 to your branch house in Florida. 
 
 Peter. What.^ You who were so glad to come back! 
 James: you need a holiday. Close your desk. Go out and 
 busy yourself with those pet vegetables of yours. Change 
 your ideas, then come back sane and sensible and attend 
 to your work. [Giving a last shot at James as he passes 
 into the office and Frederik re-enters,] You don't know 
 what you want! 
 
120 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 Frederik. [LooJting after James.] Uncle Peter: when 
 I came in this mornings I made up my mind to speak to you 
 of James. 
 
 Peter. James .^ 
 
 Frederik. Yes. I've wondered lately if ... it 
 seems to me that James is interested in Catherine. 
 
 Peter. James .^ Impossible. 
 
 Frederik. I'm not so sure. 
 
 Peter. [Good naturedly,'] James? James Hartma^? 
 
 Frederik. When I look back and remember him as a 
 barefoot boy living in a shack behind our hot houses — and 
 see him now — in here with you — 
 
 Peter. All the more credit, Frederik. 
 
 Frederik. Yes; but these are the sort of fellows that 
 dream of getting into the firm. And there are more ways 
 than one. 
 
 Peter. Do you mean to say — He wouldn't presume to 
 think of such a thing. 
 
 Frederik. O, wouldn't he ! The class to which he be- 
 longs presumes to think of anything. I believe he has 
 been making love to Catherine. 
 
 Peter. [After a slight pause, goes to the dining room 
 door and calls,'] Katie! Katie! 
 
 Frederik. [Hastily.'] Don't say that I mentioned it. 
 [Catherine enters. 
 
 Peter. Katie: I wish to ask you a question. I — [He 
 laughs,] O, it's absurd. No^ no^ never mind. 
 
 Catherine. What is it? 
 
 Peter. I can't ask you. It's really too absurd. 
 
 Catherine. [Her curiosity aroused,] What is it, 
 Uncle? . . . Tell me . . . tell me. . . . 
 
 Peter. Has James ever — 
 
 Catherine . [Taken back and rather frightened — 
 quickly,] No. ... 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 121 
 
 Peter. What? . . . How did you know what I . . . 
 [Frederik gives her a shrewd glance; but Peter suspecting 
 nothing, continues,] I meant . . . has James shown 
 any special interest in you? 
 
 Catherine. [As though accepting the explanation.] 
 Oh. . . . [Flurried.] Why, Uncle Peter! . . . Uncle 
 Peter! . . . whatever put that notion into your head? 
 
 Peter. It's all nonsense, of course, but — 
 
 Catherine. I've always known James. . . . We went 
 to school together. . . . James has shown no interest he 
 ought not to have shown, Uncle Peter, — if that's what you 
 mean. He has always been very respectful in a perfectly 
 friendly way. 
 
 Peter. [Convinced.] Respectful in a perfectly friendly 
 way. [To Frederik.] You can't say more than that. 
 Thank you, dear, that's all I wanted. Run along. [Glad 
 to escape, Catherine leaves the room.] He was only 
 respectful in a perfectly friendly way. [Slaps Frederik 
 on the back.] You're satisfied now, I hope? 
 
 Frederik. No, I am not. If she hasn't noticed what 
 he has in mind, — I have. When I came into this room a 
 few moments ago — it was as plain as day. He's trying to 
 make love to her under our very eyes. I saw him. I 
 wish you would ask him to stay in his office and attend 
 to his own business. 
 
 [James now re-enters on his way to the gardens. 
 
 Peter. James: it has occurred to me — that — [James 
 pauses.] What was your reason for wanting to give up 
 your position? Had it anything to do with my little 
 girl? 
 
 James. Yes, sir, 
 
 Peter. You mean that — you — you love her? 
 
 James. [In a low voice.] Yes, sir. 
 
 Peter. 0-oh ! 
 
122 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 [Frederik gives Peter a glance as though 
 to say: " Now, do you believe it? " 
 James. But she doesn't know it, of course; she never 
 would have known it. I never meant to say a word to her. 
 I understand, sir. 
 
 Peter. James ! Come here . . . here ! . . . 
 [Bringing James up before him at the desk,'] Get your 
 money at the office. You may have that position in Florida. 
 Good-bye, James. 
 
 James. I'm very sorry that . . . Good-bye, sir. 
 Frederik. You are not to tell her that you're going. 
 You're not to bid her good-bye. 
 
 Peter. [To Frederik.] Sh! Let me attend to — 
 James. [Ignoring Frederik.] I'm sorry, Mr. Grimm, 
 ihat — [His voice falters. 
 
 Peter. [RisingJ] James: I'm sorry too. You've grown 
 up here and — Tc ! Tc ! Good fortune to you — James. Get 
 this notion out of your head, and perhaps one day you'll 
 come back to us. We shall see. 
 
 [Shakes hands with James, who leaves the 
 
 room, too much overcome to speak. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Who has entered, saying carelessly 
 
 to James as he passes him,'] Hy're you, Jim.^ Glad Jim's 
 
 iack. One of the finest lads I ever brought into this world. 
 
 [The Doctor is a man of about Peter's age, 
 
 but more powerfully built. He has the 
 
 bent shoulders of the student and his face 
 
 is exceedingly intellectual. He is the rare 
 
 type of doctor that forgets to make out 
 
 bills. He has a grizzled grey beard, and 
 
 his hair is touched with grey. He wears 
 
 silver-rimmed spectacles. His substantial 
 
 but unpressed clothing is made by the 
 
 village tailor. 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 123. 
 
 Peter. Good mornings Andrew. 
 
 Frederik. Good mornings Doctor. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Casts a quick, professional glance- 
 at Peter.] Peter: IVe come over to have a serious word 
 with you. Been on my mind all night. [Brings down a 
 chair and sits opposite Peter.] I — er — Frederik. . . . 
 [Frederik, who is not a favorite of the Doctor's, takes the- 
 hint and leaves the room,] Peter: have you provided for 
 everybody in this house .^ 
 
 Peter. What? Have I — 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. You're a terrible man for planning,. 
 Peter; but what have you done? [Casually,] Were you 
 to die, — say to-morrow, — how would it be with — [Making a 
 gesture to include the household] — the rest of them? 
 
 Peter. What do you mean? If I were to die to- 
 morrow. . . . 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. You won't. Don't worry. Good for 
 a long time yet, but everyone must come to it — sooner or 
 later. I mean — what would Katie's position be in this 
 house? I know you've set your heart upon her marrying^ 
 Frederik, and all that sort of nonsense, but will it work.^ 
 I've always thought 'twas a pity Frederik wasn't James and 
 James wasn't Frederik. 
 
 Peter. What! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. O, it's all very well if she wants- 
 Frederik, but supposing she does not. Peter: if you mean 
 to do something for her — do it now. 
 
 Peter. Now? You mean that I — You mean that I 
 might . . . die? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. All can and do. 
 
 Peter. [Studying the Doctor's face.] You think . . . 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. The machinery is wearing out, Peter. 
 Thought I should tell you. No cause for apprehension^ 
 but— 
 
124 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 Peter. Then why tell me? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. When I cured you of that cold — wet 
 flower beds — two days ago, I made a discovery. [Seeing 
 Catherine enter, he 'pauses. She is followed by Marta, 
 carrying a tray containing coffee and a plate of waffles,^ 
 Coffee! I told you not to touch coffee, Peter. It's rank 
 poison. 
 
 Catherine. Wouldn't you like a cup, Doctor? 
 
 Peter. Yes, he'll take a cup. He won't prescribe it, 
 but he'll drink it. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Horrified.'] And hot waffles be- 
 tween meals ! 
 
 Peter. Yes, he*ll take hot waffles too. [Marta goes to 
 get another plate and more waffles and Catherine follows 
 her,] Now Andrew: you can't tell me that I'm sick — I 
 won't have it. Every day we hear of some old boy one 
 hundred years of age who was given up by the doctors at 
 twenty. No sir! I'm going to live to see children in my 
 house, — Katie's babies creeping on my old floor; playing 
 with my old watch dog, Toby. I've promised myself a long 
 line of rosy Grimms. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. My God, Peter ! That dog is fifteen 
 years old now. Do you expect nothing to change in your 
 house? Man: you're a home worshiper. However, I — I 
 see no reason why — [i^^'w^] you shouldn't reach a ripe old 
 age. [Markedly, though feigning to treat the subject 
 lightly,] Er — Peter: I should like to make a compact with 
 you . . . that whoever does go first, — and you're quite 
 likely to outlive me, — is to come back and let the other 
 fellow know . . . and settle the question. Splendid test 
 between old neighbors — real contribution to science. 
 
 Peter. Make a compact to — Stuff and nonsense ! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Don't be too sure of that. 
 
 Peter. No, Andrew, positively no, I refuse. Don't 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 125 
 
 count upon me for any assistance in your spook tests. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. And how many times do you think 
 you've been a spook yourself.'* You can't tell me that man 
 is perfect; that he doesn't live more than one life; that the 
 soul doesn't go on and on. Pshaw ! The persistent personal 
 energy must continue^ or what is God.'^ 
 
 [Catherine has re-entered with another cup, 
 saucer and plate which she sets on the 
 table, and pours out the coffee* 
 
 Catherine. [^Interested,'] Were you speaking of — of 
 ghosts^ Doctor? 
 
 Peter. Yes, he has begun again. [To Catherine.] 
 You're just in time to hear it. [To MacPherson.] Andrew: 
 I'll stay behind, contented in this life; knowing what I have 
 here on earth and you shall die and return with your 
 — Ha ! — persistent personal whatever-it-is, and keep the 
 spook compact. Every time a knock sounds or a chair 
 squeaks, or the door bangs, I shall say: " Sh! There's the 
 Doctor ! " 
 
 Catherine. [Noticing a booh, which the Doctor has 
 taken from his pocket, and reading the title.] " Are the 
 Dead Alive .^" 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. I'm in earnest, Peter. I'll promise 
 and I want you to promise, too. Understand that I am not 
 a so-called spiritist. I am merely a seeker after truth. 
 
 [Puts more sugar in his coffee, 
 
 Peter. That's what they all are — seekers after truth. 
 Rubbish! Do you really believe in such stuff? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. I know that the dead are alive. 
 They're here — here — near us — close at hand. [Peter, in 
 derision, lifts the table cloth and peeps under the table — 
 then taking the lid off the sugar bowl, peers into it,] Some 
 of the greatest scientists of the day are of the same 
 opinion. 
 
126 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 Peter. Bah ! Dreamers ! They accomplish nothing in 
 the world. They waste their lives dreaming of the world 
 to come. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. You can't call Sir Charles Crookes, 
 the inventor of Crookes Tubes^ — a waster: no, nor Sir 
 Oliver Lodge, the great biologist; nor Curie, the discoverer 
 of radium ; nor Doctor Lombroso, the founder of Science of 
 Criminology; nor Doctor Maxwell, de Vesme, Richet, Pro- 
 fessor James of Harvard, nor Professor Hyslop. Instead 
 of laughing at ghosts, the scientific men of to-day are trying 
 to lay hold of them. The frauds and cheats are being 
 crowded from the field. Science is only just peeping 
 through the half opened door which was shut until a few 
 years ago. 
 
 Peter. If ever I see a ghost, I shall lay violent hands 
 upon it and take it to the police station. That's the proper 
 place for frauds. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. I'm sorry, Peter, very sorry, to see 
 that you, like too many others, make a jest of the most im- 
 portant thing in life. Hyslop is right: man will spend 
 millions to discover the North Pole but not a penny to dis- 
 cover his immortal destiny. 
 
 Peter. [Stubbornli/,] I don't believe in spook mediums 
 and never shall believe in them. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Probably most professional mediums 
 cheat — perhaps every one of them; but some of them are 
 capable of real demonstrations at times. 
 
 Peter. Once a swindler, always a swindler. Besides, 
 why can't my old friends come straight back to me and say : 
 " Peter Grimm ; here I am ! " When they do — if they do — 
 I shall be the first man to take off my hat to them and hold 
 out my hand in welcome. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. You ask me why? Why can't a 
 telegram travel on a fence instead of on a wire.'* Your 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 127 
 
 friends could come back to you if you could put yourself 
 in a receptive condition; but if you cannot, you must de- 
 pend upon a medium — a sensitive. 
 
 Peter. A what.^ [To Catherine.] Something new, 
 eh? He has the names for them. Yesterday it was 
 " apports/* — flowers falling down from nowhere — hitting 
 one on the nose. He talks like a medium's parrot. He has 
 only to close his eyes and along comes the parade. Spooks ! 
 Spooky spooks ! And now he wants me to settle my 
 worldly affairs and join in the procession. 
 
 Catherine. [Puzzled.] Settle your worldly affairs.^ 
 What do you mean. Uncle Peter .^ 
 
 Peter. [Evasively,] Just some more of his nonsense. 
 Doctor: youVe seen a good many cross to the other world: 
 tell me.'^ — did you ever see one of them come back — 
 one? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. No. 
 
 Peter. [Sipping his coffee.] Never have, eh? And 
 never will. Take another cup of poison, Andrew. 
 
 [The Doctor gives his cup to Catherine, 
 who fills it. Peter passes the waffles 
 to the Doctor, at the same time winking 
 at Catherine as the Doctor helps himself. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. There was not perhaps the intimate 
 bond between the doctor and patients to bring them back. 
 But in my own family, I know of a case. 
 
 Peter. [Apart to Catherine.] He's off again. 
 
 Catherine. [Eager to listen.] Please don't interrupt, 
 Uncle. I love to hear him tell of — 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. I know of a return such as you men- 
 tion. A distant cousin died in London and she was seen 
 almost instantly in New York. 
 
 Peter. She must have travelled on a biplane, Andrew. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. If my voice can be heard from San 
 
128 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 Francisco over the telephone, why cannot a soul, with a 
 God-given force behind it, dart over the entire universe? 
 Is Thomas Edison greater than God? 
 
 Catherine. [Shocked.] Doctor? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. And they can't tuck it all on telepa- 
 thy. Telepathy cannot explain the case of a spirit message 
 giving the contents of a sealed letter known only to the 
 person that died. Here's another interesting case. 
 
 Peter. This is better than ** Puss in Boots/' isn't it, 
 Katie? More — er — flibbertigibberty. Katie always loved 
 fairy stories. 
 
 Catherine. [Listening eagerly.] Uncle, please. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Ignoring Peter, speaking directly 
 to Catherine, who is all attention.] An officer on the 
 Polar vessel, the Jeanette, sent to the Arctic regions by the 
 New York Herald, appeared at his wife's bedside. She 
 was in Brooklyn — he was on the Polar Sea. He said to her, 
 " Count." She distinctly heard a ship's bell and the word 
 " count " again. She had counted six when her husband's 
 voice said: " Six bells — and the Jeanette is lost." The ship 
 was really lost at the time she saw the vision. 
 
 Peter. A bad dream. " Six bells and the "—Ha ! Ha ! 
 Spirit messages ! Suet pudding has brought me messages 
 from the North Pole and I receive messages from Kingdom 
 come after I've eaten a piece of mince pie. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. There have been seventeen thousand 
 other cases found to be worth investigation by the London 
 Society of Psychical Research. 
 
 Peter. [Changing.] Supposing, Andrew, that I did 
 ** cross over " — I believe that's what you call dying, — that I 
 did want to come back to see how you and little Katie and 
 Frederik were getting on, how do you think I could manage 
 to do it? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. When we hypnotize a subject, Peter, 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 129 
 
 our thoughts take possession of them. As we enter their 
 bodies, we take the place of a something that leaves them 
 — a shadow self. This self can be sent out of the room — 
 even to a long distance. This self leaves us entirely after 
 death on the first, second or third day, or so I believe. This 
 is the force which you would employ to come back to earth 
 — the astral envelope. 
 
 Peter. Yes, but what proof have you, Doctor, that I've 
 got an — an astral envelope.^ 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Easili/.] De Rochas has actually 
 photographed it by radio photography. 
 
 Peter. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ho! Ho! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Mind you — they couldn't see it when 
 they photographed it. 
 
 Peter. I imagine not. See it. ^ Ho! Ho! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. It stood a few feet away from the 
 sleeper and was located by striking at the air and watching 
 for the corresponding portion of the sleeper's body to recoil. 
 By pricking a certain part of the shadow self with a pin, 
 the cheek of the patient could be made to bleed. The camera 
 was focussed on this part of the shadow self for fifteen 
 minutes. The result was the profile of a head. 
 
 Peter. [After a pause,] , . . You believe that? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. The experiment has been repeated 
 again and again. Nobody acquainted with the subject 
 denies it now. 
 
 Peter. Spook pictures taken by professional mediums. 
 [Turning away from the table as though he 
 had heard enough. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. De Rochas, who took the pictures of 
 which I speak, is a lawyer of standing; and the room was 
 full of scientists who saw the pictures taken. 
 
 Peter. Hypnotized — all of them. Humbug, Andrew ! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Under these conditions it is quite 
 
130 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 impossible to hypnotize a room full of people. Perhaps 
 you think the camera was hypnotized? In similar circum- 
 stances^ says Lombroso^ an unnatural current of cold air 
 went through the room and lowered the thermometer several 
 degrees. Can you hypnotize a thermometer.^ 
 
 Catherine. [Impressed.] That's wonderful^, Doc- 
 tor ! 
 
 Peter. Yes^ it's a very pretty fairy story; but it would 
 sound better set to shivery music. [Sings.] Tol! Dol! 
 Dol! Dol! [Rising to get his pipe and tobacco.] No, sir! 
 I refuse to agree to your compact. You cannot pick the 
 lock of heaven's gate. We don't come back. God did 
 enough for us when he gave us life and strength to work and 
 the work to do. He owes us no explanation. I believe in 
 the old fashioned paradise with a locked gate. [He fills 
 his pipe and lights it.] No bogies for me. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Rising.] Peter: I console myself 
 with the thought that men have scoffed at the laws of gravi- 
 tation^ at vaccination, magnetism, daguerreotypes, steam- 
 boats, cars, telephone, wireless telegraphy, and lighting by 
 gas. [Showing feeling.] I'm very much disappointed that 
 you refuse my request. , 
 
 Peter. [Laying down his pipe on the table.] Since you 
 take it so seriously — here — [Offers his hand] I'll agree. 
 I know you're an old fool — and I'm another. Now then — 
 [Shakes hands] it's settled. Whichever one shall go first — 
 [He bursts into laughter — then controlling himself.] If I 
 do come back, I'll apologize, Andrew. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Do you mean it? 
 
 Peter. I'll apologize. Wait: [Taking the keys from 
 the sideboard] let us seal the compact in a glass of my 
 famous plum brandy. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Good! 
 
 Peter. [As he passes off.] We'll drink to spooks. 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 131 
 
 Catherine. You really do believe^ Doctor^ that the 
 dead can come back, don't you? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Of course I do, and why not? 
 Catherine. Do you believe that you could come back 
 here into this room and I could see you? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. You might not see me; but I could 
 come back to this room. 
 
 Catherine. Could you talk to me ? 
 Dr. MacPherson. Yes. 
 Catherine. And could I hear you? 
 Dr. MacPherson. I believe so. That's what we're 
 trying to make possible. 
 
 [Catherine, still wondering, passes off with 
 the tray. From the cellar, Peter can be 
 heard singing lustily, 
 Peter. " If you want a bite that's good to eat, 
 (Tra, la, ritte, ra, la, la, la!) 
 Try out a goose that's fat and sweet, 
 
 (Tra, la, ritte, ra, la, la, la!) " 
 [During the song Mrs. Batholommey has 
 given a quick tap on the door and entered. 
 She is about forty years of age. Her 
 faded brown hair is streaked with grey. 
 She wears a plain black alpaca costume, 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Agitated,] Good morning, Doc- 
 tor, Fortunate that I found you alone. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Drily,] Hy're you, Mrs. Bathol- 
 ommey? [The Rev. Henry Batholommey now enters. 
 He is a man of about forty-five, wearing the frock coat, 
 high waistcoat and square topped hat of a minister of the 
 Dutch Reformed Church,] Hy're, Henry? 
 
 [The Rev. Batholommey bows, William 
 has returned from his errand and entered 
 the room, — a picture book under his arm. 
 
132 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 He sits up hy the window absorbed in 
 the pictures — unnoticed by the others. 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Closing the door left open by 
 Peter — shutting out the sound of his voice,] Well, Doc- 
 tor. . . . [She pauses for a moment to catch her breath 
 and wipe her eyes,] I suppose you've told him he's got to 
 die. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Eyeing Mrs. Batholommey with 
 disfavor.] Who's got to die? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Why, Mr. Grimm, of course. 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Amazed.] Does the whole damned 
 town know about it? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Oh! 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Easy, Doctor. You consulted Mr. 
 Grimm's lawyer and his wife told my wife. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. He gabbed, eh? Hang the profes- 
 sional man who tells things to his wife. 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Doctor! 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. [With solicitude.] I greatly 
 grieve to hear that Mr. Grimm has an incurable malady. 
 His heart, I understand. [Shakes his head. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. He's not to be told. Is that clear? 
 He may die in twenty minutes — may outlive us all — prob- 
 ably will. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Pointing to Rev. Mr. Bathol- 
 ommey.] It seems to me, Doctor, that if you can't do any 
 more, it's his turn. It's a wonder you Doctors don't baptize 
 the babies. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Rose ! 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. At the last minute, he'll want to 
 make a will — and you know he hasn't made one. He'll 
 want to remember the church and his charities and his 
 friends ; and if he dies before he can carry out his intentions, 
 the minister will be blamed as usual. It's not fair. 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 133 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Sh ! Sh ! My dear ! These private 
 matters — 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. I'll trouble you, Mistress Batholom- 
 mey, to attend to your own affairs. Did you never hear the 
 story of a lady who flattened her nose — sticking it into other 
 people's business? 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Doctor! Doctor! I can't have 
 that! 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Let him talk, Henry. No one in 
 this town pays any attention to Dr. MacPherson since he 
 took up with spiritualism. 
 Rev. Batholommey. Rose! 
 
 [He motions her to be silent, as Peter^ com- 
 ing up the stairs from the cellar, is heard 
 singing, 
 Peter. " Drop in the fat some apples red, 
 (Tra, la, ritta, ra, la, la, la!) 
 Then spread it on a piece of bread, 
 (Tra, la, ritta, ra, la, la, la !) " 
 [He opens the door, carrying a big jug in his hand. Hail- 
 ing the Batholommeys cheerfully,] Good morning, good 
 people. 
 
 [He puts the jug on the sideboard and hangs- 
 up the key. The Batholommeys look 
 sadly at Peter. Mrs. Batholommey in 
 the foreground tries to smile pleasantly,, 
 but can only assume the peculiarly pained 
 expression of a person about to break- 
 terrible news. 
 Rev. Batholommey. [Rising to the occasion — warmly 
 grasping Peter^s hand,] Ah, my good friend! Many 
 thanks for the flowers William brought us and the noble 
 cheque you sent me. We're still enjoying the vegetables 
 you generously provided. I did relish the squash. 
 
134 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 Peter. [Catching a glimpse of Mrs. Batholommey^s 
 gloomy expression.^ Anything distressing you this morn- 
 ing, Mrs. Batholommey .'^ 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. No^ no ... I hope you're feel- 
 ing well — er — I don't mean that — I — 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. [Cheerily.'] Of course, she does; 
 and why not, why not, dear friend.'* 
 
 Peter. Will you have a glass of my plum brandy? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Stiffly,] No, thank you. As you 
 tnow, I belong to the W. C. T. U. 
 
 Peter. Pastor.^ 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. [Tolerantly,] No, thank you. I 
 am also opposed to er — 
 
 Peter. We're going to drink to spooks — the Doctor and I. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [With a startled cry,] Oh, how 
 -can you! [Lifts her handkerchief to her eyes,] And at 
 ^ time like this. The very idea- — you of all people ! 
 
 Peter. [Coming down with two glasses — handing one 
 to the Doctor,] You seem greatly upset, Mrs. Batholom- 
 mey. Something must have happened. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Nothing, nothing, I assure you. 
 My wife is a trifle nervous to-day. We must all keep up 
 our spirits, Mr. Grimm. 
 
 Peter. Of course. Why not.^ [Looking at Mrs. 
 Batholommey — struck,] I know why you're crying. 
 You've been to a church wedding. [To the Doctor, lifting 
 his glass,] To astral envelopes, Andrew. ["Lhey drink, 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [With sad resignation,] You were 
 always kind to us, dear Mr. Grimm. There never was a 
 kinder, better, sweeter man than you were. 
 
 Peter. Than I was? 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Rose, my dear! 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. What will become of William? 
 
 [Weeps. 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 135 
 
 Peter. William ? Why should you worry over V/illiam ? 
 I am looking after him. I don't understand — 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Seeing that she has gone too far,"] 
 I only meant — it's too bad he had such an M — 
 
 Peter. An M — ? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [In 'pantomime — mouthing the 
 word so that William cannot hear,] Mother. . . . Anna- 
 marie. 
 
 Peter. O. . . . 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. She ought to have told you or Mr. 
 Batholommey who the F — was. 
 
 Peter. F — ? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [In pantomime as before.] Father. 
 
 Peter. O. . . . [Spelling out the word,] S-c-o-u-n- 
 d-r-e-1 — whoever he is! [Calls,] William: [William 
 looks up from his book,] You're very contented here with 
 me^ are you not.^ 
 
 William. Yes^ sir. 
 
 Peter. And you want to stay here.^ 
 
 William. Yes, sir. [At that moment a country circus 
 hand — playing a typical parade march — blares out as it 
 comes up some distant street,] There's a circus in 
 town. 
 
 Peter. A circus.^ 
 
 William. Yes^ sir. The parade has started. [Opens 
 the window and looks out towards left.] Here it comes — 
 
 Peter. [Hurrying to the door,] Where .^ Where .^ 
 
 William. [Pointing.] There! 
 
 Peter. [As delighted as William.] You're right. It's 
 coming this way ! Here come the chariots. 
 
 [Gestures to the Batholommeys to join him 
 at the window. The music sounds nearer 
 and nearer — the parade is supposed to he 
 passing, William gives a cry of delight 
 
136 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 as a Clown appears at the window with 
 handbills under his arm. 
 The Clown. [As he throws the handbills into the room.] 
 Billy Miller's big show and monster circus is in town this 
 afternoon. Only one ring. No confusion. [Seeing Wil- 
 liam.] Circus day comes but once a year, little sir. Come 
 early and see the wild animals and hear the lions roar-r-r ! 
 Mind ! [Holding up his finger to William.] I shall ex- 
 pect to see you. Wonderful troupe of trained mice in the 
 side show. [Sings.'\ 
 
 *' Uncle Rat has gone to town, 
 Ha! Hm! 
 Uncle Rat has gone to town. 
 To buy Miss Mouse — *' 
 \Ends the song abruptly."] Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! 
 
 [The Clown disappears repeating "Billy 
 Miller's big show," etc.^ until his voice is 
 lost and the voices of shouting children 
 are heard as they run after him. 
 Peter. [Putting his hand in his pocket.] We'll go. 
 You may buy the tickets, William — two front seats. 
 [Frederik re-enters with a floral catalogue. 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Apart to Rev. Batholommey — 
 looking at Peter.] Somebody ought to tell him. 
 
 William. [Getting the money from Peter.] I'm going! 
 I'm going! [Dances.] Oh, Mr. Grimm: there ain't any- 
 one else like you in the world. When the other boys laugh 
 at your funny old hat, / never do. 
 
 [Pointing to Peter's hat on the peg. 
 Peter. My hat? They laugh at my hat.^ 
 William. We'll have such a good time at the circus. 
 It's too bad you've got to die, Mr. Grimm. 
 
 [There is a pause. Peter stops shorty look- 
 ing at William. The others are startled^ 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 137 
 
 but stand motionless, watching the effect 
 of William's revelation, Frederik 
 doesn't know what to make of it. There 
 is an ominous silence in the room. Then 
 Mrs. Batholommey^, whose smile has been 
 frozen on her face, takes William's hand 
 and is about to draw him away, when 
 Peter lays his hand on William's shoul- 
 der. Mrs. Batholommey steps back. 
 Peter. [Kindly,] Yes, William, most people have to. 
 . . . What made you think of it just then? 
 
 William. [Points to the Doctor,] He said so. Per- 
 haps in twenty minutes. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. [Quietly, but very sternly,] Wil- 
 liam ! 
 
 [William now understands that he should 
 not have repeated what he heard, 
 Peter. Don't frighten the boy. Only children tell the 
 truth. Tell me, William — you heard the Doctor say that? 
 [William is silent. He keeps his eyes on the clergyman, 
 who is looking at him warningly. The tears run down hi^ 
 cheeks — he puts his fingers to his lips — afraid to speak,'\ 
 Don't be frightened. You heard the Doctor say that.^ 
 William. [His voice trembling,] Y-es sir. 
 Peter. [Looks around the room — beginning to under- 
 stand,] , . . What did you mean, Andrew? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. I'll tell you, Peter, when we're alone. 
 
 Peter. But . , . [Mrs. Batholommey shakes her 
 
 finger threateningly at William, who whimpers.] Never 
 
 mind. It popped out, didn't it, William? Get the circus 
 
 tickets and we'll have a fine time just the same. 
 
 [William goes to buy the tickets^ 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. I — er — good mornings dear friend. 
 
 [Takes Peter's hand,] Any time you 'phone for me — 
 
138 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 day or night — I'll run over instantly. God bless you, sir. 
 I've never come to you for any worthy charity and been 
 turned avray — never. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Suddenly overcome.'] Good-bye, 
 Mr. Grimm. [In tears, she follows her husband. The Doc- 
 tor and Peter look at each other.] 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Cigar in mouth — very abruptly.] 
 It's cardiac valvular — a little valve — [Tapping heart] — in 
 here. [Slaps Peter on the shoulder.] There's my 'phone. 
 [As a bell is heard faintly ^ but persistently, ringing across 
 the street.] I'll be back. 
 
 [Catches up his hat to hasten off, 
 
 Peter. Just a minute. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Turning.] Don't fret yourself, 
 Peter. You're not to imagine you're worse than you are. 
 l^Angrily.] Don't funk ! 
 
 Peter. [Calmly.] That wasn't my reason for detain- 
 ing you^ Andrew. [With a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Yes? 
 
 Peter. That if there is anything in that ghost business 
 of yours^ I won't forget to come back and apologize for 
 my want of faith. [The Doctor goes home. Frederh^ 
 stands looking at his Uncle, There is a long pause, Peter 
 throws up both hands.] Rubbish! Doctors are very often 
 wrong. It's all guess work, eh, Fritz? 
 
 Frederik. [Thinking of his future in case of Peter's 
 death.] Yes, sir. 
 
 Peter. However^ to be on the safe side, I'll take that 
 nip of plum brandy. [Then thinking aloud.] Not yet. 
 . . . Not yet. . . . I'm not ready to die yet. I have 
 so much to live for .... When I'm older. . . . When 
 I'm a little old leaf ready to curl up, eh, Fritz? [He 
 drains his glass ^ goes up to the peg, takes down his hat, 
 looks at it as though remembering William's words, then 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 139 
 
 puts it hack on peg. He shows no sign of taking Dr. Mac- 
 Pherson^s verdict to heart — in fact, he doesn't believe it,'] 
 Frederik: get me some small change for the circus — enough 
 for William and me. 
 
 Frederik. Are you going . , . after all. . . . And 
 with that child? 
 
 Peter. Why not? 
 
 Frederik. [Suddenly showing feeling,] That little 
 tattler? A child that listens to everything and just told 
 you. . . . He shouldn't be allowed in this part of the 
 house. He should be sent away. 
 
 Peter. [Astonished,] Why do you dislike him^ Fred- 
 erik? He's a fine little fellow. You surprise me, my 
 boy. . . . [Catherine enters and goes to the piano ^ 
 running her hands softly over the keys — playing no melody 
 in particular, Peter sits in his big chair at the table and 
 picks up his pipe. Frederik^ with an inscrutable face, now 
 strikes a match and holds it to his uncle's pipe, Peter 
 thoughtfully takes one or two puffs; then speaking so as 
 not to be heard by Catherine.] Frederik: I want to think 
 that after I'm gone^ everything will be the same here. . . . 
 just as it is now. 
 
 Frederik. Yes, sir. [Sitting near Peter. 
 
 Peter. Just as it is. ... 
 
 [Frederik nods assent, Peter smokes. The 
 room is very cheerful. The bright mid- 
 day sunshine creeps through the windows^ 
 — almost causing a haze in the room — 
 and resting on the pots and vases and 
 bright flowers on the tables, 
 
 Catherine. [Singing.] " The bird so free in the 
 heavens — '* 
 
 Peter. [Looking up — still in thought — seeming not to 
 hear the song,] And my charities attended to. 
 
140 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act I 
 
 [Frederik nods assent, 
 Catherine. *' Is but the slave of the nest; 
 
 For all must toil as God wills it^ — 
 Must laugh and toil and rest/* 
 Peter. [Who has been thinking,'] Just as though I 
 were here. . . . 
 
 Catherine, "The rose must blow in the garden;" 
 Peter. William too. Don't forget him, Frederik. 
 Frederik. No, Uncle. 
 Catherine. "The bee must gather its store; 
 
 The cat must watch the mouse-hole, 
 The dog must guard the door/' 
 Peter. [As though he had a weight off his mind,~\ We 
 won't speak of this again. It's understood. 
 
 • [Smokes, listening with pleasure as Cather- 
 ine finishes the song, 
 Catherine. [Repeats the chorus,] 
 
 " The cat must watch the mouse-hole, 
 The dog must guard the door. 
 La la, La la/' etc. 
 [At the close of the song^ Peter puts down 
 his pipe and beckons to Catherine. 
 Peter. Give me the book. 
 
 [Catherine brings the bible to Peter as 
 the garden bell rings outside, 
 Frederik. Noon. 
 
 Peter. [Opening the book at the history of the family 
 — points to the closely written page.] Under my name I 
 want to see this written: "Married: Catherine and Fred- 
 erik." I want to see you settled, Katie — [Smiling,] — set- 
 tled happily for life. [He takes her hand and draws 
 Frederik towards his chair, Catherine, embarrassed^ 
 plays with a rose in her belt.] Will you? . . . 
 Catherine. I ... I don't know. . . . 
 
Act I] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 141 
 
 » 
 
 Peter. [Taking the rose and her hand in his own,'] I 
 know for you, my dear. Make me happy. 
 
 Catherine. There's nothing I wouldn't do to make you 
 happy, uncle, but — 
 
 Frederik. You know that I love you, Kitty. 
 Peter. Yes, yes, yes. That's all understood. He has 
 always loved you. Everybody knows it. 
 Catherine. Uncle. . . . 
 
 Peter. Make it a June wedding. We have ten days yet. 
 [Slipping her hand in Frederik^s, taking the 
 rose and tapping their clasped hands with 
 the flower as he speaks. 
 Frederik. Say yes, Kitty. 
 
 Catherine. [Nervously,] I couldn't in ten days. . . . 
 Frederik. But — 
 
 Peter. [To Frederik.] Who is arranging this mar- 
 riage, you or I } Say a month, then, Katie. . . . Promise 
 me. 
 
 Catherine. [Her lips set,] If you have set your 
 heart on it, I will, Uncle Peter. • . . I will ... I 
 promise. 
 
 Peter. [Takes a ring off his hand,] The wedding 
 ring — my dear mother's. [Gives it to Catherine.] You've 
 made me very happy, my dear. 
 
 [He kisses Catherine. Then releasing her, 
 he nods to Frederik to follow his ex- 
 ample. Peter turns his back to the 
 young couple and smokes. 
 Frederik. Catherine. . . . 
 
 [Dreading his embrace, she retreats towards 
 Peter and as she touches him, his pipe 
 falls to the floor. She looks at him^ 
 startled. Frederik, struck, looking in- 
 tently at Peter, who sits motionless. 
 
142 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 Catherine. Uncle Peter. . . . Uncle! What is it.^ 
 What*s the matter.^ [Runs to the door — calling across the 
 street,] Doctor! There he is — just going out. [Calls.] 
 Come back. Come back, Doctor. [To Frederik.] I felt 
 it. I felt something strange a minute ago. I felt it. 
 Frederik. [Taking Peter's hand.] Uncle Peter! 
 Catherine. [Coming hack to Peter and looking at hint 
 transfixed. Uncle Peter ! Answer me ! . . . It's Katie ! 
 [The Doctor enters hurriedly. 
 Dr. MacPherson. Is it . . . Peter? 
 
 [He goes quickly to Peter and listens to his 
 heart. Catherine and Frederik on 
 either side of him. The Doctor with 
 tender sympathy takes Catherine in his 
 arms. 
 William. [Rushes in with two tickets in his hand, leav- 
 ing the door open. The circus music is faintly heard.] 
 Mr. Grimm ! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Sh ! [A pause ^ as though breaking 
 the news to them all.] He's gone. 
 
 Frederik. [Questioningly — dazed.] Dead.^ 
 
 [Catherine is overcome. 
 William. [At Peter^s side — holding up the circus 
 tickets.] He can't be dead. . . . I've got his ticket to 
 the circus. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 ACT II 
 
 [SCENE: The second act takes place ten days later, 
 towards the close of a rainy afternoon. A fire is burn- 
 ing in the grate and a basket of hickory wood stands 
 beside the hearth. Peter^s hat is no longer on the 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 143 
 
 'peg. His pipes and jar of tobacco are missing. A 
 number of wedding presents are set on a table, some 
 unopened. The interior of the room, with its snapping 
 fire, forms a pleasant contrast to the gloomy exterior. 
 The day is fading into dusk, 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey is at the piano^ playing the 
 wedding march from '' Lohengrin," Four little girls 
 are grouped about her, singing the words to the air, 
 
 " Faithful and true : 
 We lead ye forth^ 
 Where love triumphant 
 Shall lighten the way." 
 
 " Bright star of love^ 
 Flower of the earthy 
 Shine on ye both 
 On Love's perfect day." 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey, That's better. Children: remem- 
 ber that this is to be a very quiet wedding. You're to be 
 here at noon to-morrow. You're not to speak as you enter 
 the room and take your places near the piano. Miss Staats 
 will come down from her room, at least I suppose she will 
 — and will stand. . . . \^Thinhs,'\ I don't know where 
 — but you're to stop when I look at you. Watch me as 
 though I were about to be married, \^She takes her place 
 at the foot of the stairs and the children repeat the song 
 until she has marched across the room and stationed herself 
 in some appropriate corner. As Frederik appears from the 
 hall, where he leaves his rain coat and umbrella, Mrs. 
 Batholommey motions the children to silence,] That will 
 do, dears, thank you. Hurry home between showers. [The 
 children go as she explains to Frederik.] My Sunday 
 
144 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 School scholars. ... I thought your dear uncle would 
 like a song at the wedding. I know how bright and cheery 
 he would have been — poor man. Dear, noble, charitable 
 soul ! 
 
 Frederik. [In a low voice,^ Where's Catherine? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Taking up her fancy work, seat- 
 ing herself,'] Upstairs. 
 
 Frederik. With that sick child? Tc ! 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Catherine finds it a pleasure to sit 
 beside the little fellow. William is very much better. 
 
 Frederik. [Taking a telegram from his pocket-book J\ 
 Well, we shall soon be off to Europe. I've just had a 
 telegram — a cabin has been reserved for me on the Impera- 
 tor. To-morrow, thank God^ we shall take the afternoon 
 train to New York. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. I must confess that I'm very glad. 
 Of course, I'm happy to stay and chaperone Catherine; but 
 poor Mr. Batholommey has been alone at the parsonage 
 for ten days . . . ever since your dear uncle . . . 
 [Pauses, unwinding yarn, then unburdening her mind,] 1 
 didn't think at first that Catherine could persuade herself 
 to marry you. 
 
 Frederik. [Sharply,] I don't understand you, Mrs. 
 Batholommey. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. I mean she seemed so averse to — 
 to an immediate marriage ; but of course it was your uncle's 
 last request, and that influenced her more than anything 
 else. So it's to be a June wedding, after all: he has his 
 wish. You'll be married in ten days from the time he left 
 us. [Remembering,] Some more letters marked personal 
 came for him while you were out. I put them in the 
 drawer — [Points to desk] — with the rest. It seems odd to 
 think the postman brings your uncle's letters regularly, yet 
 he is not here. 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 145 
 
 Frederik. [Looking towards the office door^l Did 
 Hartman come? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Yes. He seemed rather surprised 
 that you'd sent for him. 
 
 Frederik, Did you — er — tell him that we intend to 
 leave to-morrow? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. I spoke of your wedding trip, — 
 yes. 
 
 Frederik. Did he seem inclined to stay? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. He didn't say. He seemed very 
 much agitated. [Marta enters, carying a night lamp.] 
 Well pack Miss Catherine's things to-night, Marta. [She 
 notices the lamp,] The night lamp for William? [Looks 
 up towards the door of his room,] Go in very quietly. 
 He's asleep, I think. [Marta goes up the stairs and into 
 Willi am^s room.] By the way, Mr. Batholommey was very 
 much excited when he heard that your uncle had left a 
 personal memorandum concerning us. We're anxious to 
 hear it read. [Frederik, paying no attention to her wordSy 
 is glancing at the wedding presents.] We're anxious to 
 hear it read. 
 
 James. [Entering,] Did you wish to see me? 
 
 Frederik. [Offering his hand to James.] How do you 
 do, Hartman? I'm very glad you consented to come back. 
 My uncle never went into his office again after you left. 
 There is some private correspondence concerning matters 
 of which I know nothing: it lies on your old desk. . . , 
 I'm anxious to settle everything to-night. 
 
 [Mrs. Batholommey leaves the room. 
 
 James. Very well. 
 
 Frederik. If you care to remain longer with the firm, 
 I— er— 
 
 James. No, thank you. As soon as my work is done 
 to-night, — I'll go. 
 
146 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 Frederik. I appreciate the fact that you came on my 
 uncle's account. I have no ill feeling against you, Hart- 
 man. 
 
 James. I'm not refusing to stay because of any ill feel- 
 ing. I'm going because I know that you'll sell out before 
 your uncle is cold in his grave. I don't care to stay to see 
 the old place change hands. 
 
 Frederik. I.^ Sell out? My intention is to carry out 
 every wish of my dear old uncle's. 
 
 James. I hope so. I haven't forgotten that you wanted 
 
 him to sell out to Hicks of Rochester on the very day he 
 
 died. [Exit into the office, Catherine comes from 
 
 WiLLiAM^s room, simply dressed in white 
 
 — no touch of mourning, Frederik goes 
 
 to the foot of the stairs and calls softly. 
 
 Frederik. Kitty ! Here is our wedding license. I have 
 the cabin on the Imperator. Everything is arranged. 
 
 Catherine. [Coming down stairs,'] Yes. ... I 
 meant to speak to you — again. 
 
 Frederik. To-morrow's the day, dear. 
 
 Catherine. [Very subdued,"] Yes. . . . 
 
 Frederik. A June wedding — just as Uncle Peter wished. 
 
 Catherine. [As before,] Yes. . . . Just as he 
 wished. Everything is just as he ... [With a change 
 of manner — earnestly — looking at Frederik.] Frederik: 
 I don't want to go away. I don't want to go to Europe. 
 If only I could stay quietly here in — [Tears in her voice 
 as she looks around the room,] — in my dear home. 
 
 Frederik. Why do you want to stay in this old cottage 
 — with its candles and lamps and shadows.^ It's very 
 gloomy, very depressing. 
 
 Catherine. I don't want to leave this house. ... I 
 don't want any home but this. [Panic stricken.] Don't 
 take me away, Frederik. I know you've never really liked 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 147 
 
 it at Grimm's Manor: are you sure you'll want to come 
 back to live here? 
 
 Frederik. [As though speaking to a child,] Of course. 
 I'll do anything you ask. 
 
 Catherine. I — I've always wanted to please . . . 
 [After a slight pause y finding it difficult to speak his name,] 
 Uncle Peter. ... I felt that I owed everything to him. 
 ... If he had lived ... if I could see his happiness 
 at our marriage — it would make me happy; [Pathetically] 
 but he's gone . . and ... I'm afraid we're making 
 a mistake. I don't feel towards you as I ought, Frederik. 
 I've told you again and again; but I want to tell you once 
 more: I'm willing to marry you . . . but I don't love 
 you — I never shall. 
 
 Frederik. How do you know.^ 
 
 Catherine. I know. ... I know. ... It seems 
 so disloyal to speak like this after I promised him; but — 
 
 Frederik. Yes^ you did promise Uncle Peter you'd 
 marry me, didn't you? 
 
 Catherine. Yes. 
 
 Frederik. And he died believing you? 
 
 Catherine. Yes. 
 
 Frederik. Then it all comes to this: are you going to 
 live up to your promise? 
 
 Catherine. That's it. That's what makes me try to 
 live up to it. [Wiping her eyes,] But you know how I 
 feel. . . . You understand. . . . 
 
 Frederik. Perfectly: you don't quite know your own 
 mind. . . . Very few young girls do^ I suppose. I love 
 you and in time you'll grow to care for me. [Mart a re- 
 enters from WiLLiAM^s room, and closing the door, comes 
 down the stairs and passes off.] What are we to do with 
 that child? 
 
 Catherine. He's to stay here, of course. 
 
148 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 Frederik. The child should be sent to some institution. 
 What claim has he on you — on any of us? 
 Catherine. Why do you dislike him.'* 
 Frederik. I don't, but — 
 
 Catherine. Yes, you do. I can't understand it. I 
 remember how angry you were when you came back from 
 college and found him living here. You never mention 
 his mother's name, yet you played together as children. 
 When Uncle tried to find Annamarie and bring her back, 
 you were the only one to oppose it. 
 
 Frederik. William is an uncomfortable child to have in 
 the house. He has a way of staring at people as though 
 he had a perpetual question on his lips. It's most annoying. 
 Catherine. What question.^ 
 
 Frederik. As for his mother — I've never seen her since 
 she left this house and I don't care to hear her name on 
 your lips. Her reputation is — [The rain starts pattering 
 on the shingled roof.] Tc! More rain. . . . the third 
 day of it. [Going to the window — calling.] Otto! 
 [Angrily.] Otto! See what the wind has done — those 
 trellises. [Bangs the window shui.] That old gardener 
 should have been laid off years ago. . . . By the way, 
 his son James is here for a few hours — to straighten matters 
 out. I must see how he's getting on. [Taking her hand, 
 drawing her towards the table with a change of manner.] 
 Have you seen all the wedding presents, Kitty? I'll be 
 back in a few minutes. 
 
 [Pats her cheek and exit. Catherine stands 
 over her wedding presents just as he left 
 her — not looking at them — her eyes filled 
 with tears. The door is suddenly opened 
 and the Doctor enters, a tweed shawl over 
 his shoulders, wearing a tweed cap. He 
 has a hook under his arm. 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 149 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. How's William? [Catherine 
 tries to hide her tears, but he sees through her. He 
 tosses his cap, coat and book on the sofa,] What's the 
 matter ? 
 
 Catherine. Nothing. ... I was only thinking. 
 ... I was hoping that those we love . . . and lose 
 . . . can't see us here. I'm beginning to believe there's 
 not much happiness in this world. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Why, you little snip. IVe a notion 
 to spank you. Talking like that with your life before you ! 
 Read this book, child: [Gesturing towards the book on the 
 sofa.] it proves that the dead do see us; they do come back. 
 [Walks to the foot of the stairs — turns.'] Catherine: I 
 understand that youVe not a penny to your name — unless 
 you marry Frederik; that he has inherited you along with 
 the orchids and tulips. Don't let that influence you. If 
 Peter's plans bind you — and you look as though they did 
 — my door's open. Think it over. It's not too late. [Goes 
 half way up the stairs — then pauses.] Don't let the neigh- 
 bors' opinions and a few silver spoons — [Pointing to the 
 wedding presents] — stand in the way of your future. 
 
 [Exit into William's room. The rain in- 
 creases. The sky grows blacker — the 
 room darker. Catherine gives a cry and 
 stretches out her arms, not looking up. 
 Catherine. Uncle Peter ! Uncle Peter ! Why did you 
 do it? Why did you ask it? Oh, dear! Oh, dear! If 
 you could see me now. [She stands rigid — her arms out- 
 stretched. Marta, who has silently entered from the din- 
 ing room with fresh candles, goes to Catherine suddenly 
 buries her face on Marta's broad breast^ breaking intc^ 
 sobs; then recovering, wipes her eyes.] There, there. . . . 
 I mustn't cry . . . others have troubles too, haven't 
 they ? 
 
150 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 Marta. Others have troubles, too. 
 
 Catherine. I had hoped, Marta, that Annamarie would 
 have heard of Uncle's loss and come back to us ... 
 
 Marta. If it had only brought us all together once 
 more; but no message . . . nothing. ... I cannot 
 understand. 
 
 Catherine. She knows that our door is open. 
 
 [The rain beats against the window. A sharp 
 double knock is heard at the door. 
 Catherine starts as though suddenly 
 brought to herself, hastily goes into the 
 next room, taking the Doctor's book with 
 her, Marta has hurried towards the 
 front door, when the Rev. Mr. Bathol- 
 OMMEY and Colonel Lawton appear in 
 the hall as though they had entered quickly, 
 to escape the storm. Marta, greeting 
 them, passes off to tell Frederik of their 
 presence. The Rev. Mr. Batholommey 
 wears a long black cloth rain-proof coat. 
 Colonel Lawton is a tall man with a 
 thin brown beard and moustache, about 
 forty-eight. He is dressed in a Prince 
 Albert coat, unpressed trousers, and a 
 negligee shirt. He wears spectacles and 
 has a way of throwing back his head and 
 peering at people before answering them. 
 The Rev. Mr. Batholommey sets his um- 
 brella in the hall and the Colonel hangs 
 his broad brimmed hat on the handle — 
 as though to let it drip. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Brr ! I believe it's raining icicles. 
 
 Colonel Lawton. [Taking off his over-shoes.'] Gee 
 Whillikins ! What a day ! Good thing the old windmill 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 151 
 
 out yonder is tied up. Great weather for baptisms. Parson. 
 [There is a faint far-away rumble of thunder. Frederik 
 enters.] Well, here we are, Frederik, my boy — at the time 
 you mentioned. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. How are you, Frederik.^ 
 
 [Colonel Lawton crosses to the fire, fol- 
 lowed by the Rev. Mr. Batholommey. 
 Frederik. [Who has gone to the desk for a paper lying 
 under a paper weight,] 1 sent for you to hear a memoran- 
 dum left by my uncle. I only came across it yesterday. 
 
 [There is a louder peal of thunder. A flash 
 of lightning illuminates the room. 
 Colonel Lawton. I must have drawn up ten wills for 
 the old gentleman, but he always tore 'em up. May I have 
 a drink of his plum brandy, Frederik? 
 Frederik. Help yourself. Pastor.^ 
 Rev. Batholommey. Er — er — 
 
 [Colonel Lawton goes to the sideboard and 
 
 fills two glasses, A heavy roll of thunder 
 
 now ends in a sharp thunder clap. Mrs. 
 
 Batholommey, who is entering the room, 
 
 gives a cry and puts her hands over her 
 
 face. Colonel Lawton bolts his whiskey. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Batholommey takes a 
 
 glass and stands with it in his hand. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Removing her hands in time to 
 
 see the brandy,] Why, Henry! W^hat are you doing? 
 
 Are your feet wet? 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. No, Rose, they're not. I want a 
 drink and I'm going to take it. It's a bad night. 
 
 [Drinks, 
 Colonel Lawton. [Throws a hickory log on the fire, 
 which presently blazes up making the room much brighter,] 
 Go ahead, Frederik. 
 
152 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 [Sits. Rev. Mr. Batholommey has drawn 
 up a chair for his wife and now seats hiin- 
 self before the snapping hickory fire. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. I knew that your uncle would re- 
 member his friends and his charities. He was so liberal ! 
 One might say of him that he was the very soul of generos- 
 ity. He gave in such a free-handed princely fashion. 
 
 Frederik. [Reading in a business-like manner.^ For 
 Mrs. Batholommey — 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. The dear man — to think that he 
 remembered me! I knew he'd remember the church and 
 Mr. Batholommey, of course; but to think that he'd remem- 
 ber me ! He knew that my income was very limited. He 
 was so thoughtful ! His purse was always open. 
 
 Frederik. [Eyes Mrs. Batholommey for a second, then 
 continues,'] For Mr. Batholommey — [Rev. Mr. Bathol- 
 ommey nods solemnly] — and the Colonel. 
 
 Colonel Lawton. [Taking out a cigar.] He knew 
 that I did the best I could for him . . . [His voice 
 breaks] the grand old man. [Recovering,] What'd he 
 leave me.'* Mrs. B. — er? 
 
 [Nods inquiringly at Mrs. Batholommey, 
 who bows assent and he lights his cigar, 
 
 Frederik. [Glancing at the paper,] Mrs. Batholom- 
 mey: he wishes you to have his miniature — with his affec- 
 tionate regards. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Dear old gentleman — and er — 
 yes? 
 
 Frederik. To Mr. Batholommey — 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. But — er — you didn't finish with 
 me. 
 
 Frederik. You're finished. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. I'm finished? 
 
 Frederik. You may read it yourself if you like. 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 153 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. No, no, no. Shell take your word 
 for it. [Firmly,] Rose! 
 
 Frederik. [Reads.] To Mr. Batholommey: my antique 
 watch fob — with my profound respects. [Continues.] To 
 Colonel Lawton — 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. His watch fob? Is that what he 
 left to Henry? Is that all.'' [As Frederik nods.] Well! 
 If he had no wish to make your life easier, Henry, he 
 should at least have left something for the church. Oh, 
 won't the congregation have a crow to pick with you! 
 
 Frederik. [Reading.] To my life-long friend, Colonel 
 Lawton: I leave ray most cherished possession. 
 
 [Colonel Lawton has a look on his face 
 as though he were saying: *' Ah! It will 
 he something worth while." 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Angrily.] When the church 
 members hear that — 
 
 Colonel Lawton. [Chewing his cigar.] I don't know 
 why he was called upon to leave anything to the church — 
 he gave it thousands ; and only last month, he put in chimes. 
 As / look at it, he wished to give you something he had used 
 — something personal. Perhaps the miniature and the fob 
 ain't worth three whoops in Hell, — it's the sentiment of the 
 thing that counts — [Chewing the word with his cigar] the 
 sentiment. Drive on, Fred. 
 
 Frederik. To Colonel Lawton: my father's prayer book. 
 
 Colonel Lawton. [Suddenly changing — dazed.] His 
 prayer book . . . me? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Seeing Frederik lay down the 
 paper and rise.] Is that all.^ 
 
 Frederik. That's all. 
 
 Colonel Lawton. [Still dazed.] A prayer book. . . . 
 Me.^ Well, I'll be — [Struck.] Here, Parson, let's swap. 
 You take the prayer book — I'll take the old fob. 
 
154 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. [Stiffly.'] Thank you. I already 
 have a prayer book. 
 
 [Goes to the window and looks out — his back 
 turned to the others — trying to control his 
 feelings, 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Her voice trembling with vexa- 
 Hon and disappointment,] Well, all I can say is — I'm dis- 
 appointed in your uncle. 
 
 Colonel Lawton. Is it for this you hauled us out in 
 the rain, Frederik? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Bitterly,] I see now ... he 
 only gave to the church to show off. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Rose ! . . . I myself am disap- 
 pointed, but — 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. He did! Or why didn't he con- 
 tinue his work? He was not a generous man. He was a 
 hard, uncharitable, selfish old man. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. [Horrified,] Rose, my dear! 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. He was ! If he were here, I'd 
 say it to his face. The congregation sicked you after him. 
 Now that he's gone and you'll get nothing more, they'll 
 call you slow — slow and pokey. You'll see! You'll see 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Sh! 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. As for the Colonel, who spent half 
 his time with Mr. Grimm, what is his reward? A watch 
 fob! [Prophetically,] Henry: mark my words — this will 
 be the end of you. It's only a question of a few weeks. 
 One of these new football playing ministers just out of 
 college, will take your place. It's not what you preach 
 now that counts : it's what you coax out of the rich parish- 
 ioner's pockets. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. [In a low voice,] Mrs. Bathol- 
 ommey ! 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 155 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Religion doesn't stand where it 
 did, Henry J — there's no denying that. There was a time 
 when people had to go to church — they weren't decent if 
 they didn't. Now you have to wheedle 'em in. The church 
 needs funds in these days when a college professor is openly 
 saying that — [Her voice breaks'] the Star of Bethlehem was 
 a comet. [Weeps, 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Control yourself. I must insist 
 upon it, Mrs. Batholommey. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Breaking down — almost breath- 
 lessly.] Oh ! If I said all the things I feel like saying 
 about Peter Grimm — well — I shouldn't be fit to be a clergy- 
 man's wife. Not to leave his dear friends a — 
 
 Colonel Lawton. He wasn't liberal; but for God's 
 sake, madam, pull yourself together and think what he 
 ought to have done for me ! — I've listened to his plans for 
 twenty years. I've virtually given up my business for him, 
 and what have I for it? Not a button! Not a button! A 
 bible. Still I'm not complaining. Hang that chimney, 
 Frederik, it's smoking. 
 
 [Colonel Lawton stirs the fire — a log drops 
 and the flame goes down. The room has 
 gradually grown darker as the night ap- 
 proaches, 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Turning on Colonel Lawton.] 
 Oh, you've feathered your nest, Colonel! You're a rich 
 man. 
 
 Colonel Lawton. [Enraged^ raising his voice,] What? 
 I never came here that you weren't begging. 
 
 Frederik. [Virtuously — laying down the paper.] Well, 
 I'm disgusted ! When I think how much more I should 
 have if he hadn't continually doled out money to every one 
 of you ! 
 
 Colonel Lawton. What.^ 
 
156 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 Frederik. He was putty in your hands. 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Yes, you can afford to defend his 
 memory — you've got the money. 
 
 Frederik. I don't defend his memory. He was a gul- 
 lible old fossil, and the whole town knew it. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. You did at any rate. I've heard 
 you flatter him by the hour. 
 
 Frederik. Of course. He liked flattery and I gave him 
 what he wanted. Why not? I gave him plenty. The rest 
 of you were at the same thing; and I had the pleasure of 
 watching him give you the money that belonged to me — to 
 me — my money. . . . What business had he to be gener- 
 ous with my money? {The Colonel strikes a match to 
 light his cigar and as it flares up, the face of Frederik is 
 seen — distorted with anger,'] I'll tell you this: had he 
 lived much longer, there would have been nothing left for 
 me. It's a fortunate thing for me that — 
 
 [He pauses^ knowing that he has said too much. 
 [The room is now very dark. The rain has 
 subsided. Everything is quiet outside. 
 There is not a sound, save the ticking of 
 the clock. 
 Rev. Batholommey. [Solemnly — breaking the pause,] 
 Young man : it might have been better had Mr. Grimm given 
 his all to charity — for he has left his money to an ingrate. 
 Frederik. [Laughing derisively.] Ha ! ha ! 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Sh! Someone's coming. 
 
 [All is quiet. The clock ticks in the dark. 
 The door opens. 
 Frederik. [With a change of voice,] Come in. [No- 
 body enters,] Where's a light? We've been sitting in the 
 dark like owls. Come in. 
 
 [A pause. He strikes a match and holds it 
 above his head. The light shows (he open 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 157 
 
 door, A gust of wind blowing through 
 the doorway, causes the light to flicker. 
 Colonel Lawton, 111 see who's . . . \^Loolcs out,'] 
 No one. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Someone must be there. Who 
 opened the door.^ [^The wind puts out the match in Fred- 
 ERiK^s hand. The room is once more in semi-darkness,] 
 There ... it closed again. ... 
 
 [Frederik strikes another match and holds 
 it up. The door is seen to be closed. 
 Colonel Lawton. [Who is nearest to the door,] I 
 didn't touch it. 
 
 Frederik. [Blowing out the match,] I'll have the 
 lamps brought in. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Curious. ... 
 Rev. Batholommey. It was the wind — a draught. 
 Colonel Lawton. [Returning to his chair,] Must have 
 been. 
 
 Catherine. [Entering with a lamp,] Did someone 
 call me.'* 
 
 [Without pausing she sets the lamp on the 
 table and turns up the wick, Peter 
 Grimm is seen standing in the room — 
 half in shadow. He is as he was in life. 
 The clothes he wears appear to be those 
 he wore about his house in the first act. 
 He carries his hat in his hand. He has 
 the same kind smile, the same deferential 
 manner^ but his face is more spiritual and 
 years younger. He is unseen by all, 
 Peter. [Whose eyes never leave Catherine.] Yes. 
 ... I called you. . . . I've come back. 
 Frederik. [To Catherine.] No. 
 Peter. Don't be frightened, Katie. It's the most 
 
158 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 natural thing in the world. You wanted me and I 
 came. 
 
 Frederik. Why } What made you think someone called 
 you? 
 
 Catherine. I'm so accustomed to hear Uncle Peter's 
 voice in this room, that sometimes I forget he's not here. 
 ... I can't get over it! I was almost sure I heard him 
 speak . . . but of course, as soon as I came in — I re- 
 membered . . . but someone must have called me. 
 
 Frederik. No. 
 
 [Peter stands looking at them, perplexed; 
 not being able to comprehend as yet that 
 he is not seen. 
 
 Catherine. Isn't it curious . . to hear your name 
 and turn and . . . [Unconsciously^ she looks in Peter^s 
 face'\ no one there? 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. [Kindly,'\ Nerves. . . . Imag- 
 ination. 
 
 Frederik. You need a complete change. [Crossing to the 
 door,] For Heaven's sake, let's have more light or we 
 shall all be hearing voices. 
 
 Peter. Strange . . . nobody seems to see me. . . . 
 It's — it's extraordinary ! Katie ! . . . Katie ! . . . 
 
 [His eyes have followed Catherine_, who 
 is now at the door, 
 
 Catherine. [Pausing,~\ Perhaps it was the book I was 
 reading that made me think I heard. . . . The Doctor 
 lent it to me. 
 
 Frederik. [Poo-poohing.] O ! 
 
 Catherine. [Half to herself,'] If he does know, if he 
 can see, he'll be comforted by the thought that I'm going 
 to do everything he wanted. 
 
 [She passes out of the room. 
 
 Peter. [Showing that he does not want her to carry out 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 159 
 
 his wishes.] No, no, don't . . . Frederik! I want to 
 speak to you. 
 
 [Frederik, not glancing in Peter's direction^ 
 lights a cigarette. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Well, Frederik: I hope the old 
 gentleman can see his mistake now. 
 
 Peter. I can see several mistakes. [Rev. Mr. Bathol- 
 ommey rises and goes towards the door, pausing in front of 
 Peter to take out his watch,] . . . Mr. Batholommey: 
 I'm glad to see you in my house. . . . I'm very sorry 
 that you can't see me. 1 wasn't pleased with my funeral 
 sermon: it was very gloomy — very. I never was so de- 
 pressed in my life. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [To Frederik.] Do you know 
 what I should like to say to your uncle .^^ 
 
 Peter. I know. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. I hope at least you'll care for the 
 parish poor as your uncle did — and keep on with some of 
 his charities. 
 
 Peter. [Putting his hand on Rev. Mr. Batholommey's 
 shoulder.] That's all attended to. I arranged all that 
 with Frederik. He must look after my charities. 
 
 Frederik. I might as well tell you now — you needn't 
 look to me. It's Uncle Peter's fault if your charities are 
 cut off. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. [Half douhtingly.] It doesn't 
 seem possible that he made no arrangements to continue his 
 good works. [Frederik remains stolid. Rev. Mr. Bathol- 
 ommey puts hack his watch after glancing at it.] Just 
 thirty minutes to make a call. 
 
 [Goes to the hall to put on his overshoes^ 
 coat, etc., leaving Peter's hand extended 
 in the air. 
 
 Colonel Lawton. [Rising.] I must be toddling. 
 
160 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 [Pauses,'] It's queer^ Frederik, how things turn out in this 
 world. [He stands thinking matters over — cigar in 
 
 mouth, his hand on his chin, 
 Peter. [Slipping his hand through Colonel Lawton^s 
 arm. They seem to look each other in the eye,] You were 
 perfectly right about it, Thomas: I should have made a 
 will . . . I — suppose it is a little too late, isn't it.^ . . . 
 It would be — er — unusual to do it now, wouldn't it.^ 
 
 [Colonel Lawton, who has heard nothing 
 — seen nothing — moves away as though 
 Peter had never held his arm — and goes 
 up into the hall for his cape and over- 
 shoes. 
 Colonel Lawton. [Noticing an old gold headed walk- 
 ing stick in the hall.] O, er — what are you going to do with 
 all the old man's family relics, Frederik.^ 
 
 Frederik. The junk, you mean.^ I shall lay it on 
 some scrap heap, I suppose. It's not worth a penny. 
 
 Colonel Lawton. I'm not so sure of that. They say 
 there's a lot of money paid for this sort of trash. 
 
 Frederik. Is that so? Not a bad idea to have a dealer 
 in to look it over. 
 
 [Peter stands listening, a faint smile on his 
 face, 
 Mrs. Batholommey. If I could have the old clock — 
 cheap, Frederik, I'd take it off your hands. 
 
 Frederik. I'll find out how much it's worth. I shall 
 have everything appraised. 
 
 [Sets his watch by the clock, Mrs. Bathol- 
 ommey gives him a look and joins her 
 husband at the door. 
 Colonel Lawton. Good night. 
 
 [Exitj closing the door. 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [As Rev. Mr. Batholommey goes 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM l6l 
 
 out — calling after him.] Henry: Catherine wants you to 
 come back for supper. 
 
 [Mrs. Batholommey leaves the room too dis- 
 gusted for words. Frederik goes into 
 the office. 
 
 Peter. [Now alone.] We live and learn . . . and 
 oh! What I have learned since I came back. . . . [He 
 goes to his own particular peg in the vestibule and hangs 
 up his hat. He glances at the wedding presents. Presently 
 he sees the flowers which Catherine has placed on the 
 desk. With a smile, he touches the flowers. Marta enters 
 xvith another lamp, which she places on a table. As Peter's 
 eyes rest on Marta, he nods and smiles in recognition, wait- 
 ing for a response.] Well^ Marta? . . • Don't you 
 know your old master.^ . . . No? . . . No? . . . 
 [She winds the clock and leaves the room.] I seem to be 
 a stranger in my own house . . yet the watch dog knew 
 me and wagged his tail as I came in. [He stands trying to 
 comprehend it all,] Well! Well! 
 
 Frederik. [Looking at his watch, re-enters from the 
 office and goes to the 'phone, which presently rings. Fred- 
 erik instantly lifts the receiver as though not wishing to 
 attract attention. In a low voice.] Yes. ... I was 
 waiting for you. How are you^ Mr. Hicks? [Listens.] 
 I'm not anxious to sell^ no. I prefer to carry out my dear 
 old uncle's wishes. [Peter eyes him — a faint smile on his 
 lips.] If I got my price? Well ... of course in that 
 case ... I might be tempted. To-morrow? No, I 
 can't see you to-morrow. I'm going to be married to- 
 morrow and leave at once for New York. Thank you. 
 [Listens.] To-night? Very well^ but I don't want it 
 known. I'll sell, but it must be for more than the price my 
 uncle refused. Make it ten thousand more and it's done. 
 [Listens.] You'll come to-night? . . . Yes, yes. . . . 
 
162 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 [Listens at the ^phone.] The dear old man told you his 
 plans never failed^ eh? God rest his soul! [Laughing 
 indulgently.] Ha! Ha! Ha! 
 Peter. Ha! Ha! Ha! 
 
 Frederik. [Echoing Hicks^ words."] What would he 
 say if he knew? What could he say? Everything must 
 change. 
 
 [A far-away rumble of thunder is heard — the 
 
 lightning flickers at the window and a 
 
 flash is seen on the telephone which 
 
 tinkles and responds as though from the 
 
 electric shock. Exclaiming " Ugh.'* 
 
 Frederik drops the receiver — which 
 
 hangs down. 
 
 Peter. [The storm passes as he speaks into the receiver 
 
 without touching the telephone.] Good evenings jny friend. 
 
 We shall soon meet — face to face. . . . You won't be 
 
 able to carry this matter through. . . . [Looking into 
 
 space as though he could see the future.] You're not well 
 
 and you're going out to supper to-night . . . you will 
 
 eat something that will cause you to pass over .... I 
 
 shall see you to-morrow. ... A happy crossing! 
 
 Frederik. [Picks up the receiver.] Hello? . . . You 
 don't feel well^ you say? [Then after listening to Hicks^ 
 answer.] I see. . . . Your lawyer can attend to every- 
 thing to-night — without you. Very well. It's entirely a 
 question of money^ Mr. Hicks. Send your lawyer to the 
 Grimm Manor Hotel. I'll arrange at once for a room. 
 Good-bye. [Hangs up the receiver.] That's off my mind. 
 [He lights a fresh cigarette — his face ex- 
 pressing the satisfaction he feels in the 
 prospect of a perfectly idle future. Peter 
 looks at him as though to say, ''And 
 that's the hoy whom I loved and trusted! " 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 163 
 
 Frederik gets his hat, throws his coat 
 
 over his arm and hastens out. 
 Peter. [Turns and faces the door leading into the next 
 room, as though he could feel the presence of someone wait- 
 ing there,] Yes. ... I am still in the house. Come 
 in . . . come in. ... [He repeats the signal of the 
 first act,] Ou — oo. [The door opens slowly — and Cath- 
 erine enters as though at Peter's call. She looks about her, 
 not understanding. He holds out his arms to her. Cath- 
 erine walks slowly towards him. He takes her in his arms, 
 but she does not respond. She does not know that she is 
 being held.] There! There! . . . Don't worry. . . . 
 It's all right. . . . We'll arrange things very differently. 
 IVe come back to change all my plans. [She moves aivay 
 a step — just out of his embrace. He tries to call her back.] 
 Katie! . . . Can't I make my presence known to you? 
 Katie! Can't my love for you outlive me? Isn't it here in 
 the home.'^ . . . Don't cry. 
 
 [She moves about the room in thought. As 
 
 Peter watches her — she pauses near the 
 
 desk, 
 Catherine. [Suddenly.] Crying doesn't help matters. 
 Peter. She hears me. She doesn't know it, but she 
 hears me. She's cheering up. [She inhales the flowers — 
 a half smile on her lips.] That's right: you haven't smiled 
 before since I died. [Suddenly giving way to the realiza- 
 tion of her loss^ Catherine sighs. Correcting himself,] 
 I — I mean — since I learned that there was a happier place 
 than the world I left. . . . I'm a trifle confused. I've 
 not had time to adjust myself to these new conditions. 
 [Catherine smiles sadly — goes up to the window^ and 
 leaning against the pane looks out into the night, Peter 
 continues comfortingly,] The dead have never really died^ 
 you know. We couldn't die if we tried. We're all about 
 
164 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 you. . . . Look at the gardens: they've died^ haven't 
 they? But there they are all the better for it. Death is 
 the greatest thing in the world. It's really a — ha ! — de- 
 lightful experience. What is it, after all.^ A nap from 
 which we waken rested, refreshened ... a sleep from 
 which we spring up like children tumbling out of bed — 
 ready to frolic through another world. I was an old man 
 a few days ago, now I'm a boy. I feel much younger than 
 you — much younger. [A conflict is going on in Catherine's 
 mind. She walks to the chair hy the -fireplace and sits — 
 her hack to the audience. He approaches her and lays a 
 tender hand on her shoulder,"] I know what you're think- 
 ing . . . Katie ! I want you to break that very foolish 
 promise I asked you to make. You're almost tempted to. 
 Break it! Break it at once; then — [Glancing smilingly 
 towards the door — as though he wished to leave — like a 
 child longing to go out to play.] then I could — take the 
 journey back in peace. ... I can't go until you do — 
 and I ... I long to go. • . . Isn't my message any 
 clearer to you.'^ [Reading her mind.] You have a feeling 
 . . . an impression of what I'm saying; but the words 
 . . . the words are not clear. . . . Mm ... let 
 me see. ... If you can't understand me — there's the 
 Doctor: he'll know how to get the message — he'll find the 
 way. . . . Then I can hurry back . . . home . . . 
 
 Catherine. [Helplessly — changing her position like a 
 tired child.] Oh, I'm so alone. 
 
 Peter. [Cheerily.] Not alone at all — not at all. I 
 shall drop in very often . . . and then, there's your 
 mother. [Suddenly remembering.] O yes, I had almost 
 forgotten: I have a message for you, Katie. . . . [He 
 seats himself in a chair which is almost in front of her.] 
 I've met your mother. [She sits in a deep thought. Peter 
 continues with the air of a returned traveller relating his 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 165 
 
 experiences,] She heard that I had crossed over and there 
 she was — waiting for me. You're thinking of it, aren't 
 you? Wondering if we met. . . . Yes, that was the 
 first interesting experience. She knew me at once. " You 
 were Peter Grimm/' she said, ** before you knew better " — 
 that's what they call leaving this world — " to know better/' 
 You call it dying. [Confidentially,] She's been here often 
 it seems^ watching over you. I told her how much I loved 
 you and said you had a happy home. I spoke of your 
 future — of my plans for you and Frederik. ** Peter 
 Grimm/' she said: "you've overlooked the most important 
 thing in the world — ^love. You haven't given her her right 
 to the choice of her lover — her right! '' Then it came over 
 me that I'd made a terrible mistake . . . and at that 
 minute, you called to me. [Impressively,] In the darkness 
 surrounding all I had left behind, there came a light . . . 
 a glimmer where you stood ... a clear call in the 
 
 night It seemed as though I had not been away 
 
 one second . . . but in that second, you had suffered. 
 . . . Now I am back to show you the way ... I am 
 here to put my hand on your dear head and give you your 
 mother's blessing; to say she will be with you in spirit 
 until she holds you in her arms — you and your loved hus- 
 band — [Catherine turns in her chair and looks towards the 
 door of the room in which James is working. Peter catches 
 the thought,] — yes, James, it's you. . . . And the mes- 
 sage ended in this kiss. [Prints a kiss on her cheek,] Can't 
 you think I'm with you, dear child? Can't you think I'm 
 trying to help you? Can't you even hope? O, come, at 
 least hope! Anybody can hope. 
 
 [Catherine rises with an entire change of 
 manner — takes a bright red blossom from, 
 the vase on Peter's desk — then deliber- 
 ately walks to the door of the room in 
 
166 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 which James is working, Peter follows 
 her action hopefully. She does not tap on 
 the door, however, but turns and sits at 
 the piano — in thought. She puts Peter's 
 flowers against her face. Then laying the 
 flowers on the piano, sings softly three or 
 four bars of the song she sang in the first 
 act — and stops abruptly, 
 Catherine. [To herself,] That I should sit here sing- 
 ing — at a time like this ! 
 
 Peter. Sing! Sing! Why not? Lift up your voice 
 like a bird ! Your old uncle doesn't sleep out there in the 
 dust. That's only the dream. He's here — here — alive. All 
 his age gone and youth glowing in his heart. If I could 
 only tell you what lies before you — before us all ! If people 
 even suspected what the next life really is, they wouldn't 
 waste time here — I can tell you that. They'd do dreadful 
 things to get away from this existence — make for the near- 
 est pond or — [Pausing abruptly, 1 Ah, here comes some- 
 one who'll know all about it! [The Doctor comes from 
 William's room, Peter greets him in a cordial but casual 
 way as though he had parted from him only an hour be- 
 fore,] Well, Andrew; I apologize. [Bowing obsequiously,] 
 You are right. I apologize. 
 
 Catherine. How is he, Doctor? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. William is better. Dropped off to 
 sleep again. Can't quite understand him. 
 
 Peter. I apologize. I said that if I could come back, 
 J would ; and here I am — apologizing. Andrew ! Andrew ! 
 [Trying to attract Dr. MacPherson's attention,] 1 have 
 a message, but I can't get it across. This is your chance. 
 I want you to take it. I don't wish Catherine to marry 
 Frederik. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. He's somewhat feverish yet. 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 167 
 
 Peter. Can't you understand one word? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. It's a puzzling case. . . . 
 
 Peter. What } Mine ? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Getting a pad from his pocket — 
 writing out a prescription with his fountain pen,~\ 111 leave 
 this prescription at the druggist's — 
 
 Peter. I'm quite shut out. . . . They've closed the 
 door on me and turned the key. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Suddenly noticing that Catherine 
 seems more cheerful,'] What's happened? I left you in 
 tears and here you are — all smiles. 
 
 Catherine. Yes^ I — I am happier — for some reason. 
 . . . For the last few minutes I — I've had such a strange 
 feeling. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. That's odd: so have I! Been as 
 restless as a hungry mouse. Something seemed to draw me 
 down here — -can't explain it. 
 
 Peter. I'm beginning to be felt in this house. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Catherine: I have the firm convic- 
 tion that in a very short time, I shall hear from Peter. 
 
 [Sitting at the table, 
 
 Peter. I hope so. It's high time now. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. What I want is some positive proof; 
 some absolute test; some — er — 
 
 [Thinks, Catherine has seated herself at 
 the table. Unconsciously they both oc- 
 cupy the same seats as in the first act. 
 
 Peter. The trouble is with other people^ not with us. 
 You want us to give all sorts of proofs ; and here we are 
 just back for a little while — very poorly put together — 
 quite confused. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Poor old Peter — bless his heart! 
 [His elbow on the table as though he had been thinking 
 over the matter. Catherine sits quietly listening.] If he 
 
168 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 kept that compact with me^ and came back^ — do you know 
 what I'd ask him first? If our work goes on. 
 
 Peter. Well, now, that's a regular sticker. It has 
 bothered me considerably since I crossed over. 
 
 Catherine. What do you mean, Doctor? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. The question every man wants the 
 answer to: what's to become of me — me — my work? Am 
 I going to be a bone-setter in the next life and he a tulip 
 man. ... I wonder. , , . 
 
 Peter. Andrew: I've asked everybody — Tom, Dick and 
 Harry. One spirit told me that sometimes our work does 
 go on; but he was an awful liar — you know we don't drop 
 our earth habits at once. He said that a genius is simply 
 a fellow who has learned his business in some other world 
 and knows his business. Now then: [^Confidentially prepar- 
 ing to open an argument — sitting in his old seat at the table, 
 as in the first act,] it stands to reason, Andrew, doesn't it? 
 What chance has the beginner compared with a fellow who 
 knew his business before he was born? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Unconsciously grasping the thought.] 
 I believe it is possible to have more than one chance at our 
 work. 
 
 Peter. There . . . you caught that. . . . Why 
 can't you take my message to Catherine? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Rising to get his shawl — gruffly,] 
 Thought over what I told you concerning this marriage? 
 Not too late to back out. 
 
 Peter. He's beginning to take the message. 
 
 Catherine. Everything's arranged: I shall be married 
 as Uncle Peter wished. I shan't change my mind. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Hm ! [Picks up his shawl. 
 
 Peter. [Trying to detain the Doctor — tugging at his 
 shawl without seeming to pull it.] Don't give up ! Don't 
 give up ! A girl can always change her mind — while there's 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 169 
 
 life. Don't give up! [The Doctor turns, facing Peter^ 
 looking directly at him as he puts his hand in his coat 
 pocket.] You heard that, eh? . . . Didn't you? Yes? 
 Did it cross over? . . . What? ... It did? ... 
 You're looking me in the face, Andrew: can you see me? 
 [The Doctor takes a pencil out of his pocket, writes a 
 prescription, throws his shawl over his shoulders — turning 
 his back towards Peter and facing Catherine.] Tc ! Tc ! 
 Tc! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Good night. 
 
 Catherine. Good night. 
 
 [Catherine goes quietly to the fireplace^ 
 kneeling down, mends the fire, and re- 
 mains there sitting on an ottoman, 
 
 Peter. [Calling after the Doctor,] If I could only 
 make some sign — to start you thinking; but I can't depend 
 upon you, I see that. . . . [Then changing — as though 
 he had an idea,] Ah yes! There is another way. Now 
 to work. [With renewed activity, he taps in the direction 
 of the office door, although he himself stands three feet away 
 from it. The door opens promptly and James appears on 
 the threshold — pen in hand — as though something had made 
 him rise suddenly from his desk, Catherine, still seated, 
 does not see James who stands looking at her — remembering 
 that she is to be married on the following day. Tempting 
 James.] Yes, she is pretty, James . . . young and 
 lovely. . . . Look! . . . There are kisses tangled in 
 her hair where it curls . . . hundreds of them. . . . 
 Are you going to let her go ? Her lips are red with the red 
 of youth. Every smile is an invocation to life. Who could 
 resist her smiles? Can you, James? No: you will not let 
 her go. And her hands, James. . . . Look! Hands 
 made to clasp and cling to yours. Imagine her little feet 
 trudging happily about your home. . . . Look at her 
 
170 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 shoulders . . . shaped for a resting place for a little 
 head. . . . You were right, James : we should ask nothing 
 of our girls but to marry the men they love and be happy 
 wives and happy mothers of happy children. You feel 
 wrhat I am saying. . . . You couldn't live without her, 
 could you? No.'* Very well, then — [Changing abruptly,'] 
 Now: it*s your turn. 
 
 [James pauses a moment. There is silence. 
 Then he comes forward a step and 
 Catherine^ hearing him, turns and rises, 
 
 James. [Coldly — respectfully,'] Miss Grimm. . . . 
 
 Catherine. James. . . . 
 
 James. I felt that you were here and wished to speak 
 to me. . . . I — I don't know why. . . . 
 
 Peter. Good for James. 
 
 Catherine. [Shaking hands with him,] I'm very glad 
 to see you again^ James. [When Peter sees that he has 
 brought the two young people together, he stands in the 
 background. The lovers are in the shadow, but Peter's 
 figure is marked and clear,] Why did you go away? 
 
 James. O — er — 
 
 Catherine. And without saying a word? 
 
 James. Your uncle sent me away. I told him the trutH 
 again. 
 
 Catherine. O. . . . 
 
 James. I am going in a few hours. 
 
 Catherine. Where are you going? What do you in- 
 tend to do ? 
 
 James. [Half heartedly,] Father and I are going- to 
 try our luck together. We're going to start with a small 
 fruit farm. It will give me a chance to experiment. . . . 
 
 Catherine. It will seem very strange when I come back 
 home . . . uncle gone . . . and you, James. 
 
 [Her voice trembling. 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 171 
 
 James. I hope you'll be happy, Catherine. 
 
 Catherine. James: uncle died smiling at me — thinking 
 of me ... and just before he went, he gave me his 
 mother's wedding ring and asked me to marry Frederik. 
 I shall never forget how happy he was when I promised. 
 That was all he wanted. His last smile was for me . . . 
 and there he sat — still smiling after he was gone . . . 
 the smile of a man leaving the world perfectly satisfied — 
 at peace. It's like a hand on my heart — hurting it — when 
 I question anything he wanted. I couldn't meet him in the 
 hereafter if I didn't do everything he wished. I couldn't 
 say my prayers at night; I couldn't speak his name in them. 
 . . . He trusted me; depended upon me; did everything 
 for me ; so I must do this for him. ... I wanted you to 
 know this, James, because . . . 
 
 James. Why haven't you told Frederik the truth? 
 
 Catherine. I have. 
 
 James. That you don't love him.^ [Catherine doesn't 
 answer, but James knows.] . . . And he's willing to take 
 you like that? — a little girl like you — in that way? . . . 
 God! He's rotten all the way through. He's even worse 
 than I thought. Katie: I didn't mean to say a word of 
 this to-day — not a word; but a moment since — something 
 made me change my mind — I don't know what! . . . 
 [Peter smiles,'] I felt that I must talk to you. You looked 
 so young, so helpless, such a child. You've never had to 
 think for yourself — you don't know what you're doing. You 
 couldn't live under it, Catherine. You're making the great- 
 est mistake possible, if you marry without love. Why 
 should you carry out your uncle's plans? You're going to 
 be wretched for life to please a dead man who doesn't know 
 it; or, if he does know it, regrets it bitterly. 
 
 Peter. I agree with you now, James. 
 
 Catherine. You mustn't say that, James. 
 
172 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 James. But I will say it — I will speak my mind. I 
 don't care how fond you were of your uncle or how much 
 he did for you, — it wasn't right to ask this of you. It 
 wasn't fair. The whole thing is the mistake of a very 
 obstinate old man. 
 Catherine. James ! 
 
 James. I loved him, too; but he was an obstinate old 
 man. Sometimes I think it was the Dutch blood in his 
 veins. 
 
 Peter. A very frank, outspoken, fellow. I like to hear 
 him talk — now. 
 
 James. Do you know why I was sent away? Why I 
 quarrelled with your uncle ? I said that I loved you . . . 
 he asked me ... I didn't tell him because I had any 
 hopes — I hadn't ... I haven't now. . . . {^Struck.'] 
 But in spite of what I'm saying ... I don't know what 
 makes me think that I .... I could take you in my 
 arms and you would let me . . . but I do think it. 
 
 Catherine. {^Retreats, hacking towards Peter.] No! 
 . . . Don't touch me, James — you mustn't ! Don't . . . 
 Don't! 
 
 [Peter pushes her into Jameses arms, with- 
 out touching her. She exclaims '' Oh, 
 James! " and fairly runs towards James 
 as though violently propelled. In reality ^ 
 she thinks that she is yielding to an im- 
 pulse. As she reaches him, she exclaims 
 " No! '* and turns hack, hut James, with 
 outstretched arms, catches her, 
 James. You love me. [Draws her to him, 
 
 Catherine. Don't make me say that, James. 
 James. I will make you say it ! You do love me. 
 Catherine. No matter if I do, that won't alter matters. 
 James. What? What? 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 173 
 
 Catherine. No^ no, don't say any more. ... I won't 
 hear it. [She stands free of James — then turns and walks 
 to the stairs.'] Good-bye, Jim. 
 
 James. Do you mean it.^ Are you really going to sacri- 
 fice yourself because of — Am I really losing you.'^ . . . 
 Catherine ! Catherine ! 
 
 Catherine. [In tears — beseechingly.'] Please don't. 
 . • . Please don't. . . . 
 
 [Frederik enters. Until the entrance of 
 Frederik^ Peter has had hope in his 
 face, but now he begins to feel appre- 
 hensive. 
 Frederik. [Throwing his hat and coat in a chair.] I 
 have some work to do — more of my uncle's unopened mail; 
 then I'll join you, Hartman. We must — er — make haste. 
 [James looks at Catherine, then at Fred- 
 erik. Catherine gives him an imploring 
 look — urging him not to speak. Fred- 
 erik has gone to Peter^s desk. 
 James. I'll come back later. [Goes towards the hall. 
 
 Frederik. Catherine: have you asked James to be pres- 
 ent at the ceremony to-morrow.^ 
 Catherine. No. 
 Frederik. James, will you— 
 James. I shall be leaving early in the morning. 
 Frederik. Too bad! 
 
 [Exit James. Frederik lights the desk 
 candles, takes the mail out of the drawer 
 — opens two letters — tears them up after 
 barely glancing at them — then sees 
 Catherine still standing at the foot of 
 the stairs — her back to him. He lays the 
 cigar on the desk, crosses and taking her 
 in his arms, kisses her. 
 
174 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 Catherine. [With a revulsion of feeling,] No! No! 
 No ! [She covers her face with her hands — trying to control 
 herself,] Please! . . . Not now. . . . 
 
 Frederik. Why not now? [Suspiciously,] Has Hart- 
 man been talking to you ? What has he been saying to you ? 
 [Catherine starts slowly up the stairs.] W^ait a moment, 
 please. . . . [As she retreats a step up the stairs he 
 follows her.] Do you really imagine you — you care for 
 that fellow? 
 
 Catherine. Don't — please. 
 
 Frederik. I'm sorry to insist. Of course, I knew there 
 was a sort of school-girl attachment on your part; . . . 
 that you'd known each other since childhood. I don't take 
 it at all seriously. In three months, you'll forget him. 
 I must insist, however, that you do not speak to him again 
 to-night. After to-morrow — after we are married — I'm 
 quite sure that you will not forget you are my wife, Cath- 
 erine, — my wife. 
 
 Catherine. I shan't forget. 
 [She escapes into her room. Frederik goes to his desk. 
 
 Peter. [Confronting Frederik.] Now, sir, I have 
 something to say to you, Frederik Grimm, my beloved 
 nephew! I had to die to find you out; but I know you! 
 [Frederik is reading a letter,] You sit there opening a 
 dead man's mail — with the heart of a stone — thinking: 
 "He's gone! He's gone! — so I'll break every promise!" 
 But there is something you have forgotten — something that 
 always finds us out: the law of reward and punishment. 
 Even now it is overtaking you. Your hour has struck. 
 [Frederik tahes up another letter and begins to read it; 
 then, as though disturbed by a passing thought, he puts it 
 down. As though perplexed by the condition of his own 
 mind, he ponders, his eyes resting unconsciously on Peter.] 
 Your hour has struck. 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 175 
 
 Frederik. [To himself.} What in the world is the 
 matter with me to-night? 
 
 Peter. Read ! 
 
 Frederik. \_Has opened a long narrow blue envelope 
 containing a letter on blue paper and a small photograph. 
 He stares at the letter, aghast.'] My God! Here's luck. 
 . . . Here's luck! From that girl Annamarie to my 
 uncle. Oh, if he had read it ! 
 
 Peter. [Standing in front of Frederik — looks into 
 space — as though reading the letter in the air.] " Dear 
 Mr. Grimm: I have not written because I can't do anything 
 to help William and I am ashamed." 
 
 Frederik. Wh! [As though he had read the first part 
 to himself, now reads aloud.] " Don't be too hard upon 
 me. ... I have gone hungry trying to save a few 
 pennies for him, but I never could; and now I see that I 
 cannot hope to have him back. William is far better off 
 with you. I — " [Hesitates. 
 
 Peter. [Going bach of the desk, standing behind Fred- 
 erik^s chair.] Go on. . . . 
 
 Frederik. *' I wish that I might see him once again. 
 Perhaps I could come and go in the night." 
 
 Peter. That's a terrible thing for a mother to write. 
 
 Frederik. [Who has t>een looking down at the letter — 
 suddenly feeling Peter^s presence.] Who's that? Who's 
 in this room? [Looks over his shoulder — then glances 
 about.] I could have sworn somebody was looking over my 
 shoulder ... or had come in at the door . . . or . . . 
 [But seeing no one — he continues.] '* I met someone from 
 home ... if there is any truth in the rumor of Cath- 
 erine's marriage — it mustn't be, Mr. Grimm — it mustn't be 
 . . . not to Frederik. For Frederik is my little boy's — " 
 [Frederik gives a furtive glance upstairs at the door of 
 the child's room. Picks up the small picture which was in 
 
176 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 the envelope,] Her picture. . . . [Turns it over — looks 
 at back — reads,] '* For my boy, from Annamarie/* 
 
 [Frederik^ conscience stricken for the time 
 being, bows his head. 
 
 Peter. For the first time since I entered this house, you 
 are yourself, Frederik Grimm. Once more a spark of man- 
 hood is alight in your soul. Courage ! It's not too late to 
 repent. Turn back, lad ! Follow your impulse. Take the 
 little boy in your arms. Go down on your knees and ask 
 his mother's pardon. Turn over a fresh page, that I may 
 leave this house in peace. . • . 
 
 Frederik. [Looks about uneasily , then glances towards 
 the door leading into the hall.] Who is at the door.'* Curi- 
 ous. ... I thought I heard someone at . . . 
 
 Peter. I am at the door — I, Peter Grimm ! Annamarie 
 is at the door, — the little girl who is ashamed to come home ; 
 the old mother in the kitchen breaking her heart for some 
 word. William is at the door — your own flesh and blood — 
 nameless ; Katie, sobbing her heart out — you can hear her ; 
 all — we are all at the door — every soul in this house. We 
 are all at the door of your conscience, Frederik. . . . 
 Don't keep us waiting, my boy. It's very hard to kill the 
 love I had for you. I long to love you again — to take you 
 back to my heart — lies and all. [Frederik rises — in deep 
 thought.] Yes ! Call her ! Tell her the truth. Give her 
 back her promise. . . . Give her back her home. . . . 
 Close the door on a peaceful, happy, silent room and go. 
 Think — think of that moment when you gave her back her 
 freedom! Think of her joy, her gratitude, her affection. 
 It's worth living for, lad. Speak! Make haste and call 
 her, Fritz. [Frederik takes several steps — then turns back 
 to the desk. He tears the letter in two, muttering to him- 
 self: ''Damn the woman,'' and sinks into his chair.] Fred- 
 erik Grimm: stand up before me! [Frederik starts to rise. 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 177 
 
 but changes his mind.] Stand up! [Frederik rises — not 
 knowing why he has risen. Pointing an accusing finger at 
 Frederik.] Liar to the dead! Cheat, thief, hypocrite! 
 You shan't have my little girl. You only want her for a 
 week^ a day, an hour. I refuse. I have come back to take 
 her from you and you cannot put me to rest. ... I 
 have come back. . , . You cannot drive me from your 
 thoughts — I am there. . . . [Tapping his forehead, 
 without touching it,] I am looking over your shoulder. 
 ... In at the window . . . under the door. . . . 
 You are breathing me in the air. ... I am looking at 
 your heart. [He brings his clenched fist down on the desk 
 in answer to Frederik's gesture; but despite the seeming 
 violence of the blow, he makes no sound,] Hear me! You 
 shall hear me! Hear me! [Calling loudly,] Hear me! 
 Hear me ! Hear me ! Will faobody hear me ! Is there no 
 one in this house to hear me.^ No one? Has my journey 
 been in vain.^ [For the first time fully realizing the situa- 
 tion.] Oh, must we stand or fall by the mistakes we made 
 here and the deeds we did.'^ Is there no second chance in 
 this world .'^ 
 
 Frederik. [With a sneer on his lips as though trying to 
 banish his thoughts.] Psh ! 
 
 [Marta enters with a tray containing a pot 
 of coffee and a plate of small cakes, 
 Peter^ who has watched her with ap- 
 pealing eyes, like a dog craving attention, 
 glances from her to the desk and from the 
 desk back to Marta — trying to tempt her 
 to look at the torn letter, Frederik, deep 
 in thought, does not notice her, Peter 
 points to the desk as though to say 
 ^' Look! " After a pause she picks up the 
 picture and the letter — holding them in 
 
178 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 one hand to clear a spot for the tray which 
 she is about to set on the desk, 
 
 Peter. [Speaking in a hushed voice,] Marta: see what 
 you have in your hand . . . that letter . . . there 
 . . . read it. . . . Run to Catherine with it. Read it 
 from the house-tops. . . . The letter. . . . Look! 
 There you have the story of Annamarie. ... It is the 
 one way to know the truth in this house — the only way. 
 . . . There in your hand — the letter. . . . He will 
 never speak. . . . The letter for Catherine. 
 
 [Marta sets down the picture and the letter; 
 but something prompts her to look at 
 them; however, before she can carry out 
 her impulse^ Frederik starts up, 
 
 Frederik. My God ! How you startled me ! [Marta 
 sets down the tray,] Oh! To be off and out of this old 
 rat-trap. [He wipes his forehead with his black bordered 
 handkerchief,] I mean — our loss comes home to us so 
 keenly here where we are accustomed to see him. 
 
 Marta. A cup of coffee, sir.^ 
 
 Frederik. No, no, no. 
 
 Marta. [Pathetically,] I thought you wished to keep 
 to your uncle's customs. . . , He always took it at this 
 time. 
 
 Frederik. [Recovering,] Yes, yes, of course. 
 
 Marta. . . . No word.^ . . . 
 
 Frederik. [Hesitates.] What do you mean.'^ 
 
 Marta. No letter? 
 
 Frederik. Letter? . . . [Covering the letter with his 
 hand,] From whom? . . . 
 
 Marta. From. ... At a time like this, I thought. 
 ... I left . . . that Annamarie . . . that there 
 should be some message. . . . Every day I expect to 
 hear. . . . 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 179 
 
 Frederik. No. 
 
 [Peter gestures to Marta — pointing to the 
 picture and letter, now covered by Fred- 
 ERiK^s hand. 
 
 Marta. [Hesitating,] Are you certain? 
 
 Frederik. Quite certain. [She curtsies and leaves the 
 room. Frederik, as though relieved to see her go, jumps 
 to his feet and tearing the letter in smaller pieces, lights 
 them in the candle, dropping the burning pieces on a tray. 
 As the flames die out, Frederik brushes the blackened 
 paper into the waste basket.] There's an end to that! 
 [Peter crouches near the basket hovering over it, his hands 
 clasped helplessly. After a pause, he raises his hand, until 
 it points to a bedroom above. An echo of the circus music 
 is faintly heard; not with the blaring of brasses, but with 
 the sounds of elfin horns, conveying the impression of a 
 phantom circus band. The door of William^s room opens 
 and he comes out as though to listen to the music. He wears 
 a sleeping suit and is bare-footed. He has come down 
 stairs before Frederik sees him. Frederik quickly puts 
 aside the photograph, laying it on the desk, covering it with 
 his hand. Gruffly.] Why aren't you in bed.'* If you're 
 ill, that's the proper place for you. 
 
 William. I came down to hear the circus music. 
 
 Frederik. Circus music? 
 
 William. It woke me up. 
 
 Frederik. The circus left town days ago. You must 
 have been dreaming. 
 
 William. The band's playing now. Don't you hear it, 
 sir? The procession's passing. [He runs to the window 
 and opens it. The music stops. A breeze sweeps through 
 the room — bellies out the curtains and causes the lustres to 
 jingle on the mantel. Surprised.] No. It's almost dark. 
 There's no procession ... no shining horses. . . . 
 
180 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 [Tiirjis sadly away from the window,'] I wonder what 
 made me think the- — I must have been dreaming. [Rubbing 
 his eyes,] 
 
 Frederik. [Goes to the window^ closes it. The child 
 looks at him and in retreating from him, unconsciously backs 
 towards Peter.] Are you feeling better? 
 
 William. Yes^ sir^ I feel better — and hungry. 
 Frederik. Go back to bed. 
 
 William. Yes, sir. [Frederik sits. 
 
 Peter. Where's your mother, William? 
 William. Do you know where Annamarie is? 
 Peter. Ah ! 
 
 Frederik. Why do you ask me? What should I know 
 of her? 
 
 William. Grandmother doesn't know; Miss Catherine 
 doesn't know; nobody knows. 
 
 Frederik. I don't know, either. 
 
 [Tears up the picture — turning so that Wil- 
 liam does not see what he is doing, 
 Peter, who has been smiling at William, 
 motions him to come closer, William, 
 feeling Peter^s presence^ looks around 
 the room, 
 William. Mr. Frederik: where's old Mr. Grimm? 
 Frederik. Dead. 
 
 William. Are you sure he's dead? 'Cause — [Puzzled 
 — unable to explain himself, he hesitates,] 
 
 Frederik. [Annoyed,] You'd better go to bed. 
 William. [Pointing to a glass of water on a tray,] Can 
 I have a drink of water, please? 
 
 Frederik. Go to bed, sir, or you'll be punished. Water's 
 not good for little boys with fever. 
 
 William. [Going towards the stairs,] Wish I could 
 find a cold brook and lie in it. 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 181 
 
 [Goes slowly up the stairs, Frederik would 
 destroy the pieces of the picture; but 
 Peter faces him as though forbidding him 
 to touch it, and for the first time, Fred- 
 erik imagines he sees the apparition of 
 his uncle. 
 Frederik. [In a very low voice — almost inaudibly.'] 
 My God ! I thought I saw. . . . 
 
 [Receding a step and yet another step as 
 the vision of Peter is still before him, 
 he passes out of the room, wipes the 
 beads of sweat from his forehead, Wil- 
 liam, hearing the door close, comes down 
 stairs and running to the table at back^ 
 drinks a glass of water. 
 William. Um! That's good! 
 Peter. William! 
 
 William. [Doesn't see Peter yei, but he feels his 
 presence,"] Wish it had been the circus music. 
 
 Peter. You shall hear it all again. [Gestures towards 
 the plate of cakes on the tray,] Come, William, here's 
 something very nice. 
 
 William. [Seeing the cakes,] Um! Cakes! 
 
 [He steals to the tray, looking over his shoul- 
 der in fear of being caught, 
 Peter. Don't be frightened. I'm here to protect you. 
 Help yourself to the cakes. William: do you think you 
 could deliver a message for me ... a very important 
 message. . . . 
 
 [The circus music is heard, William sits at 
 the table near the tray, and Peter seats 
 himself opposite as though he were the 
 host doing the honors, William, being 
 unconsciously coaxed by Peter, is pre- 
 
182 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 vailed upon to choose the biggest cake. 
 He takes a bite, looking towards Peter. 
 
 William. [To himself,'] Ha! ... Think I am 
 dreaming. [Rubbing his little stomach ecstatically.] Hope 
 I won*t wake up and find there wasn't any cake. 
 
 Peter. Don't worry: you won't. [William has taken 
 another piece of cake which he nibbles at — now holding a 
 piece in each hand,] Pretty substantial dream, eh? There's 
 a fine, fat raisin. [William eats the raisin, then looks into 
 the sugar bowl,] Don't hesitate, William. Sugar won't 
 hurt you now. Nothing can hurt you any more. Fall to, 
 William — help yourself. [William looks over his shoulder^ 
 fearing the return of Frederik.] O, he won't come back 
 in a hurry. Ha! Frederik thought he saw me, William; 
 well, he didn't. He had a bad conscience — hallucination. 
 [William nibbles a lump of sugar,] Now, William: I have 
 a message for you. Won't you try and take it for me, eh.'* 
 [But William eats another lump of sugar,] I see. . . . 
 I can't expect to get any assistance from a boy while his 
 little stomach's calling. [William empties the cream jug 
 and helps himself to cakes. Presently the music dies out.] 
 Now I'm going to tell you something. [Impressively,] 
 You're a very lucky boy, William ; I congratulate you. Do 
 you know why — of all this household — you are the only one 
 to help me.'* . . . This is the secret: in a little time — 
 it won't be long — you're going — [As though he were impart- 
 ing the most delightful information,] — to know better! 
 Think of that! Isn't the news splendid.^ [But William 
 eats on,] Think of what most of us have to endure before 
 we know better! Why, William: you're going into the circus 
 without paying for a ticket. You're laying down the burden 
 before you climb the hill. And in your case, William, you 
 are fortunate indeed; for there are some little soldiers in 
 this world already handicapped when they begin the battle 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 183 
 
 of life. . . . Their parents haven't fitted them for the 
 struggle. . . . Like little moon moths, — they look in 
 at the windows; they beat at the panes; they see the lights 
 of happy firesides — the lights of home, but they never get 
 in. . . . You are one of these wanderers, William. 
 . . . And so, it is well for you that before your playing 
 time is over — before your man's work begins, — you're going 
 to know the great secret. Happy boy ! No coarsening of 
 your child's heart, until you stand before the world like 
 Frederik; no sweat and toil such as dear old James is 
 facing; no dimming of the eye and trembling of the hand 
 such as the poor old Doctor shall know in time to come ; no 
 hot tears to blister your eyes . . . tears such as Katie 
 is shedding now; but in all your youth, your faith — your 
 innocence, — you'll fall asleep and oh ! the awakening, Wil- 
 liam ! ... ** It is well with the child," [William lays 
 down the cake and clapping his hands, thinks, Peter 
 answers his thoughts,'] What.^ No — don't think of it! 
 Nonsense ! You don't want to grow up to be a man. Grow 
 up to fail.'* Or, still worse — to succeed — to be famous.^ 
 To wear a heavy laurel wreath } A wreath to be held up by 
 tired hands that ache for one hour's freedom. No, no: 
 you're to escape all that, William: joy is on the way to 
 meet you with sweets in its outstretched hands and laughter 
 on its lips. [William takes the last swallow of a piece of 
 cake, exclaims '^ Hm! " in a satisfied way, brushes the 
 crumbs off his lap^ and sits back in his chair,] Have you 
 had enough ? Good ! William : I want you to try to under- 
 stand that you're to help me, will you.'* Will you tell Miss 
 Catherine that — 
 
 William. [Without looking up, his hands folded in his 
 lap.] Take me back with you, Mr. Grimm? 
 
 Peter. Can you see me, William.'* 
 
 William. No sir; but I know. 
 
184 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 Peter. Come here. [William doesn't move.] Here 
 . . . here ... [William advances to the center of 
 the room and pauses hesitatingly.] Take my hand . . . 
 [William approaches in the direction of the voice. Peter 
 takes William's outstretched hand,] Have you got it.'* 
 
 William. No^ sir . . . 
 
 Peter. [Putting his hand on William's head.] Now.'* 
 . . . Do you feel it.'* 
 
 William. I feel something: yes, sir. [Puts his hand on 
 Peter's hand which is still on his head.] But where*s 
 your hand? There's nothing there. 
 
 Peter. But you hear me? 
 
 William. I can't really hear you. . . . It's a dream. 
 [Coaa:ingly.] O, Mr. Grimm: take me back with you. 
 
 Peter. You're not quite ready to go with me yet, 
 William — not until we can see each other face to face. 
 
 William. Why did you come back, Mr. Grimm } Wasn't 
 it nice where you were? 
 
 Peter. It was indeed. It was like — [Whimsically.] 
 — new toys. 
 
 William. [To whom the idea appeals.] As nice as 
 that! 
 
 ' Peter. Nicer. But I had to come back with this mes- 
 sage. I want you to help me to deliver it. 
 
 [Indicating the picture. 
 
 William. Where's the bosom of Abraham, Mr. 
 Grimm ? 
 
 Peter. Eh? 
 
 William. The minister says you're asleep there. 
 
 Peter. Stuff and nonsense! I haven't been near the 
 bosom of Abraham. 
 
 William. Too bad you died before you went to the 
 circus, Mr. Grimm. " But it must be great to be in a place 
 where you can look down and see the circus for nothing. 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 185 
 
 Do you remember the clown that sang: ** Uncle Rat has 
 gone to town ? " 
 
 Peter. Yes, indeed; but let us talk of something more 
 important. Come here, William: [He starts towards the 
 desk] would you like to see someone whom all little boys 
 love — love more than anybody else in the whole world? 
 
 [Peter is standing at the desk with his finger 
 on the torn pieces of the picture,] 
 
 William. Yes, the clown in the circus. . . . No. . . . 
 it isn't a clown . . . it*s our mother. . . . Yes, I 
 want to see my mother, Annamarie. [Unconsciously Wil- 
 liam comes to the desk and sees the torn picture — picks 
 up a piece and looks at it. Very simply,] Why . . . 
 there she is ! ... That's her face. 
 
 Peter. Ah! You recognize "her. Mother's face is 
 there, William, but it's in little bits. We must put her 
 together, William. We must show her to everybody in the 
 house, so that everybody will say: "How in the world 
 did she ever get here? To whom does this picture belong? " 
 We must set them to thinking. 
 
 William. Yes. Let us show her to everybody. [He 
 sits and joins the pieces under the guidance of Peter.] 
 Annamarie . . . Annamarie . . . 
 
 Peter. You remember many things, William .... 
 things that happened when you lived with Annamarie, don't 
 you ? 
 
 William. I was very little. . . . 
 
 Peter. Still, you remember. . . . 
 
 William. [Evasively.] 1 was afraid. . . , 
 
 Peter. You loved her. 
 
 William. [To the picture,] O, yes . . . yes, I loved 
 you. 
 
 Peter. Now, through that miracle of love, you can re- 
 member many things tucked away in your childish brain. 
 
186 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 — things laid away in your mind like toys upon a shelf. 
 Come: pick them up and dust them off and bring them 
 out again. It will come back. WTien you lived with 
 Annamarie . . . there was you . . . and Annamarie 
 . . . and — 
 
 William. — and the other one? 
 
 Peter. Ah ! We're getting nearer ! Who was the other 
 one ? 
 
 William. [Gives a quick glance towards the door — 
 then as though speaking to the picture.] I must put you 
 together before he comes back. [He fits the other pieces 
 together — Peter trying to guide him. Presently William 
 hujns as a child will when at play, singing the tune of 
 " Uncle Eat."] " Uncle Rat has gone to town." 
 
 Peter. William. [Singing together.] ** Ha ! Hm!" 
 [At this instant Peter is indicating another 
 piece of the picture.] 
 William. Her other foot. [Then sings."] 
 " Uncle Rat has gone to town. 
 To buy his niece a wedding gown/' 
 [Adjusting a piece of the picture.] Her hand. 
 Peter. William. [Together.'] "Ha! Hm ! " 
 William. Her other hand. ['Sirz^*.] 
 
 " WTiat shall the wedding breakfast be ? 
 Hard boiled eggs and — " 
 l^Speaking.] Where's — 
 
 [Pauses — looking for a piece of the picture. 
 Peter. [Finishing the verse.] ** A cup of tea." 
 
 [With a gesture as though knocking on the 
 door of the adjoining room to attract Mrs. 
 Batholommey's attention. 
 William. [Speaks.] There's her hat. 
 Peter. William. [Together.] "Ha! Hm ! " 
 William. [Stops singing and claps his hands with 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 187 
 
 boyish delight — staring at the picture.'] Annamarie! Anna- 
 marie! You're not in bits any more — you're all put to- 
 gether. 
 
 [By this time Peter is going up the stairs 
 and as he stands in front of Catherine's 
 door, it opens. Peter passes in and 
 Catherine comes out, 
 
 Catherine. [Astonished.] Why, William! What are 
 Tou doing down here? 
 
 William. Miss Catherine ! Come down ! Come down I 
 I have something to show you. 
 
 Catherine. [Xot coming down.] No, dear — come up-^ 
 stairs: there's a good boy. You mustn't play down there^ 
 Come to bed. 
 
 [Passes into William's room, 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Who has entered and seeing Wil- 
 liam.] William ! 
 
 William. Look — look! [Pointing to the picture.] See 
 what old Mr. Grimm brought back with him. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Alarmed,] What are you talking 
 •about^ William.^ Old Mr. Grimm is dead. 
 
 William. No, he isn't . . . he's come back. . . . 
 He has been in this room. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Absurd I 
 
 William. I was talking to him. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. You're feverish again. I must get 
 the Doctor. [Comes dou^n to William.] And I thought 
 you were feeling better! [Seeing Catherine, xcho appears 
 on the balcony as though wondering why William doesn't 
 come to bed,] The child's mind is wandering. He imagines 
 all sorts of things. I'll call the Doctor — 
 
 Peter. [TVho has re-entered.] You needn't — he's com- 
 ing now. Come in^ Andrew. I'm giving you one more 
 chance. 
 
188 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 [The Doctor enters^ wearing his skull cap 
 
 and carrying his pipe in his hand. It is 
 
 evident that he has come over in a hurry. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Surprised,] I was just going 
 
 for you. How fortunate that you came. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. I thought I'd have another peep at 
 William. 
 
 [By this time Catherine has seated herself 
 on a chair and takes William on her lap. 
 He puts his arms around her neck, 
 Mrs. Batholommey. He's quite delirious. 
 Dr. MacPherson. Doesn't look it. [Putting his hand 
 on WiLLiAM^s cheek and forehead,] Very slight fever. 
 What makes you think he was delirious? 
 
 [Counting William^s pulse, 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Interrupting,] He said that 
 old Mr. Grimm was in this room — that he was talking to 
 him. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Interested.] Yes? Really? Well, 
 possibly he is. Nothing remarkable in that, is there? 
 Peter. Well, at last! 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. What? O, of course, you believe 
 in — 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. — In fact, I had a compact with 
 him to return if — 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. A compact? Of all the preposter- 
 ous — 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Not at all. Dozens of cases on 
 record — as I can show you — where these compacts have 
 actually been kept. [Suddenly struck — looking at Wil- 
 liam.] I wonder if that boy's a sensitive. [Hand on his 
 chin,] I wonder. . . . 
 
 Catherine. [Echoing the Doctor's words,] A sensi- 
 tive ? 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 189 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. What's that? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. It's difficult to explain. I mean a 
 human organism so constituted that it can be informed or 
 controlled by those who — er — have — [With a gesture.] 
 crossed over. 
 
 ]\Irs. Batholommey. I think I'll put the boy to bed, 
 Doctor. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Just a moment^ Mistress Batholom- 
 mey. I'm here to find out what ails William. William: 
 what makes you think that Mr. Grimm is in this 
 room ? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. I wouldn't have the child en- 
 couraged in such ideas, Catherine. I — 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Ssh! Please, please. [Taking the 
 boy on his knee.] What makes you think Peter Grimm is 
 in this room.^ 
 
 William. [Hesitating,] . . . The things he said to me. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Said to you? 
 
 Catherine. [Wonderingly,] William . . . are you 
 sure he . . . 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Said to you, eh? [William nods 
 assent,] Old Mr. Grinam? [William nods assent.] Sure 
 of that, William? 
 
 William. O, yes, sir. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Think before you speak, my boy: 
 what did Mr. Grimm say to you ? 
 
 William. Lots of things. ... 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Really ! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Raises his hand for silence,] How 
 did he look, William? 
 
 W^iLLiAM. I didn't see him. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Ha ! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. You must have seen something. 
 
 William. I thought once I saw his hat on the peg 
 
190 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 where it used to hang. [Looks at the peg,] No, it's gone. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Remonstrating.] Doctor! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Thinking.] 1 wonder if he really 
 did— 
 
 Catherine. Do you think he could have been Uncle 
 Peter .?^ 
 
 Peter. [Pointing to the desk.] William! 
 
 William. Look! . . . [Points to the picture.] That's 
 what I wanted to show you when you were upstairs. 
 
 Catherine. [Seeing the picture.] IVs his mother — 
 Annamarie. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. The Lord save us — his mother! 
 I didn't know you'd heard from Annamarie. 
 
 Catherine. We haven't. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Then how'd that picture get into 
 the house .^ 
 
 Peter. Ah ! I knew she^d begin! Now that she's wound 
 up, we shall get at the truth. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. It's a new picture. She's much 
 changed. How ever did it find its way here? 
 
 Catherine. I never saw it before. It's very strange. 
 . . . We've all been waiting for news of her. Even 
 her mother doesn't know where she is, or — could ]Marta 
 have received this since I — 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. I'll ask her. 
 
 [Exit into dining room. 
 
 Catherine. If not, who had the picture? . . . And 
 why weren't we all told? . . . Who tore it up? Did 
 you, William? [William shakes his head, meaning " No"] 
 Who has been at the desk? No one save Frederik . . . 
 Frederik . . . and surely he — 
 
 [She pauses — perplexed. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Re-entering.] No: Marta hasn't 
 heard a word; and only a few minutes ago, she asked 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 19I 
 
 Frederik if some message hadn't come, but he said, ** No, 
 nothing/* I didn't tell her of the picture. 
 
 Catherine. [Looking at the picture.] I wonder if 
 there was any message with it. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. I remember the day that picture 
 came . . . the day your uncle died. ... It was a 
 long blue envelope — the size of the picture. ... I took 
 it from the postman myself because everyone was distracted 
 and rushing about. It dropped to the floor and as I 
 picked it up I thought I knew the writing; but I couldn't 
 remember whose it was. ... It was directed to your 
 uncle. . . . [Looking from the desk to the waste basket,] 
 There's the envelope, — [Holding up a scrap of blue en- 
 velope,] and paper . . . someone has burned it. 
 
 Catherine. Annamarie wrote to my uncle. . . . 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [iVof understanding.] But what 
 could Peter have to say to me concerning Annamarie.'^ 
 [Making a resolution — rising,] We're going to find out. 
 You may draw the curtains, Catherine, if you please. 
 [Catherine draws the curtains. The Doctor turns the 
 lights down and closes the door. A pause,] Peter 
 Grimm. . . . 
 
 Peter. Yes, Andrew.^ ... 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Not hearing,] If you have come 
 back ... if you are in the room . . . and the boy 
 speaks truly — give me some sign . . . some indica- 
 tion . . . 
 
 Peter. I can't give you a sign, Andrew. ... I have 
 spoken to the boy . . . the boy . . . 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. If you cannot make your presence 
 known to me — I know there are great difficulties — will you 
 try and send your message by William.^ I presume you 
 have one — 
 
 Peter. Yes, that's right. 
 
192 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. — or else you wouldn't have come 
 back ? 
 
 Peter. That's just the point I wanted to make, Andrew. 
 You understand perfectly. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [As before,] I am waiting. . . . 
 We are all waiting. [Noticing that a door is a trifle ajar,] 
 The door's open again. 
 
 [Mrs. Batholommey^ without making a 
 sound, closes it and sits as before. 
 
 Peter. Sh ! Listen ! 
 
 [A pause, 
 
 William. [In a peculiar manner — as though in a half 
 dream — but not shutting his eyes. As though controlled 
 by Peter.] There was Annamarie and me and the other. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Very low, as though afraid to in- 
 terrupt William's train of thought.] What other .^ 
 
 William. The man . . . that came. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Whatman.^ 
 
 William. The man that made Annamarie cry. 
 
 Catherine. Who was he? 
 
 William. I don't know . . . 
 
 Peter. Yes^ you do. Don't tell lies, William. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. What man made Annamarie cry.^ 
 
 William. I can't remember. . . . 
 
 Peter. Yes, you can. . . . You're afraid. . . . 
 
 Catherine. [In a low voice,] So you do remember the 
 time when you lived with Annamarie . . . you always 
 told me that you didn't ... [To Dr. MacPherson.] 
 I must know more of this — [Pauses abruptly,] Think, 
 William: who came to the house? 
 
 Peter. That's what I asked you^ William. 
 
 William. That's what he asked. . . . 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Who? 
 
 William. Mr. Grimm. 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 193 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. When^ William? 
 
 William. Just now . . . 
 
 Catherine. Mrs. Batholommey. [Together.^ Just 
 now! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Hm . . . you both ask the same 
 question, eh? The man that came to see — 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Perplexed.] It can't be pos- 
 sible that the child knows what he's talking about. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Ignoring her,] What did you tell 
 Mr. Grimm when he asked you? 
 
 Peter, You'd better make haste^ William. Frederik is 
 coming back. 
 
 William. [Looking uneasily over his shoulder.] Tm 
 afraid. . . . 
 
 Catherine. Why does he always look towards that 
 door? You're not afraid now, William? 
 
 W^illiam. [Looking towards the door.] N-no — but 
 . . . Please don't let Mr. Frederik come back. 'Cause 
 then I'll be afraid again. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Ah! 
 
 Peter. William ? William ? 
 
 William. [Rising quickly,] Yes^ Mr. Grimm? 
 
 Peter. You must say that I am very unhappy. 
 
 William. He says he is very unhappy. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Why is he unhappy? . . . Ask 
 him. 
 
 William. Why are you unhappy, Mr. Grimm? 
 
 Peter. I am thinking of Catherine's future. . . . 
 
 William. [Not understanding the last word — puzzled.] 
 Eh? 
 
 Peter. To-morrow. ... 
 
 William. [After a slight pause.] To-morrow. . . . 
 
 Peter. Catherine's — 
 
 William. [Looks at Catherine — hesitating.] Your — 
 
194 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act II 
 
 [Stops, Catherine gives the Doctor a quick 
 glance — she seems to divine the message. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Prompting.] Her — 
 
 Catherine. What^ William? What of to-morrow? 
 
 Peter. She must not marry Frederik. 
 
 William. I mustn't say that, 
 
 Dr: MacPherson. What? 
 
 William. What he wanted me to say. 
 
 [Points towards Peter. All instinctively 
 look towards the spot to which William 
 points^ but they see no one, 
 
 Peter. [Speaking slowly to the boy.] Catherine — must 
 — not — marry Frederik Grimm. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Speak^ William. No one will hurt 
 you. 
 
 William. O, yes, he will. . . . [Looking timidly 
 towards the door,] I don't want to tell his name — 'cause 
 . . . 'cause ... 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Why don't you tell the name, Wil- 
 liam? 
 
 Peter. Make haste, William, make haste. 
 
 William. [Trembling,] I'm afraid . . . I'm afraid 
 ... he will make Annamarie cry ... he makes me 
 cry . . . 
 
 Catherine. [With suppressed excitement — half to her- 
 self,] Why are you afraid of him? Was Frederik the man 
 that came to see Annamarie? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Catherine ! 
 
 Catherine. [On her knees before William.] Was he? 
 Was it Frederik Grimm? Tell me, William. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Surely you don't believe . . . 
 
 Catherine. [In a low voice, I've thought of a great 
 many things to-day . . . little things . . . little things 
 I'd never noticed before. . . . I'm putting them together 
 
Act II] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 195 
 
 just as he put that picture together. ... I must know 
 the truth. 
 
 Peter. William, make haste. . • . Frederik is listen- 
 ing at the door. 
 
 William. [Frightened.'} I won't say any more. He's 
 there ... at the door. . . . 
 
 [He looks over his shoulder and Catherine 
 goes towards the door,} 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. William, tell me. 
 
 Peter. William ! 
 
 [Catherine opens the door suddenly, Fred- 
 erik is standing, listening. He is taken 
 unawares and for a few seconds he does 
 not move — then he recovers. 
 
 William. Please don't let him scold me. I'm afraid 
 of him. [Going towards the stairs — looking at Frederik.] 
 I was afraid of him when I lived with Annamarie and he 
 came to see us and made her cry. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Are you sure you remember that? 
 Weren't you too small .^ 
 
 William. No: I do remember. ... I always did 
 remember, only for a little while I — I forgot. ... I 
 must go to bed. He told me to. [Goes upstairs. 
 
 Peter. [Calling after William.] You're a good boy, 
 William. [William goes to his room.} 
 
 Catherine. [After a slight pause — simply.] Frederik: 
 you've heard from Annamarie. . . . [Gestures towards 
 the desk. Frederik sees the photograph and is silent.] 
 You've had a letter from her. You tried to destroy it. 
 Why did you tell Marta that you'd had no message — no 
 news } You went to see her, too. Why did you tell me that 
 you'd never seen her since she went away? Why did you 
 lie to me? Why do you hate that child? 
 
 Frederik. Are you going to believe what that boy — 
 
196 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act III 
 
 Catherine. I'm going to find out. I'm going to find 
 out where she is, before I marry you. That child may be 
 right or wrongs but I'm going to know what his mother was 
 to you. I want the truth. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Who has been in thought — now 
 looking up,] We've heard the truth. We had that message 
 from Peter Grimm himself. 
 
 Catherine. Yes: it is true. I believe Uncle Peter 
 Grimm was in this room to-night. 
 
 Frederik. [Not surprised — glancing towards the spot 
 where Peter stood when he thought he saw him,] O ! 
 You too.^ Did you see him, too.^ 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Incredulously,] Impossible ! 
 
 Catherine. I don't care what anyone else may think 
 — people have the right to think for themselves; but I be- 
 lieve he has been here — he is here. Uncle Peter: if you 
 can hear me now, give me back my promise — or — or I'll 
 take it back ! 
 
 Peter. [Gently — smilingly — relieved,] I did give it 
 back to you, my dear; but what a time I had getting it 
 
 across ! 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 ACT III 
 
 [SCENE: The third act takes place at twenty minutes to 
 twelve on the same night. 
 
 The fire is out. The table on which Peter took his 
 coffee in the first act, is now being used by the Doctor 
 for William's medicines, two bottles, two glasses^ two 
 teaspoons, a clinical thermometer, etc, William, who 
 has been questioned by the Doctor, is now asleep up- 
 stairs, Peter^s hat hangs on the peg in the shadow. 
 
Act III] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 197 
 
 Although the hour is late, no one has thought of going 
 to bed. Frederik is waiting at the hotel for the lawyer 
 whom Hicks was to send to arrange for the sale of 
 Peter Grimm^s nurseries^ hut he has not arrived. 
 
 It is now a fine clear night. The clouds are almost 
 silvery and a hint of the moon is showing. 
 
 AT RISE. The Doctor, full of his theories^ is seated 
 before the fire, writing the account of Peter Grimm's 
 return, for the American Branch of the " London 
 Society of Psychical Research.*' 
 
 Dr. MacPhersox. [Reading what he has written,"] 
 " To be forwarded to the London Society of Psychical Re- 
 search: Dr. Hyslop: Dear Sir: This evening at the resi- 
 dence of Peter — " [Pauses and inserts '' the late " and con- 
 tinues to read after inserting the words'] ** — the late Peter 
 Grimm — the well known horticulturist of Grimm Manor, 
 New York, certain phenomena were observed which would 
 clearly indicate the return of Peter Grimm ten days after hi& 
 decease. While he was invisible to all, three people were 
 present besides myself; one of these a child of eight, wha 
 received the message. There was no spelling out of signals 
 nor automatic writing, but word of mouth." [A rap- 
 sounds,] Who will that be at this hour? . . . [Looks 
 at the clock.] Nearly midnight. [Opening the door.] Yes?' 
 
 A Voice. [Outside.] Telegram for Frederik Grimm. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Not in. 1*11 sign. [He signs, and 
 receives the telegram, sets it against a candle stick on the 
 desk and resumes his seat. Reads.] ** I made a compact 
 with Peter Grimm while he was in the flesh, that whichever 
 went first was to return and give the other some sign; and 
 I propose to give positive proof — " [He hesitates — thinks — 
 then repeats] *' positive proof that he kept this compact and 
 that I assisted in the carrying out of his instructions." 
 
398 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act III 
 
 Mrs, Batholommey. [Enters — evidently highly wrought 
 up by the events of the evening.^ Who was that? Who 
 knocked ? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Telegram. 
 
 Mrs, Batholommey. I thought perhaps Frederik had 
 come back. Don't you consider William much better.'* 
 
 Dr, MacPherson. Mm. . . . 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Dear, dear ! The scene that took 
 place to-night has completely upset me. [The Doctor taJces 
 mp his pen and reads to himself.^ Well, Doctor; [She 
 pushes forward a chair and sits at the other side of the 
 iahle — facing him"] the breaking off of the engagement is 
 :Tather sudden, isn't it? We've been talking it over in the 
 front parlor, Mr. Batholommey and I. James has finished 
 his work and has just joined us. I suggest sending out a 
 card — a neat card^ — saying that owing to the bereavement 
 in the family, the wedding has been indefinitely postponed. 
 Of course, it isn't exactly true. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Won't take place at all. 
 
 [Goes on reading, 
 
 ^Mrs. Batholommey. Evidently not; if the whole matter 
 looks very strange to me — how will it look to other people ; 
 especially since we haven't any, any rational explanation 
 — as yet. We must get out of it in some fashion. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Whose business is it? 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. Nobody's, of course. But Cather- 
 ine's position is certainly unusual ; and the strangest part of 
 it all is — she doesn't seem to feel her situation. She's sit- 
 ting alone in the library, seemingly placid and happy. 
 What I really wish to consult you about, is this : should the 
 card we're going to send out have a narrow black border? 
 [_The Doctor is now writing.'] Doctor: you don't appear 
 to be interested. You might at least answer my ques- 
 tion. 
 
Act III] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 1S9 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. What chance have I had to answer? 
 You've done all the talking. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Rising — annoyed.'] O^ of course, 
 all these little matters sound trivial to you; but men like 
 you couldn't look after the workings of the next world if 
 others didn't attend to this. Someone has to do it. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. I fully appreciate the fact, Mistress 
 Batholommey^ that other people are making it possible for 
 me to be myself. I'll admit that; and now if I might have 
 a few moments in peace to attend to something really im~ 
 portant — [The Rev. Mr. Batholommey has entered 
 
 with his hat in his hand. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Doctor: I've been thinking things 
 over. I ran in for a moment to suggest that we suspend 
 judgement until we investigate William's story. I can: 
 scarcely believe that — 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Ump ! [Rises and goes to the tele- 
 phone on the desk,] Four — red. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. I regret that Frederik left the 
 house without offering some explanation. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [At the 'phone,'] Marget: I'm at 
 Peter^s. I mean — I'm at the Grimms'. Send me my bag. 
 I'll stay the night with William. Bye. 
 
 [Seats himself at the table. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Tell Frederik that if he cares to 
 consult me^ I shall be at home in my study. Good nighty 
 Doctor. Good night, Rose. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Hold on^ Mr. Batholommey! [The 
 Rev. Mr. Batholommey turns,] I'm writing an account 
 of all that happened here to-night — 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. [Dubiously,] Indeed ! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. I shall verify every word of the 
 evidence by William's mother for whom I am searching. 
 [The Rev. Mr. Batholommey smiles faintly behind his^ 
 
200 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act III 
 
 hand.] Then I shall send in my report, and not until then. 
 What I wish to ask is this: would you have any objection 
 to the name of Mrs. Batholommey being used as a witness? 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. ^Looks perplexed.'] Well^ — er 
 — a — 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. O, no, you don't ! You may flout 
 our beliefs ; but wouldn't you like to bolster up your report 
 with *' the wife of a clergyman who was present ! " It 
 sounds so respectable and sane, doesn't it.^^ No, sir! You 
 cannot prop up your wild eyed — 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Rose, my dear! 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Sweeping on] theories against 
 the good black of a minister's coat. I think myself that you 
 liave probably stumbled on the truth about William's mother. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Can it be true? Oh dreadful! 
 Dreadful ! 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. But that child knew it all along. 
 He's eight years old and he was with her until five — and 
 five's the age of memory. Every incident of his mother's 
 life has lingered in his little mind. Supposing you do find 
 her and learn that it's all true: what do you prove? Simply 
 that William remembered, and that's all there is to it. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. Let us hope that there's not a word 
 of truth in it. Don't you think, Doctor, — mind I'm not 
 opposing your ideas as a clergyman, — I'm just echoing what 
 everybody else thinks, — don't you believe these spiritualistic 
 ideas leading away from the Heaven we were taught to be- 
 lieve in, tend towards irresponsibility — er — eccentricity — 
 and — oftener — insanity? Is it healthy — that's the idea — 
 'is it healthy? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Well, Batholommey, religion has 
 frequently led to the stake, and I never heard of the Spanish 
 Inquisition being called healthy for anybody taking part in 
 it. Still, religion flourishes. But your old fashioned un- 
 
Act III] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 201 
 
 scientific gilt ginger-bread Heaven blew up ten years ago — 
 went out. My Heaven's just coming in. It's new. Dr. 
 Funk and a lot of the clergymen are in already. You'd bet- 
 ter get used to it, Batholommey, and get in line and into the 
 procession. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. You'll have to convince me first. 
 Doctor — and that no man can do. I made up my mind at 
 twenty-one and my heaven is just where it was then. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. So I see. It hasn't improved a 
 particle. 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. [Tolerantly.'] Well^ well. Good 
 night. 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Follows him in the hall,] Good 
 night, Henry, I'll be home to-morrow. You'll be glad to 
 see me, dear, won't you? 
 
 Rev. Batholommey. My church mouse! 
 
 [He pats her cheek, kisses her good night and goes, 
 
 Mrs. Batholommey. [Who has gone to the door of her 
 room — giving the Doctor a parting shot,] Write as much 
 as you like. Doctor ; words are but air. We didn't see Peter 
 Grimm, and you know and I know and everybody knows 
 that seeing is believing. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Looking up,] Damn everybody! 
 It's everybody's ignorance that has set the world back a 
 thousand years. Where was I before you — O, yes. [Reads 
 as Mrs. Batholommey leaves the room,] *' I assisted in 
 the carrying out of his instructions." 
 
 [Frederik Grimm enters. 
 
 Frederik. Anybody in this house come to their senses 
 yet? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. I think so, my boy. I think several 
 in this house have come to their senses. Catherine has, for 
 one. I'm very glad to see you back, Frederik. I have a few 
 questions to put to you. 
 
202 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act III 
 
 Frederik. Why don't you have more light? It's half 
 dark in this room. [He picks up the lamp from the 
 Doctor's table and holds it so that he can look searchingly 
 in the direction of the desk to see if Peter's apparition is 
 still there. His eye is suddenly riveted on the telegram 
 resting against the candlestick on the desk,] Is that tele- 
 gram for me? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Yes. 
 
 Frederik. O. ... It may explain perhaps why I've 
 been kept waiting at the hotel. . . . [Tries to go to the 
 desk but cannot muster up enough courage.~\ 1 had an 
 appointment to meet a man who wanted to buy the gardens. 
 I may as well tell you, I'm thinking of selling out root and 
 tranch. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Amazed,] Selling out? Peter 
 Grimm's gardens? So this is the end of Peter's great 
 work? 
 
 Frederik. You'll think it strange^ Doctor; but I — I 
 dimply can't make up my mind to go near that old desk 
 of my uncle's. ... I have a perfect terror of the thing ! 
 Would you mind handing me that telegram? [The Doctor 
 'looks at him with scarcely veiled contempt, and hands him 
 the telegram. After a glance at the contents^ Frederik 
 gives vent to a long drawn breath.] Billy Hicks — the man 
 I was to sell to — is dead. . . . [Tosses the telegram 
 across the table towards the Doctor^ who does not take it. 
 It lies on the table,] I knew it this afternoon ! I knew 
 te would die . . . but I wouldn't let myself believe it. 
 Someone told it to me . . . whispered it to me. . . . 
 Doctor: as sure as you live — somebody else is doing my 
 thinking for me ... in this house. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Studying Frederik.] W^hat makes 
 you say that? 
 
Act III] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 20^. 
 
 Frederik. To-night — in this room, I thought I saw my 
 uncle . . . [Pointing towards the desk] there. 
 
 Dr. MacPhersox. Eh? . . . 
 
 Frederik. And just before I saw him — I — I had the 
 , . . the strangest impulse to go to the foot of the stairs 
 and call Kitty, — give her the house — and run — run — get 
 out of it. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. O, a good impulse, I see ! Very un- 
 usual, I should say. 
 
 Frederik. I thought he gave me a terrible look — a 
 terrible look. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Your imcle? 
 
 Frederik. Yes. My God! I won't forget that look! 
 And as I started out of the room — he blotted out . . . L 
 mean — I thought I saw him blot out; . . . then I left 
 the photograph on the desk and — 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. That's how William came by it. [Jots 
 down a couple of notes.] Did you ever have this impulse 
 before — to give up Catherine — to let her have the cottage? 
 
 Frederik. Not much I hadn't. Certainly not. I told 
 you someone else was thinking for me. I don't want to 
 give her up. It's folly ! I've always been fond of her. 
 But if she has turned against me, I'm not going to sit 
 here and cry about it. I shall be up and off. [Rising,'\ 
 But I'll tell you one thing: from this time^ I propose to 
 think for myself. I've taken a room at the hotel and a few 
 things for the night. I've done with this house. I'd like to 
 sell it along with the gardens and let a stranger raze it to the 
 ground; but — [Thinks as he looks towards the desk] when 
 I walk out of here to-night — it's hers — she can have it. 
 . . . I wouldn't sleep here. ... I give her the home 
 because . . . 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Because you don't believe anything 
 
204 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act III 
 
 but you want to be on the safe side in case he — [Gesturing 
 to desk.] was there. 
 
 Frederik. [Puzzled — awed — his voice almost dropping 
 to a whisper.] How do you account for it^ Doctor? 
 
 Dr. MacPhersox. It might have been an hallucination 
 or perhaps you did see him though it could have been in- 
 flammation of conscience. Frederik: when did you last 
 see Annamarie.^ 
 
 Frederik. [Angrily.] Haven't I told you already that 
 I refuse to answer any questions as to my — 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. I think it only fair to tell you that 
 it won't make a particle of difference whether you answer 
 me or not. I have someone on the track now — working 
 from an old address; I've called in the detectives and 111 
 find her, you may be sure of that. As long as I'm going 
 to know it^ I may as well hear your side of it, too. When 
 did you last see Annamarie? 
 
 Frederik. [Sits — answers dully^ mechanically, after a 
 pause.] About three years ago. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Never since .^ 
 
 Frederik. No. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. What occurred the last time you saw 
 her? 
 
 Frederik. [Quietly, as before,] What always occurs 
 when a young man realizes that he has his life before him, 
 must be respected — looked up to, — settle down, think of his 
 future and forget a silly girl? 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. A scene took place, eh? Was Wil- 
 liam present? 
 
 Frederik. Yes. She held him in her arms. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. And then? 
 
 Frederik. I left the house. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Then it's all true. [Frederik is 
 silent.] What are you going to do for William? 
 
Act III] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 205 
 
 Frederik. Nothing. I'm a rich man now — and if I 
 recognize him — he'll be at me till the day he dies. His 
 mother's gone to the dogs and under her influence, the boy — 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Be silent^ you damned young scoun- 
 drel. Oh^ what an act of charity if the good Lord .took 
 William^ and I say it with all my heart. Out of all you 
 have — not a crumb for — 
 
 Frederik. I want you to know I've sweat for that money 
 and I'm going to keep it! 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. You've sweat for — 
 
 Frederik. [Showing feeling.] — Yes ! How do you 
 think I got the money? I went to jail for it — jail, jail. 
 Every day I've been in this house has been spent in 
 prison. I've been doing time. Do you think it didn't get 
 on my nerves ? I've gone to bed at nine o'clock and thought 
 of what I was missing in New York. I've got up at cock- 
 crow to be in time for grace at the breakfast table. I took 
 charge of a class in Sabbath school, and I handed out the 
 infernal cornucopias at the Church Christmas tree, while 
 he played Santa Claus. What more can a fellow do to 
 earn his money.'* Don't you call that sweating.^ Yes sir: 
 I've danced like a damned hand organ monkey for the 
 pennies he left me and I had to grin and touch my hat and 
 make believe I liked it. Now I'm going to spend every 
 cent for my own personal pleasure. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Will rich men never learn wisdom ! 
 
 Frederik. [Rising,'] No, they won't ! But in every 
 fourth generation there comes along a wise fellow — a 
 spender who knows how to distribute the money others 
 have hoarded: I'm the spender. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Shame on you and your like! Your 
 breed should be exterminated. 
 
 Frederik. [Taking a little packet of letters from the 
 desk,] Oy no: we're quite as necessary as you are. And 
 
206 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act III 
 
 now — I will answer no more questions. I'm done. Good 
 nighty Doctor. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. Good night and good-bye. [With 
 a look of disgust, has gone to the table, held a medicine bot- 
 tle to the light to look at the label, and poured a spoonful 
 into a wine glass filled with water. As Frederik leaves the 
 house, the Doctor taps on a door and calls.'] Catherine ! 
 [Catherine enters and shows by the glance she directs at 
 the front door that she knows Frederik has been in the 
 room and has just left the house.] Burn up your wedding 
 dress. We've made no mistake. I can tell you that! 
 [Goes up the stairs to William^s room, taking 
 the lamp with him. James has entered 
 and taking Catherine's hand, holds it for 
 a moment, 
 
 James. Good night, Catherine. 
 
 [She turns and lays her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 Catherine. I wonder, James, if he can see us now. 
 
 James. That's the big mj^stery! . . . Who can tell.'* 
 But any man who works with flowers and things that 
 grow — knows there is no such thing as death — there's 
 nothing but life — life and always life. I'll be back in the 
 morning. . . . Won't you . . . see me to the door? 
 
 Catherine. Yes . . . yes. . . . [They go out to- 
 gether, Catherine carrying a candle into the dark vesti- 
 bule. The moment they disappear, a lamp standing on the 
 piano goes out as though the draught from the door or an 
 unseen hand had extinguished it. It is now quite dark out- 
 side, and the moon is hidden for a moment. At the same 
 time, a light, seemingly coming from nowhere^ reveals Peter 
 Grimm standing in the room at the door — as though he had 
 been there when the young people passed out. He is smil- 
 ing and happy. The moon is not seen, but the light of it 
 (a« though it had come out from behind a cloud) now reveals 
 
Act III] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 207 
 
 the old windmill. From outside the door the voices of 
 James and Catherine are heard as they both say :'\ Good 
 night. 
 
 James. Catherine. ... I won't go without it. ... 
 
 Peter. [Knowing that James is demanding a kiss.] 
 Aha ! [Rubs his hands with satisfaction — then listens — 
 and after a second pause exclaims, with an upraised finger, 
 as though he were hearing the kiss,] Ah! Now I can 
 go . . . 
 
 [He walks to the peg on which his hat hangs 
 and takes it down. His work is done. 
 Catherine re-enters, darting into the 
 hall in girlish confusion. 
 
 James. [His happy voice, outside,] Good night! 
 
 Catherine. [Calling to him through the crack in the 
 door.] Good night! [She closes the door, turns the key 
 and draws the heavy bolt — then leans against the door, 
 candlestick in hand — the wind has blown out the candle,] 
 Oh, I*m so happy! I'm so happy! 
 
 Peter. Then good night to you, my darling: love can- 
 not say good-bye. [She goes to Peter^s chair and sitting 
 thinks it over — her hands clasped in her lap — her face 
 radiant with happiness,] Here in your childhood's home I 
 leave you. Here in the years to come, the way lies clear 
 before you. [His arms upraised,] " Lust in Rust " — 
 Pleasure and peace go with you. [Catherine looks towards 
 the door — remembering James^ kiss — half smiling. Humor- 
 ously.] Y-es; I saw you. I heard ... I know. . . . 
 Here on some sunny blossoming day when, as a wife, you 
 look out upon my garden — every flower and tree and shrub 
 shall bloom enchanted to your eyes. . . . All that hap- 
 pens — happens again. And if at first, a little knock of 
 poverty taps at the door and James finds the road hard and 
 steep — what is money .^ — a thing, — a good thing to have, — 
 
208 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act III 
 
 but still a thing . . . and happiness will come without 
 it. And when, as a mother, you shall see my plantings with 
 new eyes, my Catherine^ — when you explain each leaf and 
 bud to your little people — you will remember the time when 
 we walked together through the leafy lanes and I taught 
 you — even as you teach them — you little thing! . . . 
 So, I shall linger in your heart. And some day should your 
 children wander far away and my gardens blossom for a 
 stranger who may take my name off the gates, — what is 
 my name.'* Already it grows faint to my ears. [Lightly,'] 
 Yes, yes, yes : let others take my work. . . . Why should 
 we care.^ All that happens, happens again. [She rests her 
 elbow on the chair^ half hides her face in her hand.] And 
 never forget this: I shall be waiting for you — I shall know 
 all your life. I shall adore your children and be their 
 grandfather just as though I were here; I shall find it hard 
 not to laugh at them when they are bad and I shall worship 
 them when they are good — and I don't want them too good. 
 . . . Frederik was good. ... I shall be everywhere 
 about you ... in the stockings at Christmas, in a big, 
 busy, teeming world of shadows just outside your thres- 
 hold or whispering in the still noises of the night. . . . 
 And oh! as the years pass, [Standing over her chair] you 
 cannot imagine what pride I shall take in your comfortable 
 middle life — the very best age, I think — when you two shall 
 look out on your possessions arm in arm — and take your 
 well earned comfort and ease. How I shall love to see you 
 look fondly at each other as you say: ** Be happy, Jim — 
 you've worked hard for this." or James say: " Take your 
 comfort, little mother, let them all wait upon you — you 
 waited upon them. Lean back in your carriage — you've 
 earned it! " And towards the end — [Sitting on a chair by 
 her side and looking into her face] after all the luxuries 
 and vanities and possessions cease to be so important — 
 
Act III] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 209 
 
 people return to very simple things, dear. The evening 
 of life comes bearing its own lamp. Then perhaps as a little 
 old grandmother, a little old child whose bed time is draw- 
 ing near, I shall see you happy to sit out in the sunlight of 
 another day ; asking nothing more of life than the few hours 
 to be spent with those you love . . . telling your grand- 
 children at your knees, how much brighter the flowers blos- 
 somed when you were young. Ha! Ha! Ha! All that 
 happens, happens again. , , . And when one day, glori- 
 fied, radiant, young once more, the mother and I shall take 
 you in our arms. Oh! what a re-union! [^Inspired,'] The 
 flight of love — to love. . . . And now . . . [He 
 bends over her and caresses her hand,^ Good night. 
 
 Catherine. [^Rises and going to the desk, buries her 
 face in the bunch of flowers placed there in memory of 
 Peter.] Dear Uncle Peter. . . • 
 
 [Marta enters — pausing to hear if all is 
 quiet in William^s room, Catherine^ 
 lifting her face^ sees Marta and raptur- 
 ously hugs her, to Marta^s amazement — 
 then goes up the stairs. 
 
 Peter. [Whose eyes never leave Catherine.] ^' Lust 
 in Rust!" Pleasure and Peace! Amen! [Catherine 
 passes into her room, the music dying away as her door 
 closes, Marta, still wondering , goes to the clock and winds 
 z^.] Poor Marta ! Every time she thinks of me, she winds 
 my clock. We're not quite forgotten. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Reappears^ carrying William, 
 now wrapped up in an old fashioned Dutch patchwork quilt. 
 The Doctor has a lamp in his free hand,'] So you want to 
 go downstairs, eh? Very good! How do you feel, 
 laddie ? 
 
 William. New all over. 
 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Placing the lamp on the little table 
 
210 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act III 
 
 rigid, and laying William on the couch^l Now I'll get a^ou 
 the glass of cold water. 
 
 [Goes into the dining room^ leaving the door open. 
 
 Peter. [Calling after the Doctor.] Good night, 
 
 Andrew. I'm afraid the world will have to wait a little 
 
 longer for the big guesser. Drop in often. I shall be glad 
 
 to see you here. 
 
 William. [Quichly rising on the couch, looks towards 
 the peg on which Peter^s hat hung. Calling,'] Mr. Grimm! 
 Where are you? I knew that you were down here. [See- 
 ing Peter.] Oh, I see you! 
 
 [Raising himself to his Jcnees on the sofa. 
 Peter. Yes } 
 
 [There is an impressive pause and silence as 
 they face each other, 
 William. O^ you've got your hat . . . it's off the 
 peg. . . . You're going. Need you go right away — 
 Mr. Grimm? Can't you wait a little while? 
 Peter. I'll wait for you, William. 
 
 William. May I go with you? Thank you. I couldn't 
 find the way without you. 
 
 Peter. Yes, you could. It's the surest way in the world. 
 But I'll wait: don't worry. 
 
 William. I shan't. [Coaxingly,] Don't be in a hurry. 
 
 ... I want — [Lies down happily,] to take a nap first. 
 
 . . . I'm sleepy. [He pulls the covering up and sleeps,] 
 
 Peter. I wish you the pleasantest dream a little boy 
 
 can have in this world. 
 
 [Instantly J as though the room were peopled 
 with the faint images of William's dream, 
 the phantom circus music is heard with 
 its elfin horns; and through the music, 
 voices call " Hai! Hai! " The sound of 
 the cracking of a whip is heard and the 
 
Act III] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 211 
 
 blare of a clown's ten cent tin horn. The 
 phantom voice of the Clown {very faint) 
 cdlls, 
 Clown^s Voice. Billy Miller's big show and monster 
 circus is in town this afternoon! Don't forget the date! 
 Only one ring — no confusion. Circus day comes but once 
 a year, little sir. Come early and see the wild animals and 
 hear the lion roar-r-r! Mind: I shall expect you! Wonder- 
 ful troupe of trained mice in the side show. 
 
 [During the above the deeper voice of a haw- 
 ker — muffled and far off — cries. 
 Hawker's Voice. Peanuts^ pop corn^ lemonade — ice cold 
 lemo — lemo — lemonade ! Circus day comes but once a year. 
 [Breaking in through the music^ and the 
 voices of the clown and hawker, the gruff 
 voice of a " barker *' is heard calling. 
 Barker's Voice. Walk in and see the midgets and the 
 giant ! Only ten cents — one dime ! 
 
 [As these voices die away, the Clown^ whose 
 voice indicates that he is now perched on 
 the head of the couch, sings. 
 Clown's Voice. 
 
 ** Uncle Rat has gone to town, 
 Ha! Hm! 
 Uncle Rat has gone to town, 
 To buy his niece — " 
 [His voice ends abruptly — the music stops. 
 Everything is over. There is silence. 
 Then three clear knocks sound on the door. 
 Peter. Come in. . . . [The door opens. No one is 
 there — but a faint path of phosphorous light is seen.] O, 
 friends ! Troops of you ! [As though he recognizes the 
 unseen guests.] I've been gone so long that you came for 
 me, eh.^ I'm quite ready to go back. I'm just waiting for 
 
212 THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM [Act III 
 
 a happy little fellow wlio*s going back with us. ... 
 We'll follow. Do you all go ahead — lead the way. 
 
 [He looks at William, holds out his arms and 
 William jumps up and runs into them,'] 
 Well^ William! You know better now. Come! [Picking 
 up William.] Happy, eh? 
 
 William. [Nods, his face beaming,'] Oh^ yes! 
 Peter. Let's be off, then. 
 
 [As they turn towards the door. 
 Dr. MacPherson. [Re-entering, goes to the couch with 
 the water and suddenly setting down the glass, exclaims in 
 a hushed voice,] My God ! He's dead I 
 
 [He half raises up the boy that appears to be 
 William. The light from the lamp on the 
 table falls on the dead face of the child. 
 Then the Doctor gently lays the boy down 
 again on the couch and sits pondering over 
 the mystery of death, 
 Peter. [To the Doctor.] O, no! There never was so 
 fair a prospect for life! 
 
 William. [In Peter's arms.] I am happy! 
 
 [Outside a hazy moonlight shimmers, A 
 
 few stars twinkle in the far-away sky; 
 
 and the low moon is seen back of the old 
 
 windmill. 
 
 Peter. [To William.] If the rest of them 'only knew 
 
 what they're missing, eh? 
 
 William. [Begins to sing^ joyously.] " Uncle Rat has 
 gone to town." 
 
 [Peter dances up a few steps towards the 
 door, singing with William. 
 Peter. William. [Together,] 
 "Ha! Hm! 
 Uncle Rat has gone to town. 
 
Act III] THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM 213 
 
 To buy his niece a wedding gown. 
 Ha! Hm!" 
 Peter. [Gives one last fond look towards Catherine's 
 room To William.] We're off! 
 
 [Putting the boy over his shoulder, they sing 
 together, as they go up, the phantom 
 circus music accompanying them. 
 Peter. William. [Together.] 
 
 *' What shall the wedding breakfast be. 
 Ha! Hm!" 
 Peter. [Alone.] 
 
 "What shall the wedding breakfast be? 
 Hard boiled eggs and a cup of tea." 
 Peter. William. [Together.] 
 "Ha! Hm!" 
 
 [Peter Grimm has danced off with the child 
 through the faint path of light. As he 
 goes, the wind or an unseen hand closes 
 the door after them. There is a mo- 
 ment's pause until their voices are no 
 longer heard — then the curtain slowly 
 descends. The air of the song is taken 
 up by an unseen orchestra and continues 
 as the audience passes out. 
 Curtain. 
 
ROMANCE 
 
 By 
 
 EDWARD SHELDON 
 
 " My thoughts at the end of the long, long day 
 Fly over the hills and far away — " 
 
 Edward Brewster Sheldon was born in Chicago, Feb- 
 ruary 4, 1886. Harvard was his college, from which he 
 was graduated in 1907 and where he received his master's 
 degree in 1908. His plays are Salvation Nell (1908), The 
 Boss (1911), Princess Zim Zim (1911), Egypt (1912),. 
 The High Road (1912), Romance (1913), Song of Songs 
 (1914) and The Garden of Paradise (1915). 
 
 Romance was first produced at Maxine Elliott's Theatre, 
 New York, Monday, February 10, 1913, with Miss Doris 
 Keane in the leading role as Mme. Margherita Cavallini. 
 It was later produced in London, where its " run " of over 
 one thousand nights was one of the longest on record. In. 
 the spring of 1920, it was produced as a motion picture 
 with Miss Keane in the leading role. 
 
 [Copyright, 1912, 1913, 1914, by Edward Sheldon; Copyright in 
 the Dominion of Canada; Copyright in Great Britain] 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 In the Prologue and Epilogue: 
 Bishop Armstrong 
 
 t his grandchildren 
 suzette i 
 
 In the Story: 
 
 Thomas Armstrong, Miss Snyder 
 
 Rector of St. Giles Mr. Fred Livingstone 
 
 Cornelius Van Tuyl, Mr. Harry Putnam 
 
 of Van Tuyl & Co., Signora Vannucci 
 
 Bankers Baptiste 
 
 Susan Van Tuyl, Louis 
 
 his niece FRAN901S 
 
 Miss Armstrong, Eugene 
 
 the Rector's aunt. Adolph 
 
 Mrs. Rutherford Servant at Mr. Van Tuyl's 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham Butler at the Rectory 
 
 Miss Frothingham Mme. Margherita Cavallini 
 Mrs. Gray 
 
 The Prologue : The Bishop's library in his house on Wash- 
 ington Square. New Year's Eve. 
 About ten o'clock. 
 
 The Story: Act I. Over forty years ago. At Cornelius 
 
 Van Tuyl's house, — 58 Fifth Avenue. 
 A November evening. 
 Act II. The study in the Rectory of St. 
 Giles', East 8th Street. The after- 
 noon of New Year's Eve. 
 Act III. Late that night. Mme. Caval- 
 lini's apartments in the Brevoort 
 House. After her farewell appear- 
 ance as " Mignon." 
 
 The Epilogue: The Bishop's library again. Midnight. 
 
 Place: New York. Time: Now and the 1860's. 
 
ROMANCE 
 
 THE PROLOGUE 
 
 [SCENE: The Bishop's library in Washington Square. At 
 right are two windows, with heavy curtains drawn. 
 At left IS a large fireplace, with a white marble mantel. 
 At back is the door leading to the rest of the house. 
 There are high bookcases, running up to the ceiling, set 
 in both walls wherever there is any space. In a corner 
 at back stands a Victrola, of sober mahogany. Before 
 the fireplace, half facing the audience, is the Bishop's 
 big armchair. At right, is a big mahogany table-desk, 
 arranged in an orderly way with electric lamp, tele- 
 phone, desk-furniture, books, memoranda, files, etc. 
 The chair is behind it, between the windows. The 
 whole room is one of quiet dignity, — slightly old- 
 fashioned in effect, and very comfortable. 
 
 It is night. The lamp on the desk is turned on and 
 there is a cheerful wood fire burning. In his armchair 
 before the fire sits Bishop Armstrong. He is a charm- 
 ing, drily humorous old man of about seventy, Suzette, 
 — a decided young woman of seventeen, — is sitting at 
 the desk, reading aloud from the evening paper,'] 
 
 SuzETTE. [Skimming over the headlines.] " Regulation 
 of Skyscrapers — Drastic Measures — " [She yawns,] 
 ** Borough President Gives to Board of Estimates the Re- 
 port on Improvement." [Looking up.] Sounds dull, 
 doesn't it? 
 
 217 
 
218 ROMANCE [Prologue 
 
 The Bishop. No — but if you think so^ try the next. 
 
 SuzETTE. [Reading,] " President in the West — Yes- 
 terday's Speech at Cheyenne " — Is that the way you pro- 
 nounce it? — *' Crops^ Race Suicide, and Tariff Reform/' 
 [As the noise of horns drifts in from the street.] Oh, I 
 do wish those boys would stop! 
 
 The Bishop. [Philosophically.] It's New Year's Eve. 
 
 SuzETTE. I know, but they needn't make such a fuss 
 about it. [Returning to her paper,] The President talked 
 two and a half columns and he looks dreadfully dull. Do 
 you want me to read him } Now, grandpa, speak the truth ! 
 Wouldn't you much rather have me start the Victrola.'^ 
 
 The Bishop. Well, my dear, perhaps I would. Where's 
 Harry .^ He said he wanted to speak to me after dinner 
 about something important, 
 
 SuzETTE. [Busy with the Victrola,] Oh, he just went 
 out. He'll be back soon. [The song begins,] There, 
 grandpa! Isn't that a splendid record.'* 
 
 The Bishop. [Singing,] Ta-ta-ta-ta! Yes — a very 
 fine voice. Who is it.^ 
 
 SuzETTE. Tetrazzini. 
 
 The Bishop. Ah, you should have heard Patti sing this 
 at the Academy in '72 — ! 
 
 SuzETTE. Now, grandpa, I can't help being young, and 
 anyway I'm sure that Garden and Fremstad and Farrar 
 are every bit as good as your Crisis and Pattis and Caval- 
 linis. And as for Caruso — ! 
 
 The Bishop. [Softly,] I have heard Mario! [Hum- 
 ming again,] Ta-ta-ta-ta! Now for the cadenza — [He 
 listens,] Fair — quite fair! [With a sigh,] After all, 
 there's no one like Verdi! 
 
 SuzETTE. Grandpa. 
 
 The Bishop. Yes, dear? 
 
 SuzETTE. [Beguilingly,] Which do you think would be 
 
Prologue] ROMANCE 21ff 
 
 more apt to melt you into a perfectly angelic^ Bavarian- 
 cream sort of mood — Parigi from Traviata or the Sextette 
 from Lucia? 
 
 The Bishop. I'm melted already. I'm just running 
 over the side of the dish. 
 
 SuzETTE. Really.^ No, I think you need one more. I 
 want you very, very soft. [Picking out a fresh record.^' 
 Oh, here's a brand-new Destinn ! That'll do it ! 
 
 The Bishop. What's the opera? 
 
 SuzETTE. [Adjusting the record.] Wait and see. [The^ 
 voice is heard,] Do you remember it? 
 
 The Bishop. [Looking away.] Yes — yes, I remember 
 — [He rouses himself suddenly.] Don't play that, Suzette. 
 I know I'm foolish, but it makes me rather sad. 
 
 Suzette. [Stopping the record.] I thought you'd like: 
 it. It's from Mignon. 
 
 The Bishop. Yes, I know — but — [In a different tone."^ 
 Suppose we have a little Harry Lauder for a change? 
 
 Suzette. [Adjusting the record.] Grandpa, your taste 
 in music is low. That's the only word. And I've tried so 
 hard to uplift it. Just think of those wonderful Boston 
 Symphony concerts I dragged you to last winter ! And now 
 I think you'd rather hear I Love a Lassie than Beethoven J 
 
 The Bishop. [Tranquilly,] I would indeed. 
 
 Suzette. And you a Bishop of the Episcopal Church T 
 [She starts the machine.] There! 
 
 The Bishop. [Leaning hack in his chair and singing 
 under his breath.] 
 
 ^' I love a lassie, 
 A bonny Highland lassie — 
 She's the—" 
 
 Suzette. [Coming and perching on the arm of his^ 
 chair.] Oh, grandpa, you are such a dear old — baby! 
 
 The Bishop. Yes, ma'am? 
 
220 ROMANCE [Prologue 
 
 SuzETTE. And I know I bully you an awful lot. Don't I ? 
 
 The Bishop. Well^ I'm used to it! 
 
 SuzETTE. How horrid of you! Why, I don't bully you 
 at all! Of course there are times when you do need dis- 
 ciplining — 
 
 The Bishop. \^SmiUng.'] So your grandmother used to 
 tell me. 
 
 SuzETTE. And you haven't anyone to do it except me. 
 
 The Bishop. I know. 
 
 SuzETTE. l^Softening,'] But I don't want you to think 
 I'm a tyrant — especially to-night ! 
 
 The Bishop. To what am I indebted for this holiday.^ 
 
 SuzETTE. Well, I've got something to tell you. 
 
 The Bishop. Yes? 
 
 SuzETTE. And I don't know whether or not you'll like it. 
 
 The Bishop. I like everything. It's my greatest fault! 
 
 SuzETTE. ISuddenly smiling,'] Oh! oh! What about 
 Wagner ? 
 
 The Bishop. [Firmly.'] Except Wagner. Yes, that's 
 true — I can't stand Wagner! 
 
 SuzETTE. Well, I doubt if you can stand this, either. 
 
 The Bishop. Suppose you give me a try! 
 
 SuzETTE. All right. [She stops the record,] It's Harry. 
 
 The Bishop. I thought so. 
 
 SuzETTE. He's gone and done it. 
 
 The Bishop. What.^ 
 
 SuzETTE. [All in a rush.] I mean he hasn't really 
 gone and done it, because he naturally can't do anything 
 without her and she says she won't do a thing until she's 
 met you and you've said it's all right, so that's why Harry 
 wanted to speak to you to-night and you mustn't breathe 
 one word about my telling you — you see, he's planning to 
 do it all himself, but when he said he thought the shock 
 would kill you and he'd be held up for '* episcocide " — yes, 
 
Prologue] ROMANCE 221 
 
 that's what he called it! — I thought I'd better break it to 
 you gently. [Slight pause,] Don't you think I've been 
 wise, grandpa, to break it to you gently? 
 
 The Bishop. You haven't broken it at all, my dear. I 
 don't know what you're talking about. 
 
 SuzETTE. Why, grandpa, I've just told you! Harry's 
 engaged to a girl named Lucile Anderson ! 
 
 The Bishop. Oh! I must be getting deaf. Dear me! 
 And who is Lucile Anderson.^ 
 
 SuzETTE. Well, that's just it. Lucile's an — an artist. 
 
 The Bishop. You mean she paints? 
 
 SuzETTE. No, she doesn't exactly paint. You know, 
 there're all kinds of artists, grandpa, and Lucile — well, 
 Lucile's art is — er — a very beautiful art, it's the art of — 
 er — 
 
 The Bishop. Well? 
 
 SuzETTE. The art of — er — impersonation on the stage. 
 [Slight pause,] 
 
 The Bishop. In short, the young lady is an actress. 
 
 SuzETTE. Yes. [Nervously,] Well, it doesn't make any 
 difference. Lots of nice girls are nowadays. 
 
 The Bishop. [To himself,] An actress — ! 
 
 SuzETTE. [Bursting out.] But she's a perfect dear and 
 her father was a well-known lawyer in Toronto, Canada, 
 but he died and left her without a cent and her influence 
 over Harry is very, very good and I'm sure you'll love her 
 when you get to know her — I do, anyway, and I've only 
 seen her four times — [Coaxingly,] Grandpa, say it's all 
 right, please ! Remember — it's our own Harry ! 
 
 The Bishop. [Drily,] That's just what I am remem- 
 bering, dear. He always did have very little sense ! 
 
 SuzETTE. [Reproachfully,] Why, grandpa, he played 
 quarter on the Varsity! And you said yourself that took 
 a lot of brains ! 
 
222 ROAIANCE [Prologue 
 
 The Bishop. [Smiling,'] Did I? Well^ this proves I 
 was mistaken. 
 
 SuzETTE. Oh^dear! I — [Suddenly,] Wait! I heard 
 the front-door ! That's Harry — ! [She slips off the arm of 
 his chair,] Now remember ! Don't you get me into trouble ! 
 
 The Bishop. I won't! 
 
 SuzETTE. Promise? 
 
 The Bishop. Cross my heart and hope to die ! [Enter 
 Harry, He is an attractive young man of about twenty- 
 two or three — restless^ young and impetuous. He wears a 
 dinner-coat,] Well ! W^e'd almost given you up ! 
 
 Harry. [Ill at ease.] I had to make a call. Didn't 
 Suzie tell you.^ 
 
 The Bishop. [Tranquilly,] Oh, yes, she said some- 
 thing or other. Well, what about our little chat? 
 
 Harry. [Nervously,] Your — your rheumatism isn't 
 bothering you too much, is it, sir? To-morrow would — 
 
 The Bishop. Oh no ! Suzie's played all my aches away 
 with Rigoletto and Trovatore, I'm fit as a fiddle, my boy, 
 so put another log on the fire and go ahead. 
 
 Harry. All right, sir. 
 
 [He puts on the log, motioning the while for 
 Suzette to leave. 
 
 Suzette. [To the Bishop,] I'll come in later and finish 
 the Post to you before you go to bed. [To Harry, in a 
 lower voice,] Don't worry! I've got him going! 
 
 Harry. Thanks, old girl. [She goes out.] 
 
 Harry. [Turning resolutely to the Bishop,] Grand- 
 father, I have something I want to — 
 
 The Bishop. [Gently,] If you go to my desk, Harry, 
 and open the second drawer from the top on the left-hand 
 side, I think you'll see a box of cigars. [As Harry obeys,] 
 Thank you. Can you find them? [Harry returns with the 
 box,] Won't you have one? [Harry shakes his head,] 
 
Prologue] ROMANCE 223 
 
 I know they're not as good as yours^ but I can't afford the 
 very best brands. 
 
 Harry. I don't feel like smoking now. Grandfather, 
 I've come to you in order to — 
 
 The Bishop. [Gently interrupting,'] Er — just one 
 moment. I haven't any match. 
 
 Harry. Oh Lord ! Excuse me ! [He lights the Bishop's 
 cigar.] There! Now I want to tell you what's on my 
 mind, grandfather. It's been there for some time and I 
 — I— 
 
 The Bishop. Yes.^ 
 
 Harry. [Embarrassed.] I think I ought to — to get it 
 off. 
 
 The Bishop. Well.^ 
 
 Harry. You see — it's this way. [Pause.] 
 
 The Bishop. [Mildly.] What way.^ 
 
 Harry. Hang it, I don't know how to put the thing, but 
 — but — [Looking up and seeing the Bishop smiling at him.] 
 Well, I'll be — ! You're on! You've been on all the time! 
 
 The Bishop. Your intuition is overwhelming, Harry, — 
 but it's correct. As you say, — I'm on. [Pause.] 
 
 Harry. [Wrathfully looking at door.] I might have 
 known no girl could keep a secret! 
 
 The Bishop. [Hastily.] It's my fault! I wrung it out 
 of her ! I kicked her shins ! I squeezed her neck ! I — 
 twisted her arm ! 
 
 Harry. [Disgusted.] And now you're making fun of 
 me! Well — ! [He straightens up defiantly.] 
 
 The Bishop. [Suddenly tender.] I'm not making fun 
 of you, Harry. 
 
 Harry. [Uncomfortably.] I meant to tell you myself 
 about Lucile. I didn't want anybody else butting in. 
 
 The Bishop. Of course — I know. You must love her a 
 great deal! 
 
224. ROMANCE [Prologue 
 
 Harry. [Still a little sulkily,] Well, I do. 
 
 The Bishop. And she's very pretty, isn't she.'^ 
 
 Harry. [Brightening.] Did Suzie tell you? 
 
 The Bishop. No — I just guessed — that's all. 
 
 Harry. [Enthusiastically,] And she's awfully clever, too 
 — acts like a streak — and she has just bunches of char- 
 acter ! Why, when it comes down to it, she's ten times too 
 good for me! She's just too wonderful for anything! 
 
 The Bishop. [With a little smile.] Of course she is 
 — of course — of course. 
 
 Harry. I met her at the Randalls' — you know, that 
 painter fellow — and now she's all alone in a rotten board- 
 ing-house on Tenth Street and she has no work and her 
 family are all dead — and so I really think I ought to marry 
 her right off. Now don't you agree with me.^ [Pause.] 
 Well? Don't you? 
 
 The Bishop. [Rousing himself with an effort.] I don't 
 know, Harry. You see, you're so young — you're just be- 
 ginning life, and you may change, and grow, my dear boy, 
 there may come a time when you'll need more than any 
 little actress can ever give you — [Harry makes a move- 
 ment.] Oh, it's all right now, you love her — I know 
 that! But are you quite sure, Harry, that you'll always 
 love her just the way you love her now and nothing hidden 
 in the future — or in the past — can ever shake your faith and 
 beat you down and break your heart? 
 
 Harry. I don't know what you mean. 
 
 'The Bishop. You must be very, very sure, my boy — 
 or else you're not fair to yourself — and what's worse — I'm 
 afraid you're not fair to her, 
 
 Harry. [Bursting out.] Oh, what's the good of talk- 
 ing! I just knew it would be this way! There's absolutely 
 no use trying to do things with my family — they're all alike 
 — look at Uncle Thomas and Aunt Sarah and Cousin Ralph 
 
Prologue] ROMANCE 225 
 
 and the whole crowd of them — narrow, conventional, dry- 
 as-dust! [Turning away suddenly J] If only dad and 
 mummy were alive, they^d understand ! 
 
 The Bishop. [Hurt.] Don't say things like that, 
 Harry! You know I've done my best for Suzette and 
 you. 
 
 Harry. [Penitent,'] I know you have. I didn't mean 
 that, grandpa. But you see, it's a long time now since 
 you've been young and I think it's sort of hard for you to 
 remember back and realize what it's like and — sympathize 
 with a fellow! [Going on quickly,] Oh, I know you're 
 awfully wise and you can see clear through people and 
 understand 'em that way, but this is different — I don't be- 
 lieve you ever felt the way I'm feeling now — and so — 
 [Gulping,] Oh, well, there's no use going on. Thanks 
 for trying, grandpa — I won't keep you up any longer. 
 [He is at the door ready to leave,] 
 
 The Bishop. Where are you going? 
 
 Harry. [A trifle defiantly,] I'm going to get married. 
 
 The Bishop. To-night.^ 
 
 Harry. Yes, we got the license this afternoon. [Slight 
 pause,] 
 
 The Bishop. Come in, Harry, and shut the door. 
 
 Harry. [Doing so,] What do you want.'^ 
 
 The Bishop. You said I couldn't remember back and 
 realize how one felt when one was young — and life was 
 just a glorious chaos of passion and beauty and despair. 
 Well, I do remember. Because no matter how old one 
 grows, Harry, there are always some things that keep a 
 little youth still burning in one's heart. 
 
 Harry. I didn't mean to hurt you, grandpa. 
 
 The Bishop. You didn't, my dear boy. But you've 
 made me think of something that I'd supposed I'd forgot- 
 ten — it's so long ago since it came up in my mind. It's 
 
226 ROMANXE [Prologue 
 
 something I never told to anyone before — I used to think 
 I never would. Oh, well — times change, and I didn't 
 realize then I was to have a grandson just like you. I 
 wonder, Harry, if youll have time to wait and hear about 
 it.? 
 
 Harry. [Distrustfully ,'] If you think it's anything 
 that's going to change my mind about Lucile, you might as 
 well stop right here. [As the Bishop rises with difficulty 
 and goes slowly over to the desh,'] What is it, grandpa.? 
 Can't I get it.? 
 
 The Bishop. [Suddenly , with a sharp intake of breath,'] 
 A-ah ! 
 
 Harry. [Sympathetically,'] Your rheumatism, sir? 
 
 The Bishop. [With a smile.] Don't mention rheuma- 
 tism now, my boy! [He stands for a moment above the 
 desh and shuts his eyes,] I'm only twenty-eight years old! 
 [Taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, he 
 unlocks a lower drawer and, after some 
 fumbling, comes up with a small mahogany 
 box which he lays on the desk before him. 
 
 The Bishop. Do you know what's in this little box.? 
 
 Harry. No, sir. What.? 
 
 The Bishop. [With a radiant smile,] Romance, my 
 boy — the perfume of romance ! 
 
 Harry. How — how do you mean, sir? 
 
 The Bishop. Look! 
 
 [He opens the box and takes out a little wisp 
 of lace, 
 
 Harry. [Awed,] What is it, grandpa.? A handker- 
 chief.? 
 
 The Bishop. [Nodding.] A little handkerchief. [He 
 undoes it and discloses a few old flowers.] White violets 
 — [He sniffs them, then smiles and shakes his head.] 
 They're dried and yellow now. Their sweetness is all gone. 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 227 
 
 I'm an old man, Harry, but somehow — why, it seems like 
 yesterday — 
 
 Harry. [Wonderingli/.] What, sir? 
 The Bishop. [Turning out the desk-lamp, and crossing 
 to his chair again, holding the flowers and handkerchief 
 very carefully in his hands.'] Ah, that's what I'm going to 
 tell you now! Sit down, my boy — [As Harry obeys.] Are 
 you comfortable there? That's right! — Well, it was over 
 forty years ago — forty years — dear me, how the time flies ! 
 — and I was the young Rector of St. Giles, you know. That 
 was before I married your grandmother — God bless her! 
 — although I'd known her nearly all my life. Well, Harry, 
 one night — in November, it was — I went to an evening 
 party at old Cornelius Van Tuyl's house and there in that 
 kaleidoscope of jewels and flowers and crinolines the great 
 adventure of my life began — 
 
 [And, as he speaks, from far away comes the 
 sound of a quaint old polka, and Harry 
 and the Bishop and the whole room melt 
 into the dark. The music swells and the 
 lights, blooming again from crystal chan- 
 deliers, reveal the living vision of the past. 
 
 ACT I 
 
 [SCENE: Evening reception at Mr. Cornelius Van Tuyl's 
 house, about 1867. It is a small upstairs drawing- 
 room. In the center is the stairway leading to the 
 rooms below. At left is the door to the library. In 
 foreground, at right, there is a couch, turned slightly 
 to face the audience. At its head stands a small, 
 marble-topped table. At left of foreground is a tete-a- 
 tete chair. A seat runs along the balustrade which 
 
228 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 encircles the staircase well. Lamps in the foreground 
 shed a mellow light which contrasts with the brilliance 
 reflected from the rooms below. 
 
 The lights go up upon an animated scene. The little 
 room is filled with people. At back, leaning on the 
 balustrade which surrounds the well, stand two men- 
 about'town, looking out over the rooms below. Near 
 them are a young man and a girl, talking, laughing, and 
 flirting. Another young man and a girl — she on his 
 arm — cross the stage, chatting gaily. They turn, 
 descend the staircase, and disappear. Mrs. Ruther- 
 ford, — a rather pretty, affected woman, — is sitting on 
 the couch ai right. Beside her is Miss Susan Van 
 TuYL, a sensible, attractive young woman of about 
 twenty-five, dressed simply and charmingly in white. 
 They are listening to Mr. Harry Putnam, an elderly 
 beau of the period, who stands twirling his moustaches, 
 his feet crossed, ogling and talking to them. Mrs. 
 Frothingham^ — a buxom, florid dowager, very richly 
 and fussily dressed, — sits on the tete-a-tete at left with 
 her daughter, a pretty young girl of eighteen. 
 
 The Young Man. [To the young girl on his arm, as 
 they cross the stage.'] A very brilliant party, don't you 
 think? 
 
 The Girl. Oh, quite the most elegant affair of the 
 winter! [They turn to the stairs.] 
 
 The Young Man. [To another young man just coming 
 up.] Oh, Frank, is the dancing saloon crowded? 
 
 The Second Young Man. Not just now. They're be- 
 ginning to serve supper. 
 
 The First Young Man. [To the girl.] Splendid! 
 
 [They go downstairs. 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 229 
 
 The Second Young Max. [To Mrs. Frothingham, 
 with a bow,] Mrs. Frothingham, may I have the honor 
 of this polka? 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham. You droll wretch, don't you know 
 my dancing days are over.^ 
 
 The Young Man. [To the girL] Miss Frothingham, 
 then, may be persuaded to atone for — 
 
 Miss Frothingham. [Rising,] Of course I may! I 
 love to polk! [They turn towards the stairs, 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham. [Rising,] My dearest Susan — 
 Agatha — forgive me if I come and talk to you. 
 
 [She joins the group at couch — right. Mean- 
 while the two men-about-town are heard 
 to speak from the balustrade, where they 
 are looking at crowd below. 
 The First Man. Who's that woman with the diamonds 
 — down there by the door.'* I thought at first it might be 
 Cavallini. 
 
 The Second Man. [Turning away.] No, Cavallini's 
 singing that new opera — what's its name.'* 
 First Man. Mignon? 
 
 The Second Man. Mignon — of course! She's still at 
 the Academy — she won't be here till twelve. 
 
 The First Man. Shall we have supper now or shall we 
 wait.'* 
 
 The Second Man. Now, my dear chap, now! This 
 is one of the few houses where Blue Seal Johannisberger 
 flows like water. 
 
 The First. [At the stairs,] And the '48 claret! I'd 
 forgotten that — 
 
 [They disappear below, talking, A burst 
 of laughter from the girl who is flirting 
 with the young man at the back of the 
 scene. 
 
^30 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 The Girl. You mustn't talk to me that way any more! 
 Now give me your arm and take me downstairs to mamma — 
 
 Her Partner. Do you know you have exactly the same 
 -eflfect on me as a glass of champagne ! 
 
 The Girl. [At the top of the stairs.] Of course, I don't 
 know anything about that ! 
 
 Her Partner. No, of course not. It doesn't last long 
 — still — while it lasts — 
 
 [They descend, talking and laughing. 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham. [Sitting on the couch, at right.] 
 You can say what you please, Miss Van Tuyl, the Rector's 
 nose is not Grecian ! 
 
 Susan. [Very politely.] Dear Mrs. Frothingham, are 
 noses your only standard? 
 
 Mrs, Rutherford. [Shaking her head.] Ah, well — 
 his grandfather on his mother's side came of very doubtful 
 jstock! An Irish peasant, I believe — he landed sometime^ 
 ^bout 1805. 
 
 Susan. Surely, Mrs. Rutherford, your memory doesn't 
 take you quite as far back as all that? 
 
 Putnam. And to think we are condemned to listen to his 
 sermons! Why, last Sunday I woke up just in time to 
 catch the young puppy making scurrilous allusions to me — .' 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham. To you, Mr. Putnam? Dear me, 
 I regret exceedingly that my neuralgia kept me from at- 
 tending church! What did he — ? 
 
 Susan. He said he didn't doubt that several of our 
 elderly beaux would soon be making Heaven fashionable 
 and organizing society among the more exclusive angels ! 
 
 [Tom is seen leisurely coming upstairs. He 
 is about twenty-eight, healthy, positive, 
 and determined. He is dressed very 
 simply and a little shabbily. He has a 
 very hearty, genial quality, but no humor.] 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 231 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham. Abominable! 
 
 Mrs. Rutherford. Blasphemous, I call it! 
 
 Putnam. Hardly the remark of a gentleman! 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham. But he's not a gentleman ! 
 
 Putnam. He dresses like a pen-wiper! 
 
 Mrs. Rutherford. He spends all his spare time with 
 working men! 
 
 Putnam. [To Susan.] My dear young lady, why your 
 excellent uncle ever gave him the church is more than I 
 shall ever understand ! 
 
 Susan. Because uncle knows he's the coming man — 
 that's why! Look what he's done here in just these two 
 years ! Hasn't he built up the congregation from nothing at 
 all to the third biggest in New York ? Hasn't he started the 
 athletic club for the young men and the cooking classes for 
 the girls? Hasn't he founded our parish school for poor 
 children, and got people to donate a playground, and a 
 circulating library, and a big hall for free lectures and 
 musical entertainments? Isn't he just as much at home 
 arid just as much loved down in a Bowery saloon as he is 
 here in a Fifth Avenue drawing-room? Isn't he — 
 
 Putnam. My dear Miss Van Tuyl! 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham. He's impossible! 
 
 Mrs. Rutherford. Outrageous! 
 
 Putnam. A blot on the parish! 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham. A disgrace to the church — 
 
 Putnam. [Suddenly seeing Tom.] Er — what wonder- 
 ful weather we're having! 
 
 Mrs. Rutherford. [To Mrs. Frothingham.] Rather 
 cold for November, don't you think? 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham. [Trembling.'] Yes — yes — very 
 warm indeed — 
 
 Susan. [Bewildered,'] But — [She turns and sees Tom.} 
 Oh, I see ! [Smiling,] We're talking about you, Tom. 
 
232 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 Tom. [Briefly.] I heard. Thank you^ Susan. 
 
 Mrs. Rutherford. [Rising.] We were all saying the 
 most flattering things — 
 
 Mrs. Frothinham. [Rising.] Dear Dr. Armstrong, I 
 — I wonder your ears weren't burning — 
 
 Putnam. [Laughing nervously.] By Jove^ yes — so 
 do I! 
 
 Tom. Don't let me drive you away. 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham. Er — I must look after Mabel. I 
 mustn't let the dear child dance too much ! 
 
 Putnam. And I was on the point of offering Mrs. 
 Rutherford some supper. 
 
 Mrs. Rutherford. How very kind! [To Susan.] Au 
 revoir, my dear — good-night, Dr. Armstrong. 
 
 Mrs. Frothingham. Good-night — good-night. 
 
 Putnam. [Bowing.] Your servant. 
 
 [The three go downstairs. 
 
 Susan. [After them.] Don't go before Madame Caval- 
 lini comes — she's promised to sing for us and you know 
 what that means! Au revoir — au revoir! [Turning to 
 Tom.] Cats! Two tabbies and one old tom! Did you 
 hear what they were saying.^ 
 
 Tom. Just a little. [Loftily.] What does it matter? 
 They're not the people I care about — they're not the people 
 that really count! 
 
 Susan. I know. But I just can't bear their criticizing 
 you! [Looking at him.] Oh, Tom! You've got on your 
 oldest clothes ! Why couldn't you have stopped to dress ? 
 
 Tom. Well, I was going to, honestly I was. But this 
 is my night at the athletic club and about ten o'clock, just 
 as I'd taken on the heavyweight of the ward, little Jimmy 
 Baxter came running in and said young Sullivan was drunk 
 and killing his wife so would I please step over.^ [Noticing 
 her glance.] What are you looking at? 
 
Act I] EOMANCE 233 
 
 Susan. Your hair! 
 
 Tom. [Feeling it,~\ Is it sticking up behind.'* 
 
 Susan. Just one lock — on the left. [Coming up to him^l 
 Bend over! [He does so and she smooths it down, as he 
 goes on talking. 
 
 Tom. [Going on all the time.^ And I found Sullivan 
 in a fighting mood and rather difficult to manage and in the 
 middle of it all, if Mrs. Sullivan didn't go and have another 
 baby! 
 
 Susan. [Trying to take out a spot from his lapel with 
 her handkerchief.] How terrible ! 
 
 Tom. That's what I told her. I said it was bad enough 
 to have married Sullivan, but to bring a child of his into the 
 world was almost worse than murder! 
 
 Susan. [Always busying herself with him,] But, Tom 
 — she was longing for another baby ! 
 
 Tom. I can't help that. However, now it's come, will 
 you go round to-morrow and make a note of how she's 
 doing ? 
 
 Susan. [Turning him round and looking at him criti- 
 cally.] Of course. Does she need any baby clothes.^ 
 
 Tom. She had a few. Mrs. Baxter's given her the rest. 
 
 Susan. Very well — I'll take charge. [The orchestra 
 is heard below,] 
 
 A Man's Voice. [Coming upstairs,] I say! 
 
 Susan. [Looking over the balustrade.] Oh, it's Mr. 
 Livingstone ! 
 
 [Enter Fred Livingstone, a dandified young man of about 
 
 thirty. 
 
 Fred. [Who is carrying a plate in each hand,] There, 
 Miss Van Tuyl! You owe that dab of mayonnaise to no 
 less a person than the Golden Nightingale! [To Tom.] 
 Hello, Tom — how goes it? 
 
 Susan. Why, Mr. Livingstone? 
 
254 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 Fred. It's a fact. I never would have got it if it hadn't 
 been for her. Why^ all the literary and artistic talent in 
 New York was fighting like a band of demons round the 
 supper-table, when, thank the Lord ! the band struck up and 
 someone said that Cavallini had arrived! 
 
 Susan. [Smiling,'] I see! 
 
 Fred. Two seconds — and there wasn't a soul in the 
 dining room but me! Why, even the caterer's men were 
 standing up on chairs to catch a glimpse of the divinity ! 
 
 Susan. I really must go down and greet her. 
 
 Tom. If you see your uncle, Susan, tell him where I am. 
 
 Susan. Very well. [To Fred.] Mr. Livingstone? 
 
 Fred. Er — will you excuse me. Miss Van Tuyl? I want 
 to have a word or two with Tom here. 
 
 Susan. Of course. Au revoir, 
 
 [She goes downstairs. 
 
 Fred. [Quivering,] Well! This is the last time I bring 
 my wife to this house! 
 
 Tom. [Amazed,] What— .^ 
 
 Fred. Of all the disgraceful insults that I've ever 
 seen — ! Why, the man must be out of his head! 
 
 Tom. Who ? 
 
 Fred. Van Tuyl. 
 
 Tom. What on earth's he done.^ 
 
 Fred. [Staring at him,] Done — ? Good Lord, man, 
 don't you realize who's downstairs } Don't you know who's 
 making a tour of the rooms on his arm, as the guest of 
 honor? Don't you know whom he's introducing to every 
 respectable woman that's been fool enough to come here 
 to-night — 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting,] No, I don't — who? 
 
 Fred. [Impressively,] The Cavallini ! 
 
 Tom. [Puzzled,] Oh, you mean that foreign opera 
 singer? Well, what of it? 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 235 
 
 Fred. [Exploding.^ What of it? By Jove^ that's a 
 cool one ! I always knew you were advanced, Tom, but I'll 
 swear I never thought you'd go as far as this ! 
 
 Tom. What on earth — 
 
 Fred. [Interrupting.'] It's bad enough to come and find 
 the house all full of dirty painter chaps and female novel- 
 ists ! It's vile enough to see your wife rub elbows with, 
 those garlic-eating, gutter-born Italian Opera scoundrels- - 
 well, I won't talk about the others, they're old and fat and 
 ugly, and I don't know anything against 'em — but Caval- 
 lini — 
 
 ToxM. Well? 
 
 Fred. I know Van Tuyl's our biggest banker and a lead-^ 
 ing citizen and a pillar of the church — that's all right, but 
 when it comes to asking all New York to parties given for 
 his mistress — 
 
 Tom. What—? 
 
 Fred. It's true. She is his mistress ! 
 
 Tom. [Controlling himself with difficulty,'] Well? 
 
 Fred. I wouldn't have mentioned it if he hadn't brought 
 her here to-night ! I believe in letting a man's private affairs 
 strictly alone, but gad! I expect him in return to show a 
 little decency! 
 
 Tom. [Ominously.] I see. 
 
 Fred. And look here, Tom, so long as you're his rector 
 and all that, I think you ought to speak to him about it — 
 haul him over the coals and haul him jolly hard! 
 
 Tom. [Holding himself in.] And this is all you wanted 
 to say to me? 
 
 Fred. Of course. 
 
 Tom. And you've quite finished ? 
 
 Fred. I suppose so. 
 
 Tom. [Coming close to him.] Then I have one or twa 
 things to say to you. And I'll just begin by telling you 
 
236 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 what you are — and that's a miserable^ sneaking, gossiping 
 old woman — 
 
 Fred. [Taken aback.] Wait — hold on! 
 
 Tom. [Continuing,] A pitiful, cackling, empty-headed 
 fool who hears a dirty story and can't wait until he's passed 
 it on! Why, you apology for the male sex, do you know 
 what you're doing .^ You're a guest in a gentleman's house 
 — you've eaten his food and shaken him by the hand and 
 now you're turning round and circulating filthy vicious lies 
 behind his back — 
 
 Fred. [Interrupting,] They're not lies ! He's lived 
 with her for years — she has a villa on the Riviera that Van 
 Tuyl gave her — it's called Millefleurs— Jack Morris saw 
 them there together — 
 
 Tom. [Thundering,] Be still! 
 
 Fred. [Angrily, as he gets behind the sofa and talks 
 over it,] I won't be still! Why, all the fellows know what 
 Rita Cavallini is — except yourself and you're a clergyman. 
 Ask Guvvy Fisk — he knew the French musician chap that 
 found her singing under hotel windows years ago in Venice. 
 And Guvvy knows just when she kicked him out and went 
 off with that Russian grand-duke and lived with him in 
 Petersburg, until the Prince de Joinville set her up in Paris ! 
 Why, she's notorious all over Europe — she's ruined whole 
 families — run through fortune after fortune — it was outside 
 her door that that young English poet shot himself — the 
 Emperor borrowed money from the Rothschilds just to 
 buy her diamonds — the King of Naples gave her — 
 
 Tom. [Breaking in,] Stop it, Livingstone ! 
 
 Fred. [Going right on,] And as for Van Tuyl, well, 
 everybody knows what he's been like — 
 
 Tom. Look out! 
 
 Fred. Why, Louis the Fourteenth couldn't beat him 
 when it comes to — 
 
Act I] 
 
 ROMANCE 
 
 237 
 
 Tom. 
 
 [Interrupting and making for him,] 
 
 You little 
 
 cur you- 
 
 — 
 
 
 [Just here Van Tuyl comes up from down- 
 stairs. He is a man of about fifty, deep- 
 voiced and strong — a powerful person- 
 ality. His manner is gentle and full of a 
 wise, quiet humor. He is dressed soberly, 
 but beautifully and with great care. 
 Van Tuyl. [Smiling,] Well^ my young friends ! What's 
 the matter? 
 
 Fred. [Politely,] Oh, nothing! Tom and I were argu- 
 ing — that's all. [He looks at his watch.] Good gracious 
 — twelve o'clock! You haven't seen my wife, sir.^ 
 
 Van Tuyl. But you're not going? Why, Mme. Caval- 
 lini's going to sing! 
 
 Fred. Er — I'm afraid we must. [Offering his hand,] 
 Van Tuyl. [Taking it,] Oh, why? 
 Fred. [Simply.] I'd rather my wife heard Mme. Caval- 
 lini across the footlights — a touch of prejudice, I suppose — 
 don't let it bother you — good-night! 
 
 [He bows, smiles, and goes downstairs, 
 Tom. [Simply and a little shyly,] I'd have come down- 
 stairs to find you, sir, but I'm not dressed — as you see — 
 and I thought you mightn't like it. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Heartily,] Nonsense, my boy! Why, 
 you've no time to prink up for our foolish parties. I think 
 you're very good to come at all. I don't remember if you're 
 interested in terra-cottas, Tom, but if you are — [He is at 
 the mantel, lifting one of the vases lovingly,] Here's some- 
 thing that came in last week. It's a lekythos of the time 
 of Pericles. Look at the exquisite grace and freshness of 
 those figures ! By Jove, they breathe a fragrance of eternal 
 youth — and the hand that made thero has been dust two 
 thousand years ! 
 
238 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 Tom. [Hastily,'] Er — very prety — very pretty indeed. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Looking at the vase.] Two thousand years 
 — I wonder where we were then — eh^ Tom? [He puts back 
 the vase with a sigh,] But I think you care more for pic- 
 tures than for terra-cottas^ don't you? Come and look at 
 the new Millet. It's in my room where I can see it every 
 mornings just as soon as I wake up. By Jove^ he's a 
 wonderful fellow, that Millet — and some day he's bound to 
 be recognized^ even if — 
 
 Tom. [Firmly,] Thanks, sir, but if you don't mind I'd 
 rather stay here. I want to — to talk to you. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Genially,] Of course — just as you say. 
 
 Tom. [Awkwardly,] I don't quite know how to begin, 
 sir, as it's a rather important — and at the same time a 
 rather — a rather delicate matter, but — but — [Suddenly.] 
 I'm not by any chance keeping you from your guests ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Always smiling.] Not at all. 
 
 Tom. [Again awkward,] But — it's — er — something that 
 I really feel I ought to — er — I mean to say I — er — con- 
 sider it in the light of — an obligation — to — er — to — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Interrupting.] Tom. 
 
 Tom. Yes, sir? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Putting his hand on Tom^s arm,] It's about 
 Susan, isn't it? 
 
 Tom. Yes, but— 
 
 Van Tuyl. Then it's all right. My boy, I'm as glad 
 as I can be ! 
 
 Tom. [Puzzled,] But what's all right? I'm afraid, sir, 
 I don't follow you. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Why, aren't you asking me if — [He looks at 
 him sharply,] 
 
 Tom. I'm sorry, sir, but it's advice I wish to offer you. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Advice — ? 
 
 Tom. Yes, I regret it, but it's my duty. 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 239 
 
 Van Tuyl. In that case, pray go on. [He sits,'] Won't 
 you sit down? [He lights a cigar,] 
 
 Tom. No, thanks. [Ingenuously,] Mr. Van Tuyl, I 
 suppose some people would say that after all you'd done 
 for St. Giles and me, it wasn't in my place to suggest 
 anything — 
 
 Van Tuyl. Nonsense, Tom. Do you know you're get- 
 ting to look more like your dear mother every day.'^ 
 
 Tom. No, am I? [Resuming,] But after all, I am your 
 Rector and I feel I've got to — to — 
 
 Van Tuyl. Quite right, my boy, I respect your feelings. 
 Well? 
 
 Tom. [Struggling.] Have you ever thought — I mean 
 — wouldn't it be better if — that is to say — do you think 
 you're wise, Mr. Van Tuyl, in opening your doors to these 
 foreign opera singers? [Going on quickly,] Oh, I know 
 how broad-minded you are and how interested in art and 
 music and all that sort of thing, and it's splendid ! It's so 
 splendid, sir, that I couldn't bear to think anyone was 
 imposing on your liberality. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Calmly,] Whom do you mean? 
 
 Tom. This Madame Cavallini — isn't it? I know she's 
 very distinguished, and I quite understand your public spirit 
 in recognizing her genius by making her the center of one 
 of your elegant entertainments. But after all, sir, are you 
 quite sure she's the sort of lady — the kind of person — er 
 — the type — [With a gesture,] — I say the type — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Mildly,] It isn't Sunday, Tom. 
 
 Tom. [Paternally,] You know, sir, you're so generous 
 and high-minded that anybody could take you in — oh, yes 
 they could! [With a shake of the head,] And, personally 
 speaking, I have always found that foreigners — particu- 
 larly those belonging to the Latin races — have a distinct 
 leaning towards immorality. 
 
240 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 Van Tuyl. How old are you^ Tom? 
 
 Tom. [Lamely.] Er — twenty-eight. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [With a wistful smile,'] I wish I were 
 twenty-eight. Life's a simple thing when you're twenty- 
 eight. 
 
 Tom. [Loftily,] If one has standards — yes. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Standards.^ 
 
 Tom. Of right and wrong, I mean. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Oh, yes — I had those standards once. 
 
 Tom. [Shocked,] Once, sir} 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Confidentially,] And then one day I got 
 'em all mixed up — and the right seemed wrong and the 
 wrong seemed right and I just didn't know where I was at. 
 
 Tom. Oh, come, sir! 
 
 Van Tuyl. That was a long time ago, my boy, but — 
 [With a chuckle,] Well, I'm dashed if I ever got 'em 
 straight again! 
 
 Tom. [Distressed,] Oh, sir, don't talk that way ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Soberly,] I've learnt a few things, though 
 — stray spars I've clung to in all this storm and ocean — 
 just a few stray spars, but somehow they've managed to 
 hold me up. One's how to value people that are good — 
 that's why you're Rector of St. Giles, Tom — and another's 
 how to pity people that are — 
 
 Tom. Bad. 
 
 Van Tuyl. No, not bad, my boy — there are no people 
 that are bad. But there're some poor devils who find it 
 harder to be good than you — that's all. 
 
 Tom. [Hesitatingly,] And Madame Cavallini.^ 
 
 Van Tuyl. If Madame Cavallini weren't fit to meet my 
 friends, you never would have seen her here to-night. 
 [Slight pause.] 
 
 Tom. [Impulsively,] Oh, what a fool I've been! I 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 241 
 
 might have known there wasn't a word of truth in what 
 that puppy said. 
 
 Van Tuyl. What puppy? 
 
 Tom. a young he-gossip, sir, who reeled off lies about 
 
 this woman. And I was ass enough to believe him, and 
 
 come to you and talk like a — like a — ^like a confounded 
 
 prig ! I wonder you don't throw me out of the house ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [With a twinkle,] You're my Rector, Tom. 
 
 Tom, Do you think you can forgive me, sir.'^ 
 
 \_Just here the band dor^nstairs begins a be- 
 guiling Strauss waltz. 
 Van Tuyl. [Rising,'] There's nothing to forgive, my 
 boy. And now go down and ask Susan for some supper. 
 Tom. But I'm not dressed — 
 
 Van Tuyl. Oh, nonsense ! But if you'd rather go into 
 the library, I'll tell her to bring it to you there. 
 
 [Meanwhile, there is heard down the stair- 
 case the sound of men's voices, high and 
 eager, and over and above them, a woman's 
 laughter. This comes nearer and nearer. 
 Tom. But I'm not — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Clapping him on the shoulder,] Don't 
 tell me you're not hungry ! You're twenty-eight years old, 
 and when a young man's twenty-eight — hello ! who's this ? 
 
 [He turns and glances at back, as the sound 
 
 of the voices and laughter grows nearer. 
 
 A WoMAN^s Voice. [Just off, rising above the others,] 
 
 Go 'vay — go 'vay — you mus' not come vit' me — no — no — 
 
 you are naughty — you are de mos' 'orrible naughty men I 
 
 ever see — [She sweeps up with the group of young 
 
 dandies who have accompanied her and 
 
 stands for a moment at the top of the 
 
 stairway, laughing and talking, always 
 
242 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 facing in the direction whence she came, 
 away from Tom and Van Tuyl. She is a 
 bewitching, brilliant little foreign creaiure 
 — beautiful in a dark, Italian way. She 
 is marvellously dressed in voluminous 
 gauze and her dress is trimmed with tiny 
 roses. Her black hair hangs in curls on 
 either side of her face and three long soft 
 curls hang down her low-cut back. On 
 her head is a wreath of little roses. She 
 wears long diamond earrings, a riviere of 
 diamonds is about her neck, diamonds 
 gleam on her corsage, her wrists and 
 hands. She carries a fan and bouquet in 
 a silver filigree holder. She speaks in a 
 soft Italian voice, with quick bird-like ges- 
 tures. She seems herself a good deal like 
 an exquisite, gleaming, little humming- 
 bird. 
 
 One of the Young Men. But it's my waltz! 
 
 Another. Don't listen to him^ madame, you know you 
 promised me to — 
 
 A Third. [Interrupting.'] Nonsense^ Willie — my name's 
 on her card ! 
 
 The First. It's no such thing! 
 
 The Second. I appeal to her ! 
 
 The Third. Madame — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting.] Oh — ! Vhy you make such a 
 beeg^ beeg noise? 
 
 The First Young Man. [Frankly.] You're driving 
 us crazy — can't you understand.'* 
 
 Rita. [Mock serious.] Vhat? Me — ? Poor^ leetle me? 
 You beeg bad boy, you make of me — 'ow you say ? — vone 
 seelly joke! 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 243 
 
 The Chorus. " We don't ! " " It's true ! " " Of course 
 it is!" 
 
 Rita. [Laughing,] Go make de love to dose bee-eauti- 
 ful American ladies vit' de long nose an' de neck full of 
 leetle bones — ! 
 
 One of the Young Men. Eut I want to make love to 
 you! 
 
 Another. And so do I ! 
 
 A Third. I do^ too ! 
 
 The Others. And I — and I ! 
 
 Rita. Ouf ! You cannot all make de love to me — so look! 
 I tell you — [They all gather nearer.] 
 
 One of Them. What? 
 
 Another. Tell us! 
 
 Rita. [Triumphantly.] You shall not any of you make 
 de love to me! 
 
 Chorus. [Disappointed.] *' Oh, madame ! *' ** Please ! " 
 " You must ! " etc. 
 
 Rita. No — no! I stay *ere vit* Meestaire Van Tuyl — 
 
 Chorus. " Oh, don t ! " " What a shame ! " " Please 
 come downstairs ! " etc. 
 
 Rita. But leesten now ! Vhich vone of you, *e catch dis 
 peenk camellia — look ! — 'e drive me 'ome ! 
 
 [She holds up the flower. 
 
 The Men. [Surging forward to snatch it.] ** Give me 
 it!" "Oh, madame!" " Get out the way ! " "It's mine!" 
 
 Rita. [Laughing and tossing it over the balustrade.] It 
 is all gone — so run — run qvick — qvick! Oh, 'e has fallen 
 himself down — dat leetle meestaire ! Povrino I [Excitedly, 
 looking over balustrade.] Oh — ! Oh — ! You will be 
 'urted — [Pointing.] Dio! Guardi — guardi! [Clapping 
 her hands and leaning over the balustrade.] All right — 
 all right — you meestaire vit' de beeg moustache — Bene! 
 — capito! You take me. 'ome! [She kisses her hand and 
 
244 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 turns away, still laughing,] Dey are so frightfully funny, 
 dose — [She suddenly sees Tom, who has been stand- 
 
 ing quite still, staring at her all the time. 
 She stops. The words die away from her 
 lips. She looks at him. An instant's 
 pause, 
 Tom. [Indistinctly, as he tears his gaze away from her,] 
 I — I beg your pardon. 
 
 [He passes her quickly, his head bent, and 
 goes out. She turns and follows him with 
 her eyes, 
 Rita. [Very simply, still looking after him,] Please 
 who is dat young man.^ 
 
 Van Tuyl. Tom Armstrong. He's a clergyman. 
 Rita, [Vaguely,] Cler-gee-man .'^ 
 Van Tuyl. Abbe — priest, you know. 
 Rita. [Almost to herself,] Ah — ! Den it vas dat — 
 Van Tuyl. What? 
 
 Rita, [Turning away,] I dunno. Jus' something in 'is 
 eyes — 
 
 Van Tuyl, I don't suppose he'd ever seen anything 
 like you in all his life. 
 
 Rita. No.'* My Lord, 'ow ver' sad! [Glancing again 
 downstairs — this time with a certain impishness.] An' he 
 vas 'an'some, too! 
 
 [Van Tuyl chuckles. She hears him, turns, 
 catches his eye and they laugh together. 
 Van Tuyl. [Coming up, still laughing, and taking her 
 in his arms,] You little monkey you! 
 
 Rita. [Softly, her eyes closed, a smile of triumph on her 
 lips,] De beeg Amer'can, 'e like 'is leetle frien' to-night — 
 yes.^ 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Smiling,] I don't think he could help it if 
 he tried. 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 245 
 
 Rita. Den if 'e like 'er — [She pauses,] 
 
 Van Tuyl. Well? 
 
 Rita. [Softli/.'] Please vhy don' 'e keess 'er? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Laughing and kissing her,] There ! 
 
 Rita. [ Drawing herself away suddenly,] My Lord^ 
 I 'ave forget something! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Following her,] Come here! 
 
 Rita. I 'ave forget dat I am oh ! mos' frightfully angry ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Not with me? 
 
 Rita. Si — si! 
 
 Van Tuyl. But why? What have I done? 
 
 Rita. [Briefly,] You know. 
 
 Van Tuyl. My dear, I don't! 
 
 Rita. [Sitting right,] Ssh! You mus* not say t'ings 
 like dat — dey are not true ! You 'ave treat me ver' 
 bad to-night — yes, you 'ave treat me qvite, qvite — on-spik- 
 able! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Why, I Ve invited you to my house ! I Ve 
 introduced you to my friends — the most distinguished people 
 in New York! I've entertained you before all the world — 
 and isn't that exactly what you wanted? 
 
 Rita. You ask me to your soiree — dat is true — but you 
 ask me as artiste not as femme du monde. 
 
 Van Tuyl. That isn't so ! 
 
 Rita. [Like a flash,] Ah no? Den please vhy you ask 
 de oder singers too? 
 
 Van Tuyl. Now, Rita, listen — 
 
 Rita. I vill not leesten ! You t'ink I am a leetle — vhat 
 you say? — donnacia — une p'tite grisette — 
 
 Van Tuyl. My dear, you know I don't think anything 
 of the sort — 
 
 Rita. An' it is not to-night alone — oh, no ! It is two — 
 t'ree mont's — all de time since first I come to your mos' ver' 
 diza-agree-a-ble Xiountry ! [With a smile,] A-ah! It vas 
 
246 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 not like dis at Millefleurs ! I vas not dere a singer from 
 de opera! At Millefleurs I vas a qveen! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Millefleurs — ! Our Palace of a Thousand 
 Flowers. 
 
 Rita. [Caressingly,'] Do you remember de night I sing 
 to you de Schubert serenade — vhen you valk up an' down 
 below de vindow — yes? All de roses in de vorld, dey blos- 
 som in de moonlight. Dere vas no vind. De sea vas qvite, 
 qvite steel — an' you valk up an' down — up an' down — an' 
 alvays I sing to you — an' sing — an' sing — an' de vind an' 
 de sea an' de beeg gol' moon — dey all of dem leesten to me ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Rousing himself,] That was Millefleurs. 
 The roses there had brought me back my youth. [With a 
 sigh.] I came home, and I lost it, dear. I'll never find it 
 again. 
 
 Rita. Ah, no — it vaits for you among de flowers ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. I'm afraid — not any more. 
 
 Rita. Vhat you mean, please ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. I'm fifty-one years old. [She instinctively 
 draws away from him a little.] That frightens you.'^ 
 
 Rita. Ah, no, but — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Gently.] Don't deny it, dear — I know 
 how — you must feel. [Pause.] Rita. 
 
 Rita. VelU 
 
 Van Tuyl. Rita, suppose we finish our — our friendship 
 — end it here to-night. 
 
 Rita. To-night—.^ 
 
 Van Tuyl. Give me your hand. There! Now we can 
 talk! — I'm fond of you, dear — I always shall be that — 
 but already I'm beginning to disappoint you. And I'm 
 afraid I'll do it more and more as time goes on. [Slight 
 pause.] Look at my hair! There wasn't any grey in it 
 last year — at Millefleurs ! But now — and next year there'll 
 be more ! And I've begun to be a little deaf and fall asleep 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 247 
 
 in chairs and dream about to-morrow's dinner. My rheuma- 
 tism, too, came back last week — [She winces and draws 
 away her hand.] Don't blame me, dear — I can't help get- 
 ting old. 
 
 Rita. [Nervously,'] Don' — don* talk dat vay! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Quickly,] God knows I'm not complain- 
 ing! I've lived my life — and it's been very sweet. I've 
 done some work, and done it pretty well, and then I've 
 found time to enjoy a great many of the beautiful things 
 that fill this beautiful world. [Politely.] Among them, my 
 dear, I count your voice — and you! [Resuming.] And yet 
 the fact remains I've lived my life, I'm in the twilight years 
 — oh! they're golden yet, but that won't last, and they'll 
 grow deep and dim until the last tinge of the sunset's gone 
 and the stars are out and night comes — and it's time to 
 sleep. [With a change of tone.] But you — Good Lord, 
 your life has just begun! Why, the dew's still on the 
 grass — it's sparkling brighter than your brightest dia- 
 monds ! [He touches the ornaments.] The birds are sing- 
 ing madrigals, the meadow's burst into a sea of flowers — 
 you wear the morning like a wreath upon your hair — don't 
 lose all that, my dear, — don't waste your springtime on a 
 stupid fellow, fifty-one years old ! [Pause.] 
 
 Rita. [Coldly.] All right. 
 
 [She turns away, whistling. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Watching.'] What's the matter.? 
 
 Rita. [Casually.] Oh, nodings. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Yes, there is. 
 
 Rita. Vone more — 'ow you say? — frien-ship feen- 
 ished — ! [In a hard voice.] Vone more — ! [With a care- 
 less gesture.] Oh, che m'importa — ce ne sono altri! 
 
 [She yawns ostentatiously and sniffs her bouquet. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Looking at her keenly.] Rita.'* 
 
 Rita. Veil — Meestaire Van Tuyl.? 
 
248 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 Van Tuyl. ISimply.l Haven't you ever loved someone? 
 
 Rita. 'Ow you talk? *Ave I not love you two — free 
 year ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Always very gently, 1^ I don't mean that. 
 Isn't there someone whose memory is dear and — and sort 
 of holy — like an altar-candle, burning in your heart? 
 
 Rita. [In a hard voice.'] No. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Think back — way back. Didn't someone 
 ever make you feel so tender that you didn't know whether 
 to laugh or cry at the thought of him? Wasn't there ever 
 someone you wanted to help so much that it — it hurt you, 
 like living pain? Wasn't there someone that your heart 
 and soul just rushed out to meet — and all the time you stood 
 before him and looked down and — and couldn't say one 
 single little word? Wasn't there someone who— 
 
 Rita. [Rising suddenly,] Basta! Basta — .' Stop it — 
 don' — don' — [A little pause. She recovers herself.] 'Ave 
 you felt — like dat? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Nodding.] Yes. 
 
 Rita. W^ho vas she? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Simply.] Just a girl. Not wonderful or 
 beautiful or gifted — and yet — well, somehow she meant the 
 world to me. 
 
 Rita. Vhat 'appen? 
 
 Van Tuyl. She died before I ever told her that I loved 
 her. [Pause.] 
 
 Rita. [Not looking at him.] It vas a good t'ing — dat 
 she die so soon. 
 
 Van Tuyl. What? 
 
 Rita. Sometime I vish dat I 'ad died before I ever 'ear 
 dose vords — " I love you." 
 
 Van Tuyl. What do you mean? 
 
 Rita. [Ironically.] I never tol' you of my first so- 
 bee-eautiful romance? No — ? Veil, I do not often t'ink 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 249 
 
 of it — it make me feel — [With a curious little shiver,] — not 
 nize. [Pause,] It vas in Venice. I vas jus* seexteen years 
 ol'. I play de guitar wid de serenata — you know^ de leetle 
 compan}^ of peoples dat go about an' sing under de vindows 
 of de great 'otels — [With a sigh,] Ah Madonna! come 
 semhra lontano! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Well? 
 
 Rita. [Not looking at him,] A young man come join 
 our serenata — Beppo, 'is name vas — Beppo Aquilone. 'E 
 vas 'an'some an' 'ad nize voice^-oh^ ver' lights you know, 
 but steel — simpatica, Ve stan' together vhen ve sing an' 
 'ave — I dunno — vone, two duet. An' so it go for two — 
 t'ree veek an' e' say noding much, but every time 'e smile 
 an' look at me my 'eart is full vit' great beeg vishes an' 
 I feel like everyt'ing in all de vorld is new an' born again. 
 An' so vone evening 'e come vit' me to my leetle room — 
 an' den 'e tell me dat 'e love me — an' all night long 'e 'old 
 me close an' kees me — an' I feel 'is 'ot breat' like a fire upon 
 my face — an' de beating of 'is 'eart, it come like strong 
 blows 'ere against my own. An' den 'e sleep. But I — I 
 do not sleep. I lie still an' qviet an' in my mind I have 
 vone t'ought — ** Is dis vhat people mean vhen dey say — 
 Love ? " An' so de 'ours go by' an' de night is f eenish, 
 an' a — a — 'ow you say? — a long, t'in piece of sunlight, it 
 creep in my leetle vindow an' it shine on Beppo vhere 'e 
 lie beside me. An' oh ! 'e look so young ! — an' den de sun- 
 light — 'ow you say? — it tease him, so 'e *alf vake up, an' 
 e' vink 'is eyes an' say, " Ah, Rita, ti amo! " An' den 'e 
 sigh an' put 'is 'ead 'ere — on my shoulder — like a leetle 
 baby dat is tired, an' go to sleep again. [With passionate 
 tenderness,] An' oh! I put my arm about 'im an' I smile 
 an' t'ink *' For Love I vaited all night long, an' vit' de 
 day — it come! " 
 
 Van Tuyl. And so it does, my dear. 
 
250 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 Rita. [In a different voice.] You t'ink so? Vait — ! 
 [She has turned away.] In tvelve 'our — tvelve 'our — 'e 
 sell me to an English traveller for feefty lire. At first, I 
 t'ink I die — I soffer so! An' den at las' I on'erstan' — an' 
 laugh — an' know dat I 'ave been vone great beeg fool — 
 
 Van Tuyl, [Protesting.] My dear, I — 
 
 Rita. [Shaking her clenched hands.] A fool to t'ink 
 dere vas some greater, better love — a love dat come at 
 morning an' shine like sunshine — [Wiih a wide gesture.] — 
 yes^ all t'rough de day ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. There is. 
 
 Rita. [Fiercely.] Dat is vone lie! You 'ear — ? vone 
 lie! [Voluptuously.] Love — it is made of keeses in de 
 dark, of 'ot breat' on de face an* 'eart beats jus' like terrible 
 strong blows ! It is a struggle — ver' cruel an' sveet — all 
 full of madness an' of vhispered vords an' leetle laughs dat 
 turn into a sigh ! Love is de 'unger for anoder's flesh — a 
 deep down t'irst to dreenk anoder's blood — Love is a 
 beast dat feed all t'rough de night an' vhen de morning 
 come — Love dies! [Slight pause.] 
 
 Van Tuyl. My dear, I think you must have suffered a 
 great deal. 
 
 Rita. Yes — because I 'ave believe vonce in a lie, but — 
 [Shaking her -finger.] — not any more! [With a grimace.] 
 Oh, vhy ve talk about dose bad ol t'ings } — see 'ere — I blow 
 dem far avay! Pst — ! Pouf — ! [With an enchanting 
 smile.] Now look! Dey are all gone! [As he does not 
 answer, but looks at her.] Vell.^ Vhat you t'ink about so 
 'ard — yes ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. Why don't you marry someone, Rita? 
 
 Rita. Marry — me — ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. Well, why not? 
 
 Rita. Vhere vould I fin' a man to make of me 'is wife? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Protesting.] Nonsense, dear, why — 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 251 
 
 Rita. [^Interrupting,'] My frien*, you 'ave forget a 
 leetle — vhat I am. [Brief pauscl 
 
 Van Tuyl. I'm sorry^ dear. 
 
 Rita. [Quickly,] Sorry — ? Bah! Do you t'ink I 
 care } I — who 'ave 'ad de great men of de vorld among my 
 lovers.^ Ah, no, my frien', I 'ave not come to dat! 
 
 Van Tuyl. I understand. 
 
 Rita. [Turning and looking at Mm,'] De great men of 
 de vorld ! An* you are vone of dem — oh, yes, I know it 
 vhen I see you first at dat beeg supper Rossini give for me. 
 An' I ask 'im — I say " Maestro, who is dat man who seet 
 next de Russian princess? '* An' 'e laugh an' say, *' Vhat.'^ 
 Not already you make up your min' } " an' den I see you 
 look at me — 
 
 Van Tuyl. Of course! 
 
 Rita. An' I smile — oh, mos* sveet! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Rising.] You little rascal you! 
 
 Rita. An' so — ve 'ave begin. [She considers him,'] 
 Come 'ere! [He comes close to her. She takes him hy the 
 lapel and looks up at him,] You know vhat I t'ink — yes? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Smiling,] I never know. 
 
 Rita. I t'ink — ve 'ave not come qvite to de en'. 
 
 Van Tuyl. My dear, you make me very happy. 
 
 Rita. So you vill drive vit' me to-morrow afternoon at 
 four ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. I'm honored. 
 
 Rita. I tell you somet'ing — 
 
 Van Tuyl. Well? 
 
 Rita. You are naughty — but I like you frightfully 
 much ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Kissing her hand,] Madame, I'm more 
 than grateful. [The orchestra begins a waltz downstairs,] 
 Good Heavens, I've forgotten I'm a host! What will those 
 wretched people think! My arm — ? [He offers it to her,] 
 
252 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 Rita. [Like an unwilling child,] Vhen mus* I sing? 
 
 Van Tuyl. Let's see. I've asked Artot and Capoul for 
 the duet from Traviata — and then I want the sextette from 
 Lucia — and after that we'll all be ready for the Golden 
 Nightingale ! 
 
 Rita. [Lying on the sofa,] De Golden Nightingale 
 vill rest alone 'ere till de time is come. An* oh ! sen someone 
 vit' 'er red vine an' 'er lemon-juice! She is so tired — she 
 cannot sing \dt'out! 
 
 Van Tuyl. That's all.^ 
 
 Rita. Dat's all. 
 
 Van Tuyl. You're beautiful to-night. 
 
 Rita. [Lying hack and looking up at him.] Vhy not.'^ 
 My star is Venus — I vas born for love! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Tenderly,] " O love forever in thy glory 
 go! '* [The sound of the waltz is heard full of in- 
 
 sistent rhythm. With a sigh, she flings 
 her arms above her head, stretches her 
 body, and closes her eyes. Then, with a 
 burst of chatter and laughter, three young 
 couples rush up the stairs,] 
 
 The First Young Man. [To his partner,] Come on! 
 
 The Girl. Oh, what fun ! We'll have it all to ourselves ! 
 
 The First Young Man. Quick ! Before the others see 
 us — [They begin to dance,] 
 
 Another Girl. I'm dying to learn the Boston Dip ! 
 
 Her Partner. It's perfectly easy — [Dancing,] One 
 — two — down! One — two — down! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Turning from the couch,] Ssh! Madame 
 Cavallini's trying to rest a little before she sings ! [He 
 smiles at the young people and puts his finger to his lips.^ 
 
 One of the Girls. Oh, of course, sir. 
 
 Another Girl. We never noticed. 
 
 [Van Tuyl goes downstairs. 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 253 
 
 The Third Girl, [Whispering,] She's asleep! 
 
 [They all gaze towards the couch. 
 
 One OF THE Young Men. [Rapturously,] I say! Isn't 
 she a vision ! 
 
 His Partner. Ssh! You'll wake her up! 
 
 The Second Young Man. Let's go down to the con- 
 servatory. 
 
 The Third Young Man. Tip-toe, you girls! 
 
 [They begin to descend again, 
 
 Tom. [Entering from the library,] Mr. Van Tuyl, I — 
 [He stops on seeing the departing young people.] Oh^ 
 it's you^ my young friends ! 
 
 One of the Girls. [Whispering to him over her shoul- 
 der as she disappears.] Mr. Van Tuyl's just gone downstairs. 
 
 Tom. [About to follow her.] Thank you. 
 
 Rita. [Suddenly opening her eyes and speaking, from 
 her couch.] You are going? 
 
 Tom. [Turning.] I beg your pardon? 
 
 Rita. [Smiling.] Don't go — please — 
 
 Tom. [Stuttering.] But I— I— I— 
 
 Rita. I vas jus' begun to be a leetle — 'ow you say? — 
 lonely? An' now a nize young man come — oh, my Lord, 
 I am so glad! [She smiles at him bewitchingly.] 
 
 Tom. You're sure I'm not — intruding? 
 
 Rita. But no ! Come in an' — 'ow you say ? — oh yes ! 
 make yourself q\dte to 'ome ! 
 
 Tom. Er — thank you. 
 
 [He sits down on other side of room. 
 
 Rita. Vhy you sit vay, vay over dere ? 
 
 Tom. Why — er — er — I don't know — I — 
 
 Rita. [Sweetly.] Are you afraid of me? [As one 
 would talk to a young and timid baby,] I vill not 'urt you — 
 no, I like de young men ! Please come ! Sit 'ere ! 
 
 [She indicates a chair at foot of couch. 
 
254 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 Tom. You're — very kind. 
 
 [He comes over and sits down, 
 
 Rita. [Lying back with a sigh.] A-ah! [She smiles at 
 him. A pause. Then, curiously.] Vhat make your face so 
 red? 
 
 Tom. [In consternation."] My face — 
 
 Rita. [Dreamily.] It is de reddes' t'ing I ever see in 
 all my life ! 
 
 Tom. [Agonised.] It's rather — warm in here. 
 
 Rita. You t'ink so ? I am qvite, qvite col'. 
 
 Tom. That's — very odd. [Pause.] I'm afraid I — I 
 haven't had the honor of being — presented — er — my name's 
 Armstrong. 
 
 Rita. Ar-rm-str-rong ! But dat is not all — eh.'* Now 
 vait — no — yes — ecco! I 'have it — Teem! 
 
 Tom. [Slightly nettled.] No, not Tim. That's Irish. 
 Tom. 
 
 Rita. Tome ! 
 
 Tom. Not Tome. Tom! 
 
 Rita. Tom — ! Dat right — ? [Repeating it to herself .] 
 Tom — Tom! [Laughing.] My Lord — vhat a funny name ! 
 
 Tom. It's not a real name. It's just short for Thomas. 
 
 Rita. [Illuminated.] Ah — Tomasso! Si si! Now I 
 on'erstan' ! I vonce 'ave a f rien' name' Tomasso — oh, yes, 
 ver' long ago! 'E 'ave jus' vone leg. 'T vas — 'ow you say.^ 
 — rag-picker ! 
 
 Tom. Was he .^ 
 
 Rita. [Critically.] You look mos' ver' much like 
 m! 
 
 Tom. [Pulling uncomfortably at his coat.] Do I? 
 
 Rita. [With a sudden happy thought.] Mebbe you are 
 fine, beeg Amer'can rag-picker — no.'* 
 
 Tom. [Severely.] Madam, I am the Rector of St. Giles* 
 Church ! 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 255 
 
 Rita. R-r-rector ? 
 
 Tom. Yes — I mean I — I own it — I'm its minister — its 
 clergyman — 
 
 Rita. [Quicklt/.'] Oh, cler-gee-man! I 'ave forget! 
 'Ow bee-eautif ul ! An* Saint Gile' — who vas 'e.^ Some 
 leetle American saint — hein? 
 
 Tom. \^Sternly,'] St. Giles is one of the mpst important 
 figures in the great history of the Church of England ! 
 
 Rita. [^Softly,'] Is dat so? Anodder cler-gee-man — 
 yes? {^He nods,'] 'Ow frightfully nize ! Ve never 'ear of 
 'im in Italy. 
 
 Tom. \^StruchS\ In Italy — ! Why, you don't live in 
 Italy. 
 
 Rita. I 'ave a house in Florence an' a villa on de Lago 
 di Como — yes. 
 
 Tom. [With a relieved laugh.] Oh, that's all right, 
 then. Do you know what I thought for just a moment? 
 
 Rita. No. Vhat you t'ink? 
 
 Tom. I thought that you were one of these Italian opera 
 singers ! 
 
 Rita. [Laughing,] You funny man! 
 
 Tom. Forgive me — do! 
 
 Rita. It vill be 'ard ! 
 
 Tom. You see, there're lots of them downstairs, — but 
 then, I ought to have known, because Fred Livingstone said 
 they were all old and fat and ugly. 
 
 Rita. [Dampened,] Oh — ! Did 'e? 
 
 Tom. With one exception — Madame Cavarini — or lini 
 — or whatever her name is. You know. 
 
 Rita. [Smiling,] Yes — I know. An' you — vhat you 
 t'ink? You fin' 'er bee-eautiful? 
 
 Tom. I — ? Oh, I haven't seen her. I don't go to the 
 opera. 
 
 Rita. [Confidentially,] You 'ave not miss much yhen 
 
256 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 you miss La Cavallini. She is of a fatness — [With a ges- 
 ture.] Oh, like dat! 
 
 Tom. You're sure? 
 
 Rita. [Nodding.'] She eat tvelve poun' of spaghetti 
 every day! 
 
 Tom. No ! 
 
 Rita. [Enthusiastically,] An* ugly — oh, Madonna! — 
 'ow dat vomans is ugly ! Jus' to look at 'er give vone de 
 nose-bleed ! 
 
 Tom. But everybody says — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting,] Leesten ! Vone eye is made of 
 glass — an' 'er nose — my Lord, 'er nose ! 
 
 Tom. What's the matter with her nose } 
 
 Rita. [Covering her face with her hands,] She 'as not 
 got vone — ! ! 
 
 Tom. But surely you're mistaken — why — 
 
 Rita. [Shuddering,] Jus' papier-mache — stuck to *er 
 face! Dio! 
 
 Tom. Well, I suppose her figure is what makes them 
 say — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting,] I tell you somet'ing terrible! 
 She *as a 'ump ! 
 
 Tom. a what? 
 
 Rita. [With horrid emphasis,] A 'ump — a 'ump upon 
 'er back! 
 
 Tom. You mean a hump? 
 
 Rita. [Nodding,] 'Er dressmaker in Paris — she tell 
 me dat. Now vhat you t'ink — eh? 
 
 Tom. [Rising,] Do you really want to know? 
 
 Rita. Yes — tell me, please ! 
 
 Tom. [Very sternly,] I think, madam, you have been 
 guilty of the grossest cruelty ! 
 
 Rita. Vhat—? 
 
 Tom. [Oracularly,] Yes — cruelty, I repeat the word! 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 257 
 
 To hear a woman, on whom an all-wise Providence has 
 showered its choicest gifts of health and wealth and beauty 
 — I say to hear a woman like yourself deride, hold up to 
 scorn and gloat over the physical failings of a less fortu- 
 nate sister — for, madam, you are sisters in the sight of 
 God! — I say this heartless act deserves a far more serious 
 rebuke than any I'm at — at liberty to offer. 
 
 Rita. [Suddenly covering her face with her pocket 
 handkerchief and gasping,] Ah — don' — don' — 
 
 Tom. What if this unhappy lady does suffer from — 
 exaggerated fleshiness ? Beneath that bulk may beat the 
 tenderest of female hearts ! What if her face is repulsive 
 even to the degree that you mention ? The purest thoughts 
 may animate the brain behind! What if one eye is glass .'^ 
 The other, doubtless, is the window of a noble soul ! And 
 even though she bears a hump upon her back, she may, 
 with Christian patience, change it to a — [Suddenly in- 
 spired.] — a cross! 
 
 Rita. [Her voice still covered, shaking,] Don' — don' — ! 
 Dio mio — .' I cannot bear it — 
 
 Tom. [Professionally,] I am glad my few, poor simple 
 words have touched you. Never forget them — let them be 
 with you always — and, should the temptation come again, 
 remember that a soft, sweet tongue is Woman's Brightest 
 Ornament ! 
 
 Rita. [Unable to control herself,] Tschk — ! Tschk — ! 
 Tschk — ! [She presses the handkerchief over her mouth,] 
 
 Tom. [Suddenly, taking a step toward her,] Madam — / 
 
 Rita. [Dropping the handkerchief and screaming with 
 laughter,] I cannot 'elp it — oh — ! oh — ! oh — .' 
 
 Tom. [Grinding his teeth and striking one palm against 
 the other as he turns away,] Madam — ! You — a-ah ! 
 
 Rita. [Exhausted, gasping,] Oh — ! oh — ! [Wiping 
 her eyes,] My Lord — ! 
 
258 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 [A servant comes from doivnstairs carrying a tray with 
 glasses, a carafe, and a decanter of wine. 
 
 The Servant. The wine, madam. 
 Rita. P-put it 'ere — on dis leetle table. 
 
 \^She indicates the little table by the head of 
 the couch. The servant places the tray 
 upon it. 
 The Servant. Is that all you will require, madam .^ 
 Rita. Yes — dat is ali. 
 
 [The servant goes downstairs. 
 Tom. [Stiffly,] Good-night. 
 Rita. You are not going .^ 
 
 Tom. After what has occurred, I see no reason for stay- 
 ing. 
 
 Rita, [Carelessly.] All right. 
 
 [She half-rises and occupies herself with an 
 elaborate mixing of the wine and lemon- 
 juice and water. 
 Tom. [Lingering.] Aren't you sorry for making fun 
 of me.'' 
 
 Rita. [Always intent on the drink.] Oh, frightfully 
 sorry ! 
 
 Tom. [Doubtfully,] You don't look it. 
 Rita. [As before.] Is dat so? Good-bye. 
 
 [Tom walks to stairs, pauses, hesitates — then 
 slowly comes back and sits down in his old 
 chair. 
 Tom. Madam — 
 
 Rita. [Turning to glance at him.] Oh! I fought you 
 go! 
 
 Tom. [With dignity,] So long as you're sincerely sorry 
 — so long as you truly repent — [He pauses expectantly, 
 awaiting her corroboration. But she whistles gaily and pays 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 259 
 
 no attention to him. He finishes somewhat lamely:^ I 
 don't suppose there's any need of my going. 
 
 Rita. [^Lightly,'] No? My Lord, I am dead vit' joy ! 
 Tom. [^Sternly,^ Madam — 
 
 Rita. [Gaily, as she pours the drink from one glass to 
 another.] Look — ! See 'ow bee-eautiful I do it — ! [Her 
 voice softening,] Somevone who vas vonce ver' fon' of me, 
 'e teach me dis ! [He stares, hypnotized. She finishes and 
 fills both glasses,] Dere ! [She holds one out to him,] 
 Dat is for you ! 
 
 Tom. [Rousing himself,] Thanks. I — don't take 
 stimulants. 
 
 Rita. [Very softly,] Not even vhen I give dem — } 
 [A pause. She holds out the glass and smiles. At last he 
 takes it,] Ah, dat is right! [She lifts her own glass,] 
 Now vhat ve dreenk to — eh? [Suddenly.] Ecco! Dat 
 nice ol' cler-gee-man — Saint Gile' ! You don't like dat — no ? 
 [She pauses and considers, gazing at him. At last, in a 
 slow, mysterious whisper:] Den *ow you like it if I dreenk 
 to vhat I see in your eyes — an' you dreenk to vat you see 
 in mine — ? 
 
 [A pause. She stares at him steadily with a 
 mysterious smile. He cannot take his eyes 
 away. Together they slowly lift their 
 glasses to their lips and drink, their gaze 
 never faltering. From downstairs can he 
 heard very faintly the voices of the other 
 singers, singing the sextette from 
 '' Lucia/* with the orchestra accompani- 
 ment, 
 Tom. [Oddly,] Who are you? Tell me— I — don't 
 understand — 
 
 Rita. [Slowly and mysteriously.] I am a cup all full of 
 sacred vine ! I stan' upon an altar built of gol' an' pearls 
 
260 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 an* paid for vit' de blood an' tears of men! De steam of 
 perfume dat fills all de air, it is de thoughts of me in poets' 
 'earts — de vhite flowers lying at my feet^ dey are de young 
 boys' bee-eautiful deep dreams ! My doors are open vide 
 to all de vorld! I shine in dis great darkness like a living 
 star, an' somevhere — sometime every man 'as 'eard my 
 voice — ** Come, all you t'irsty vones — come, dere is vine for 
 all!" [Pause.] 
 
 Tom. What's your name? 
 
 Rita. Ah, vhy you ask.'* 
 
 Tom. [Always looking at her,] Because I want to see 
 you again — and again — I want to ask you a million things 
 I never dreamed about until to-night — [His voice rising,] 
 I want to know you right down to the very bottom of your 
 soul — I want to — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting.] Ah, poor young man — all dat 
 can never be. 
 
 Tom. It will — 
 
 Rita. No — no ! 
 
 Tom. [Rising,] It must — it's got to be ! 
 
 Rita. [Gently,] Ssh — ! Don' make a noise ! [Impul- 
 sively,] Come 'ere! [He comes up to the side of couch.] 
 Kneel down — [As he does so,] Dere — like dat! Close — 
 close so ve can talk. [Picking up her bouquet,] You see 
 my violets 'ere — so sveet an' fresh an' bee-eautiful? You 
 see dem? Veil, 'ow long you t'ink dey las'? 
 
 Tom. a long time, if you treat them well. 
 
 Rita. Now look — ! [She pulls the flowers in handfuls 
 from the bouquet,] I press dem on my face an' neck — I feel 
 dere freshness on my eyes an' 'air — I dreenk dere sveetness 
 like I dreenk new vine — 
 
 Tom. [Warningly,] You're crushing them! 
 
 Rita. Vhat does it matter? I have kees dem — an' dey 
 vere born to die! [Taking up two great handfuls and 
 
Act I] ROMANCE 261 
 
 covering his face with them,^ Dere — ! Take long bret's 
 of dere fragrance! Let dem cool your lips an' fall like 
 vhite snow on your face! Don't t'ink sad thoughts of vhat 
 mus' be — jus' laugh an* love dem — dat is all dey need! 
 {^Giving him more,] Take dese — an' dese — take more — 
 oh, take dem all — ! [She throws a last handful into the 
 air. The flowers fall all about them.] Dere — ! [Showing 
 the bouquet holder,] It is empty. Not vone is left to take 
 'ome vhen I go. You on'erstan'.^ 
 
 Tom. I don't know — 
 
 Rita. [Tenderly.] Our meeting 'ere to-night — vhat is it 
 but a bunch of violets } Of flowers dat ve smell an' love an' 
 t'row into de air.^ Vhy should ve take dem 'ome vit' us 
 an' vatch dem die.^ I t'ink it is oh! much more vise to 
 leave dem 'ere — like leetle memories — all sveet an' vhite 
 an' scattered on de groun'. 
 
 Tom. Couldn't I keep — just one or two? 
 
 Rita. [Smiling.] Dey vera not meant for keeping. 
 Dere whole life vas to-night! 
 
 Tom. [Simply.] I know — but I'd like to try. [A little 
 pause. She looks at him and shakes her head,] 
 
 Rita. Ah, you are so young! [She picks up a few 
 flowers from where they have fallen and puts them in his 
 buttonhole as he kneels beside her,] Dere! [Then, with 
 her fingers still at his buttonhole.] I vish — [She hesitates,] 
 
 Tom. What do you wish.'^ 
 
 Rita. [Very simply, almost like a child,] I vish I knew 
 some flowers dat vould never die. 
 
 [There is an instant's pause, then, quite sud- 
 denly, he seizes her hands and kisses them 
 again and again. 
 
 Rita. [Trying to rise.] No — stop — vhat you do — } 
 
 [She manages to tear herself away from him 
 
 just as Van Tuyl appears on the stairs. 
 
262 ROMANCE [Act I 
 
 He pauses at the top and looks at them. 
 A brief pause, 
 Rita, [With complete self-command,'] Ah, 'ow nize 
 you are to come! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Politely.] You're ready, madame? 
 Rita. Gvite, qvite ready, [To Tom.] T'ank you, 
 m'sieur, for your kin' politeness. Good-bye. 
 
 [She hows to him and picks up her scarf, 
 gloves, and fan, preparatory to departure, 
 Tom. [Hoarsely,] But I want to see you again. 
 Rita. You are — sure? 
 Tom. [Gulping,] Yes — 
 Rita. Gvite sure.^ 
 Tom. [As before,] Yes — 
 
 Rita. [Very '' femme du monde'\] Den vould you 
 come to my 'otel to-morrow afternoon at four? It is de 
 Brevoort 'Ouse — [Pointing,] Jus* over dere, you know. 
 Tom. [With difficulty,] All right-— 
 Rita. [Smiling,] An* I vill take you for a leetle drive 
 upon your bee-eautiful Fift* Avenue! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Always very polite,] And our engage- 
 ment, madame — what becomes of that ? 
 
 Rita. Our leetle engagement is — is — 'ow you say? 
 
 Van Tuyl. Postponed? 
 
 Rita. [Finishing,] In-definite-lee. 
 
 [Van Tuyl bows. She moves towards the stairs, 
 
 Tom. [Who has never taken his eyes from her now steps 
 
 forward as he sees her leaving,] Wait — ! I'm awfully 
 
 sorry, but I — you know you haven't told me what your name 
 
 is — 
 
 Rita. Oh, of course — I 'ave forget — so stupid! Vill 
 you tell 'im — Meestaire Van Tuyl? 
 
 [She gives them each the most correct of 
 smiles and bows, unconsciously dropping 
 
Act I] ROMANXE 263 
 
 her handkerchief as she does so, then goes 
 downstairs. As she goes, there is a mur- 
 mur swelling up into loud applause which 
 comes from below. She is smiling and 
 kissing her hand to this unseen crowd as 
 she disappears, 
 [A pause. Van Tuyl lights a cigar, Tom, 
 staring after her, comes slowly to the 
 top of the stairs, sees the handkerchief 
 and picks it up. He is fingering it aim- 
 lessly when he sees the initials at one 
 corner. He looks at them more carefully 
 — and then turns dumbly to Van Tuyl, 
 The orchestra begins below. 
 Van Tuyl. [Gently,"] Do you mean to say you really 
 didn't know who she was? 
 
 Tom. [Shaking his head and speaking almost inarticu- 
 lately,'] No — I hadn't the least idea — 
 A Woman's Voice. [Singing below.] 
 '^ Non conosci il bel suol 
 
 Che di porpora ha il, del? 
 II bel suol il de' rai 
 Son pill tersi i colori? 
 ^' Ove Vaura e piii dolce 
 Pill lieve Vaugel 
 
 [Tom walks slowly to the balustrade and 
 stands there, looking down at the singer 
 in the room below. Van Tuyl watches 
 him rather sadly as 
 
 The Curtain Falls. 
 
264 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 ACT II 
 
 [SCENE: New Year's afternoon. The study of St. Giles 
 Rectory, a charmingly old-fashioned, spacious New 
 York house, looking out upon a quiet street. The 
 study IS a square room. At the left are two windows, 
 with heavy, rather faded curtains. In them hang holly 
 wreaths, tied with scarlet bows. At the hack is the 
 douhle-doorway leading into the hall. At one side of 
 it hangs the hell-rope. Over it is a long oar, and, ahove 
 this a mounted stag's head. At the right is the white 
 marhle mantel and fireplace, in which a fire is hurning. 
 On the mantel are several silver cups, medals in their 
 open cases, little old-fashioned photographs of young 
 men, a hig old clock, and two handsome candelahra. 
 Over the mantel is a large steel engraving of Del 
 Sarto's St. John. Near the fireplace is a rack contain- 
 ing rods and guns. A pair of hoxing-gloves hangs here, 
 too. There are hookcases at the hack, filled with soher, 
 pious, dusty volumes. On top these hookcases are a 
 few more engravings of old Masters — a Last Supper, 
 etc. In one corner stands an old-fashioned cahinet, 
 with glass-covered shelves and drawers helow. 
 
 In front of the window is a very large, heavy tahle- 
 desk; on it are a lamp, a water-pitcher and glass, desk- 
 fittings, several hooks, a daguerreotype in a velvet case, 
 a large, well-used Bihle, a smaller Testament, etc. A 
 hig leather chair faces this desk. There are one or 
 two other chairs near it. Across the room and placed 
 so that the keyboard is not seen is a small, hut ex- 
 quisite old-fashioned square piano. There are candles 
 on each side of the keyboard and several rather worn 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 265 
 
 volumes of bound music, neatly ranged. Near the fire- 
 place is a hair-cloth settee. All the furniture is old- 
 fashioned black walnut, upholstered in black. An old- 
 fashioned red carpet covers the floor. 
 
 The sunlight of a cold winter's afternoon comes 
 through the windows. Outdoors the glitter of snow is 
 seen. As the act goes on the sunlight changes to the 
 ruddy glow of a winter's sunset, and then the twilight 
 fills the room with shadows. 
 
 As the curtain rises Miss Armstrong, wearing a little 
 black silk apron, is discovered arranging some roses in 
 a bowl on the desk. The clock on the mantel strikes 
 four.] 
 
 [The door opens and Giles, the old butler, appears. 
 
 Giles. Miss Van Tuyl. 
 
 [Susan enters, dressed in bonnet and mantle. 
 
 Susan. [Coming in.] Tom, I — Seeing Miss Arm- 
 strong.] Oh, Happy New Year, Miss Armstrong! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. Don't be premature, my dear — it's 
 only New Year's Eve. [Kissing her.] What nice cold 
 cheeks you have! 
 
 Susan. [Laughing.] I ought to — I've been walking. 
 Tom asked me to come in at four, and hear about the final 
 arrangements for to-night. 
 
 Miss Armstrong. To-night — ? 
 
 Susan — Yes. The midnight New Year's service for the 
 lost and friendless. 
 
 Miss Armstrong. Oh, that! 
 
 Susan. [Enthusiastically .] We're going to have a brass 
 band and torches and sing hymns and parade the streets 
 for half an hour beforehand — oh, it'll be wonderful! Is 
 Tom upstairs.'^ / 
 
266 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Nervously,'\ No. He went out after 
 luncheon — er — to pay a call. 
 
 Susan. [Meaningly,] At the Brevoort House? 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Flustered,] Oh^ I'm sure he'll be 
 here if you wait a moment! He has a Deaconesses' Meet- 
 ing at a quarter to five and I know he never would miss 
 that! 
 
 Susan. Wouldn't he? Well^ we'll see — [Noticing the 
 /lowers,] What lovely roses ! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. They're mine — they came just a mo- 
 ment ago. Without any card, too ! 
 
 Susan. [Chaffing her,] Aha! An anonymous ad- 
 mirer — ! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Embarrassed and pleased,] My dear, 
 how foolish ! But you know it's the first time in years 
 that anyone's sent me flowers, and — 
 
 [There is the sound of sleighbells outside. 
 
 Susan. [At the window,] Oh, look! It's uncle's sleigh! 
 He's driving his new team ! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. Is he getting out? 
 
 Susan. Yes. He's come to call for me on his way up- 
 town. [Glancing at clock.] I wonder if Tom — 
 
 Miss Armstrong. My dear, there's no telling when he'll 
 be back. And as there's something I want to discuss with 
 your uncle^ I think you may as well go home. 
 
 Susan. Miss Armstrong, promise me not to tell him 
 I came — unless he speaks of it himself, I mean. I don't 
 want to be a drag on him. Oh, Miss Armstrong, prom- 
 ise — please! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. Very well, my dear — if you insist. 
 and — 
 
 [Giles enters. 
 
 Giles. [Announcing,] Mr. Van Tuyl. 
 
 [He stands aside to let Van Tuyl pass. 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 267 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Who wears a long fur coat and driving 
 gloves.] How d*you do^ Miss Armstrong. Real New 
 Year's Eve weather — eh? [Talcing off his coat and giving 
 it to Giles.] Well^ Susannah! I thought I'd find you and 
 Tom waving your arms and singing hymns and generally 
 getting up steam for to-night's procession! 
 
 Susan. [Smiling,'\ Tom's out. Can Ralph take me 
 home? [She puts on her wraps,'\ 
 
 Van Tuyl. Yes — good idea. I don't like to keep the 
 horses standing. [To Miss Armstrong.] Have you seen 
 my new team, Miss Armstrong? The prettiest sight in 
 New York — [At the window.'] Look at that off mare 
 there! Isn't she a little witch? The highest stepper on 
 the Avenue and a mouth like a French kid glove ! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. She looks very wild indeed! [To 
 Susan.] Good-bye^ my dear. Tell Ralph to be careful. 
 
 Susan. [Kissing Miss Armstrong.] Don't forget your 
 promise. [In a lower voice.] And, dear, don't worry. / don't 
 worry — I know it's going to be all right. [She goes out.^ 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Turning from the door.] Oh, Mr. 
 Van Tuyl, I — I am in great — in very great distress ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Dear lady, what is it? 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Crying quietly.] I'm ashamed to 
 act like this — but — it's been so hard carrying it on mj 
 mind — all alone — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Soothingly.] There — ! Count on me. 
 
 Miss Armstrong. You're Tom's oldest friend — and his 
 father's and mother's before him — and you're his leading 
 parishioner, too — and the chairman of the vestry — 
 
 [She snifft. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Comfortingly.] I know — I know — 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Breaking down.] Oh, save him, 
 Mr, Van Tuyl — save him from that d-d-dreadful woman? 
 
 [She sobs^ 
 
268 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 Van Tuyl. I've done my best. He came to see me 
 Saturday about the new gymnasium and I talked to him 
 as I would have to my own son. 
 
 Miss Armstrong. What did he say? 
 
 Van Tuyl. He was very sweet, but somehow he wasn't 
 there — the real Tom, I mean — it was only the outside 
 shell that I was speaking to. 
 
 Miss Armstrong. I know! I've seen it! He's with 
 her! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Reassuringli/,] Oh, come, Miss Armstrong! 
 You mustn't be alarmed ! Remember that she sails 
 to-morrow morning, and — \_Glancing out window S\ 
 Hello—! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. {^Stopping,'] What's the matter? 
 
 Van Tuyl. Why, her carriage is just stopping at your 
 door ! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [In amazed horror,'] Not Madame 
 Cavallini — ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. I rather think she's out to pay some calls. 
 [As Miss Armstrong goes and pulls the hell-rope,] What 
 are you going to do? 
 
 Miss Armstrong. Tell Giles I'm out. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Frankly.'] Let her come in. Perhaps I 
 could say a word or two — 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Earnestly.] You'll make her prom- 
 ise not to write to him? 
 
 Van Tuyl. I'll do my best. 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Vehemently.] There ought to be a 
 law against such women! Why, I'd sooner have a hun- 
 gry tigress walk into this room than — 
 
 Giles. [At door.] Madame Cavallini. 
 
 [He enters and stands aside to let her pass. 
 She comes in quickly. She wears a won- 
 derful black velvet dress, an ermine coat. 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 269 
 
 and a little ermine hat. Around her neck 
 
 is a long rope of pearls; at the end hangs 
 
 a cross. In her arms, as if it were a baby, 
 
 she carries a great ermine muff. From 
 
 one end of this peeps a monkey's head, 
 
 adorned with a scarlet satin turban, a long 
 
 green cigarette and a diamond clasp.] 
 
 Rita. [To Miss Armstrong, shaking hands.] My dear 
 
 meess, 'ow you do? I come in for vone meenute jus* to 
 
 say good-bye an' — 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Seeing monkey and drawing back 
 with a cry.] Oh—! What's that—? 
 
 Rita. What — ? [Noting her look.] An' I breeng my 
 leetle bab-ee to show you. You like bab-ees — yes ? 
 Miss Armstrong. That's not — a baby? 
 Rita. [Laughing.] Oh, no — no — no! Vhat you t'ink? 
 I call 'er bab-ee — because I am so — lonely — you too 'ave 
 no bab-ee, so you on'erstan' — yes? [Seeing Van Tuyl.] 
 Oh — ! [Advancing to him.] 'Ow you do, Meestaire Van 
 Tuyl? 
 
 [She shakes hands with him. 
 Van Tuyl. [Shaking hands.] How do you do? It 
 seems a long time since we've met. 
 
 Rita. Dat night I sing at your so bee-eautiful soiree! 
 To me, also, it seem a long, long time. 
 
 Van Tuyl. And Adelina — [To the monkey.] Comment 
 ga va^ mademoiselle — hein? I hope you find the weather 
 not too cold — ? 
 
 Miss Armstrong. Adelina- — ? 
 
 Rita. Yes — because she look so much like Patti in La 
 Traviata. [To Van Tuyl.] I t'ink she 'ave forget you, 
 sir. 
 
 Van Tuyl. You ladies can forget so quickly. 
 
 Rita. Yes ? Sometime — I vish you men forget a leetle — 
 
270 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 too! [Taking the monkey out from muff.'] Tesoruccio 
 mio, sei quasi gelato — non importa qui fa caldo! 
 
 [The tiny animal wears a fantastic costume 
 of bright green satin. Her skirt is orna- 
 mented with large diamond buttons. 
 
 Miss Armstrong. Why, it*s all dressed up ! 
 
 Rita. [In surprise.] But surely she is dress ! Do you 
 vant she go — 'ow you say ? — naked } Dat vould be — ah ! 
 shockeeng ! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. Are those — real diamond buttons? 
 
 Rita — Yes. De prince de Chimay, 'e give 'er dose. So 
 pretty — eh ? 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Indignantly.] I call it sinful 
 waste — ! 
 
 Rita. [Wistfully.] You don' like de monkee — no? 
 
 Miss Armstrong. Certainly not — horrid little animals ! 
 
 Rita. [Warningly.] Tschk — ! Tschk — ! You 'urt 
 'er feeling! Ecco — see — ! She begin to cry! [Suddenly 
 thrusting Adelina into Miss Armstrong's arms.] Kiss *er 
 please — tell her you like 'er jus' vone leetle bit — 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Frantically.] Stop it! How dare 
 you — ? Take it away — oh! oh! It's going to bite me — 
 Mr. Van Tuyl — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Taking the monkey.] Come here^ Ade- 
 lina — there — that's right ! 
 
 Rita. [To monkey.] Bellezza mia! tu un* faresti male 
 a nessuno! [Taking monkey.] I t'ink she is like me, 
 Meestaire Van Tuyl. [With a reproachful glance towards 
 Miss Armstrong.] She is not 'appy when de peoples do 
 not love 'er! [Slipping the monkey into muff again.] Ti 
 amo bambinello mio — si — ti amo! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Watching her.] Ugh! 
 
 Rita. [Putting both muff and monkey in big chair by 
 fire where neither can be seen.] I put 'er 'ere an' she vill 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 271 
 
 take vone leetle nap ! [Bending over chair,] Dormi, ham- 
 hina cara di mamma — e stai Id — buona, huona — finche mam- 
 ma ti sveglia! [Rising and turning quickly to Miss Arm- 
 strong.] Santa I *ave forget! I 'ave a somet'ing to tell 
 you . from Meestaire Tom ! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. YouVe seen him? 
 
 Rita. [Innocently,] But yes — 'e drive vit' me. I 
 leave *im at de — oh, vhat you say? — de parish 'ouse. 'E 
 mus' spik to de con-firm-a-tion class — [To Van Tuyl.] 
 What is dat? Con-firm — 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Interrupting.] Isn't he coming 
 home ? 
 
 Rita. Yes — jus' a leetle vhile^ 'e say. [Holding out 
 her hand to Miss Armstrong.] So I come firs' — to make 
 my respec' to you^ dear meess, an' say good-bye. 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Stiffly, to Van Tuyl, paying no atten- 
 tion to the outstretched hand.] When Madame Cavallini 
 goes^ I hope you'll step up to my sitting-room and have a 
 cup of tea? [He bows.] 
 
 Rita. [Seeing the roses on the desk.] A-ah ! De roses — 
 dey arrive all right? You like dem — yes? I 'ave choose 
 each vone myself — ! [She smiles winningly at Miss Arm- 
 strong.] 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [Amazed.] You sent me those — ? 
 
 Rita. [Wistfully.] Jus' a leetle surprise — to remember 
 me two — free days after I 'ave gone — so far! 
 
 Miss Armstrong. [After a speechless moment.] Thank 
 you — you were very kind. [She goes over and takes up the 
 bowl of roses from the desk.] Mr. Van Tuyl will put you 
 in your carriage whenever you're ready. Good-bye, ma- 
 dame, I wish you a pleasant voyage! [She goes out at 
 back.] 
 
 Rita. [Turning in wonder to Van Tuyl.] Vhat for she 
 go avay so qveeck? 
 
272 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 Van Tuyl. I asked her to. I said I wanted to talk to 
 you alone. 
 
 Rita. [Turning away.'] Yes.^ Could you not come 
 to my 'otel.'* 
 
 Van Tuyl. I may be wrong, but I thought I wouldn't 
 be received. 
 
 Rita, [Not looking at him,] Mebbe you are not so 
 wrong. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Come here. 
 
 Rita. [Coming up to him,'] Vhat you vant? 
 
 [She looks at him and suddenly smiles. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Smiling, too,] You little monkey, you- — 
 [Recovering himself,] Now pretend for five minutes I'm 
 your father confessor! 
 
 Rita. You vant to scold me — yes? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Taking her hy the shoulders,] Well, that 
 depends — we'll see. Has Tom asked you to marry him? 
 
 Rita. [After a little pause,] No. 
 
 Van Tuyl. I*m glad. And if he did? 
 
 Rita. [Not looking at him, speaking with a rather 
 sulky defiance,] I vould not marry 'im — an American 
 cler-gee-man. *E vould vant I stop singing an' be so 
 frightful good an' live 'ere in dis 'orrible New York — 
 mos' col' diza-agree-ble place I ever see — ! Adelina, in 
 two — t'ree mont's she die — yes! An' 'e vould not let me 
 go to Paris vhen I need de new dress — an' I vould be ail 
 bore — an' seeck — [With a sniff,] Mebbe I die, too — an' 
 den — everyvone is glad — ! [She dries her eyes resolutely 
 with her handkerchief,] Oh, no, my frien', I vould 
 not marry 'im — no — no — dat vould be vone beeg mees- 
 take ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Then why do you lead the poor boy on? 
 
 Rita. Lead 'im — ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. He's not like the young gentlemen you're 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 273 
 
 accustomed to have circling round you — remember that, 
 my dear! He's not a Baron Vigier or a Captain Pon- 
 sonby or a — who was that little Pole who singed his wings 
 so badly when you sang last spring in Brussels? 
 
 Rita. No, my frien* — no — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Interrupting.'] Well, isn't that pretty 
 much the way you're treating him? Aren't you amus- 
 ing yourself — just a little bit at his expense? 
 
 Rita. You do not on'erstan' — ah ! it is so 'ard to say ! 
 Leesten — ! [She speaks very seriously.] 'Ow long I know 
 'im? Two mont's? Ver' veil — [Solemnly,] In all dat 
 time 'e 'as not spik to me a vord of love — ^no, not vone 
 leetle vord! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Amazed,] What—? 
 
 Rita. At first I try to make him — oh, you know — jus' 
 for fun! An' den — some'ow — I am so sorry for 'im — 
 an* I don't try any more! 
 
 [She sits on a hassock at his feet, leaning 
 against his knees. He puts his hand on 
 her shoulder. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Tenderly.] My poor little Rita. Don't 
 you know there's nothing in all this, dear, for you? 
 
 Rita. [With a sigh.] Oh, yes! I 'ave so often say, 
 " Seelly voman, do not see 'im vhen 'e come today. Jus' 
 tell de gentleman down-stair you vant to sleep an* no- 
 bod-ee shall vake you up ! " 
 
 Van Tuyl. Well, why didn't you? 
 
 Rita. I say no-bod-ee — like dat! No-bod-ee in all de 
 vorld — [Shamefacedly.] — excep' jus' Meestaire Tom! 
 [With a sigh.] Dio, come e dura la vita! 
 
 Van Tuyl. So that's the way it went ! 
 
 Rita. An' *e come so much — oh! all de time! An' I 
 cannot practice an' 'e take me for de valk in de Gran' Cen- 
 tral Park. Vone day 'e keep me so late, dere is no re- 
 
274 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 'earsal — yes, an' I sing dat night — ! Oh ! It vas mos' 
 terrible! [Shyly,~\ But also it vas — nize ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Softly,] I know — I know — 
 
 Rita. An' den ve go 'ome to de 'otel an' I play for 'tm — 
 an' sing — sometime I tell de fortune vit' de card. An' 'e 
 sit near an' spik of many t'ings! 
 
 Van Tuyl. What sort of things? 
 
 Rita. Oh^ I dunno. Sometime vhat 'appen vhen 'e 
 vas a leetle boy — an' vhat de bee-shop say about 'is vork — 
 an' of de new geem-nas-i-um 'e 'ave build — an' so much 
 of de poor peoples dat 'e vant to 'elp. 
 
 Van Tuyl. He talks of them to you? 
 
 Rita. [Nodding,] Oh^ yes! An' I — I tell 'im vhat 
 I t'ink! I vounce vas poor — I know — / on'erstan'. 
 [Glancing up at him,] I t'ink you smile a leetle — yes? 
 
 Van Tuyl. No, I'm not smiling, dear. [Pause,] 
 
 Rita. [With a sigh.] Ah, my frien', I am vone great 
 big fool — I — who 'ave believe I vas so vise! 
 
 [She smiles and shakes her head. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Never mind, my dear. It's over now. 
 You're leaving us to-morrow. 
 
 Rita. [Glancing up,] You t'ink 'e vill forget me — yes? 
 
 Van Tuyl. I'm sure you hope he will. 
 
 Rita. [Looking off,] I t'ink I vill not forget ^im — 
 or if I do it take a long, long time! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Ssh! Nonsense! [Putting his hands over 
 her eyes,] Shut your eyes and think of all that's wait- 
 ing for you over there ! Rome. Just say it yourself. 
 Rome. Do you remember those last evenings on the ter- 
 race of the Villa d'Este? And inside the Abbe Liszt 
 just playing and playing his — what did he call 'em? — 
 '* Consolations ? " Do you remember that old piece of 
 balustrade, and the Campagna, all purple like the twi- 
 light-laden sea? And far away, like smoke against the 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 275 
 
 sky, St. Peter's dome? And that's not all — there's Flor- 
 ence, and the olive-covered hills of Fiesole ! You'll be 
 there for the first breath of the spring! And Como with 
 the snow still on the mountains ! And Paris — why, you'll 
 see the first acacias on the Boulevard St. Germain — you'll 
 smell the lilacs when you're driving in the Bois — ! And 
 Gounod will be there, and your dear old friend Rossini — ! 
 Think of the dinners at the Maison Doree, and the violets 
 in the forest of Compiegne — ! Think of the suppers Cora 
 Pearl will give ! Do you remember when the Brohan 
 poured her champagne down the prince's back? And 
 Marianne de Murska — good old Gigi, too — why, don't you 
 know what fun you're going to have? 
 
 Rita. Oh, dere is only vone t'ing dat I know! 
 
 Van Tuyl. What's that? 
 
 Rita. [Passionately,'] I love 'im — I love 'im — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Covering her mouih with his hand,] Ssh 
 — ! Rita, you oughtn't to have come here today. It isn't 
 right — it isn't fair to either of you. 
 
 Rita. But *e ask me so many time! 
 
 Van Tuyl. If you don't look out, you're going to make 
 him suffer a great deal. 
 
 Rita. [Quickly,] Ah — no — no! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Gently,] It rests with you, my dear — his 
 happiness or pain. 
 
 Rita. [After a pause, rising,] All right. I go now — 
 befor 'e come. 
 
 Van Tuyl. You won't regret it, dear. 
 
 Rita. [Unpinning a hunch of white violets from her 
 wrap,] So vhen 'e ask for me — jus' give 'im dese — an' 
 say it is — adieu — 
 
 [She hisses the violets and holds them out to 
 him. Just here the door opens and Tom 
 bursts in, full of splendid spirits, utterly 
 
276 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 boyish and happy. He wears his over- 
 coat and gloves. 
 
 Tom. [Entering.] Well, did you think I never was — 
 [Seeing Van Tuyl.] Oh, is that you, sir? How do you 
 do? [Shaking hands,] Tm glad Madame Cavallini hasn't 
 been waiting here alone. Where's Aunt Emma? 
 
 Van Tuyl. Upstairs. 
 
 Tom. [Pulling off his gloves,] Whew — ! It's cold 
 outside ! I'm nearly frozen and I ran home, too ! Those 
 little rascals were so stupid — I wanted to spank the lot! 
 [Rubbing his hands,] Now I'll just put some more coal 
 on the fire and then we'll sit down and — 
 
 Van Tuyl. I think, Tom, Mme. Cavallini was just 
 going when you came in. 
 
 Tom. [Stopping.] Going — ? 
 
 Rita. [Recollecting herself.] Yes, I mus' sleep a leetle 
 before tonight — my las' performance — I so much vant to 
 give my best — [She has moved towards the door. 
 
 Tom. [Running up and taking her hand.] Oh, come 
 now, you're not going! 
 
 Rita. [Faltering.] Please, Meestaire Tom, de per- 
 formance — 
 
 Tom. [Drawing her over to fire.] Oh, that's all right — 
 it's Mignon and you know it backwards. 
 
 Rita. [Helplessly to Van Tuyl.] You see — 
 [Giles enters at back. 
 
 Giles [At door.] Miss Armstrong's compliments, Mr. 
 Van Tuyl, and tea is served in the sitting-room upstairs. 
 
 Tom. [Quickly.] Don't say we're here. We'll come up 
 later. [Van Tuyl looks at Rita. 
 
 Rita. [Pleadingly,] In jus' vone leetle vhile! 
 
 [With a shrug. Van Tuyl turns and goes 
 out. Giles closes the door after him. 
 
 Tom. [With a sigh of pleasure as the door closes.] 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 277 
 
 There! Now isn't this fine? I tell you, it's like a dream 
 come true ! 
 
 Rita. Vhat dream, please? 
 
 Tom. You — here in my big armchair — in front of my 
 fire — in my study ! 
 
 Rita. [Wistfully,'] A dream — ah, dat is vhat I am? 
 A leetle dream dat lose 'er vay an* rest vone meenute in 
 your sleeping 'eart. 
 
 Tom. One minute ? Always ! 
 
 Rita. [Smiling,'] Ah no, my frien*. To-morrow you 
 vake up, an' pouf ! dat leetle dream — she is all gone! 
 
 Tom. No — don't— 
 
 Rita. [Softly,] You 'ave been 'appy den, dese las" 
 veeks — yes ? 
 
 Tom. [Lifting his eyes to hers,] You know. . 
 
 Rita. [Very softly,] I 'ave been 'appy too. 
 
 Tom. [Impulsively,] Don't go to-morrow ! 
 
 Rita. Vhat you say? 
 
 Tom. Stay on till spring! 
 
 Rita. But 'ave I not tell you I mus' sing in Rome nex' 
 mont' — ? An' I go to Venice for de new opera Verdi 'ave 
 compose — 
 
 Tom. Don't go — oh, please don't go! 
 
 Rita. An* den I mus' see Mapleson in London, an' de 
 Russian concert tour begin in June — 
 
 Tom. I don't care — I just can't say good-bye! 
 
 Rita. [Illumined,] Den come vit' me! 
 
 Tom. [Surprised,] What? 
 
 Rita. Go qveeck an' buy de teecket — 
 
 Tom. Ticket—? 
 
 Rita. [Enthusiastically,] Yes — before dey are all 
 gone! — an' to-morrow ve put de clo'es in de box an' de 
 box on de carriage an' drive to de quai an' oh ! ve stan-' 
 on de boat — you an' me an' Adelina — an' ve vave de 'an*- 
 
278 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 kerchief an* t'row de kiss an' laugh! — oh! my Lord^ *ow 
 ve laugh at all de stupid peoples ve leave behin' ! Vhat you 
 t'inkofdat? Hein? 
 
 Tom. I think it's wonderful. But IVe got a meeting 
 of the Board of Charities to-morrow at eleven^ and Patrick 
 Crowley's funeral at twelve, and after dinner I offer my 
 annual report to the Vestry Committee, and in the evening 
 my Knights of the Round Table boys — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting.] I 'ave forget you are a clerg-ee- 
 man. 
 
 Tom. And I forgot you were a Golden Nightingale. 
 l_Pause,] 
 
 Rita. [Nodding to herself.] I t'ink it is a ver' good 
 Ving I go avay to-morrow. 
 
 Tom. [Much downcast.] But you're coming back next 
 year } 
 
 Rita. [With a gesture.] Ah, vhy talk about nex' year — 
 it is so far avay! 
 
 Tom. In my profession, one has to think a great deal 
 about things that are far away. 
 
 Rita. Den you are ver' foolish — [As he starts to pro- 
 test.] — yes, you are ! Leesten ! I am ol' an' I know de vorld 
 — so vhat I tell you now you mus' remember alvays. 
 
 Tom. Well.> 
 
 Rita. [Wistfully.] Yesterday — it is a dream ve 'ave 
 forget. To-morrow — jus' de 'ope of some great 'appiness 
 — some joy dat never come! Before, behin' — all clouds 
 an' stars an' shadow — nodings, nodings dat is real — only 
 de leetle meenute dat we call to-day! 
 
 Tom. [Bitterly.] To-day's so short! 
 
 Rita. [With a smile.] Ah, you are young, my frien' ! 
 De time vill come vhen you are glad to 'ave dat leetle 
 meenute — so glad you vould not t'ink to ask for more ! 
 ^Changing her tone.] Dio mio! De 'ours, dey fly so fas'! 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 279 
 
 [Pointing to a chair,'] Go sit down — fold your 'andsl 
 Now ve vill see *ow much Eetalian I *ave teach you. 
 
 Tom. [Disappointed.] Oh^ bother Italian! Don't let's 
 waste time when — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting,] De lesson *ave begin. [Primlt/.J 
 Buon giorno, signor, 
 
 Tom. [Sulkily,] Buon giorno, signora, 
 
 Rita. St a ella bene oggi? 
 
 Tom. [With some difficulty.'] Molto grazie io sono 
 benissimo, 
 
 Rita. [Smiling,] Sono quelli i suoi istrumenti da pesca? 
 
 [Pointing to case — rights 
 
 Tom. [Not understanding,] Istrumenti da pesca? 
 
 Rita. [Imitating the act of fishing,] 'Ow you say — for 
 de feeshes.'^ 
 
 Tom. [Understanding,] Oh^ fishing rods! 
 
 Rita. Si — si! Le piace pescare? 
 
 Tom. [Shaking his head.] Er — Vm afraid I don't get it^ 
 
 Rita. You lika to 'unt de feeshes.^ 
 
 Tom. [Enthusiastically,] Do I? Well^ I should sayt 
 There's a stream up in the Adirondack Mountains — you'd 
 just love those mountains! — where I landed ninety-four 
 trout in one day! Ninety- four — what do you think of that? 
 
 Rita. Poor leetle f eeshes ! 
 
 Tom. [Tolerantly,] Oh, they don't mind. They like 
 to be caught. 
 
 Rita. [Pointing to the stag's head over the door,] E 
 quel* cervo lo ha ammazzato lei anche quello? 
 
 Tom. Did I shoot him, you mean.'* 
 
 Rita. Si — si, 
 
 Tom. [Enthusiastically.] Well, you'd better believe I 
 did ! I got him all myself and — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting.] Oh, la — Id! Badi! Italiam 
 Italiano! 
 
280 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 Tom. [Pointing to himself proudly,] lo — tutti io — 
 guide three miles away ! Moltissimo grande — Biggest bucko 
 that season — tried to gore me with those antlers^ but I 
 plugged him just in time — molto sporto, I tell you! 
 
 Rita. [Clasping her hands,] Santa Madonna! You 
 mus' be careful please — mebbe some day you get 'urted ! 
 
 Tom. [With a slight swagger,] Oh, no, I won't! 
 
 Rita. [Looking over the door,] An* de beeg oar — vhy 
 you keep 'im dere? 
 
 Tom. [Proudly,] I pulled that oar in the best race Yale 
 ever won ! I W3S number six — we beat Harvard by quarter 
 of a boat-length. That was '59 — nay senior year. [Anx- 
 iously,] They didn't have anything about it in the European 
 papers, did they.'* No — } [Looking at the oar,] Well, 
 it was a great race just the same! 
 
 Rita. [Softly,] I am so glad you vin! 
 
 Tom. [Pleased,] We wouldn't have done it if it hadn't 
 been for Dicky Parker. [Going to the mantel and taking 
 up a small photograph,] He was our stroke — had the 
 finest pair of legs in college, and as for his back — [Rever- 
 ently,] — well, I just wish you could see the muscles in his 
 back! [Giving her the picture,] Here he is — he looks sort 
 of foolish in that picture, though. 
 
 Rita. [Looking at it,] He look ver' nize. 
 
 Tom. [Giving her another picture.] And here's Dave 
 Sterling. He played first base on the college team. Dave 
 went to China last year as a missionary — [Giving her an- 
 other,] And here's Frank Willis — he was killed at Gettys- 
 burg, you know — [Suddenly seizing another in a frame at 
 the end of the mantel,] Oh, and here's Wallie Fletcher — 
 he's the fellow I told you about, that used to spend his 
 summers with me up at Peekskill before father sold the 
 place. 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 281 
 
 Rita. [Taking the picture,'} De leetle boy dat sveem 
 across de rivair? 
 
 Tom. That*s the one! Didn't we have good times 
 though? We always went barefoot — used to pick up things, 
 with our toes. I could beat Wallie running and jumping, but 
 of course he had me when it came to swimming — and then 
 he could whistle through his teeth ! Dear me, when I think 
 of the hours I spent in the back pasture all by myself, just 
 trying to whistle through my teeth ! 
 
 Rita. [Sympathetically.'] A-ah ! 
 
 Tom. But I made up for it when I learnt to turn a 
 back somersault. Wallie used to rub himself every night 
 with boiled angle-worms — he'd heard all acrobats did that 
 — [Suddenly,] But there! I'm always talking about my- 
 self! Suppose you talk about yourself for a change? 
 
 Rita. Me — ? 
 
 Tom. Yes, tell me about some of the larks you used ta 
 have. The good times — you know what I mean ! 
 
 Rita. [A little timidly,] De good time — ? I am afraid 
 I did not 'ave dat ver' much — [Suddenly,] But vait! Yes^ 
 I remember vonce ! My baba — 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting,] WTiat? 
 
 Rita. Dat mean my fader — 'e is dead — [She closes her 
 eyes, says something under her breath in Latin, crosses 
 herself and then resumes brightly.] — ve live in vone leetle 
 room ver' ver' 'igh up — Calle San Polo on de Zattere. Vone 
 morning de baba, 'e feel seeck — ve 'ad not anyt'ings to eat 
 — so I mus' leave 'im qveek an' go an' sing to get de money. 
 An' I sing an' sing, but no vone vill give nodings, an' de 
 bad boys dey laugh, an' t'row de dirt at me, an' vone of 
 dem, 'e break my guitar! An' de night come, an' I am so 
 tired I don't know vhere I go or vhat I do — an' den I fin" 
 myself before de 'Otel Danieli. An' I try to sing — but no 
 
282 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 vone leesten, an' de tears dey come so fas* I cannot see — 
 an' jus' den I 'ear a voice say " Don' cry please! " I don* 
 on'erstan' de Engleesh den^ but I look up an' a leetle girl, 
 all dress in vhite, she lean ovair de balcony an' smile at 
 me an' drop an envelope an' in de envelope vas — vhat 
 you t'ink? — a bee-eautiful bright piece of gol' ! An' de 
 tears, dey 'ave an en', an' I smile up at de leetle girl, an' 
 keess my 'an' an' run avay an' oh ! dat night I cook a — 'ow 
 you say? — a great beeg deesh of nize, fat, dee-licious fried 
 eel! Dat suppair, it come back to me in dreams an' I 
 sect again on de broken stool an' eat an' eat, an' de baba, 
 'e make de joke an' oh! my Lord, I am so glad! An den 
 I vake up — an' feel de pearls aroun' my neck — an' I cry 
 — because it vas so long ago! [SligJit pause.'] 
 Tom. [Whispering,] You poor litle thing — 
 Rita. [Coming back to herself,] So you see I 'ave de 
 good time, too ! 
 
 Tom. [Whispering.] You poor little thing — 
 
 [He rises and comes to her. 
 Rita. Vhat you ^ay? 
 
 Tom. [Passionately.] Madam Cavallini — Margherita — 
 I— 
 
 Rita. [Shrinking from him in sudden nervousness,] 
 No — no — 
 
 [Just here a hand-organ strikes up outside 
 the window, playing the old waltz — '^ II 
 Bacio." 
 Tom. [Startled and furious.] Drat that hurdy-gurdy! 
 Rita. [Slyly.] I t'ink it come jus' in time! 
 
 [Tom goes over to the window where he looks 
 out. Meanwhile Rita is dancing lightly 
 and gaily about the room, whistling and 
 snapping her fingers in time with the 
 waltz. 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 283 
 
 Tom. [Opening the window and calling outside.'] Hi! 
 [Pause, The waltz continues,'] Hi — you there ! Stop that 
 racket! Stop it this minute! [The waltz breaks off in the 
 middle of a phrase,] We don't allow any Italian mounte- 
 banks in the neighborhood of this church and if you don't — 
 [Suddenly spluttering with rage,] Take that monkey off 
 my gate! 
 
 Rita. Monkee — } [She runs up to the window, and calls 
 gaily outside,] Buon giorno, amicol [Tom stands petri- 
 fied, staring at her,] Che tesoro di una scimmietta avete! 
 Come si chiama? [The man calls back something in 
 Italian,] Hein? Tommaso — ? [To Tom.] You an' de 
 monkee 'ave de same name! [Calling outside,] Quanti 
 anni ha? [The man answers. She turns to Tom.] 'E is 
 two year oF. [Calling,] Ha delle pulci? The man 
 answers,] Davvero? [To Tom.] 'E use to 'ave de flea, 
 but now 'e eat dem all. 
 
 Tom. [Much annoyed,] Really, I — 
 
 Rita. [Suddenly struck with an idea and calling outside 
 with mysterious importance,] Aspettate un momento — 
 voglio farvi veder qualche cosa! [She runs across the room, 
 picks up her own monkey and returns to the window,] I 
 make acqvainted Tommaso vit' Adelina ! 
 
 Tom. [Trying to stop her,] Please, madame — remem- 
 ber my parishioners — 
 
 Rita. [Holding up Adelina at the window and calling 
 outside,] Ecco — .' Tommaso, questa e Adelina — siete com- 
 patrioti! [To Adelina,] Sii carina e saluta Tommaso — 
 colla tua manina — [Waving a hand for her.] Brava — 
 cosi! [To the organ-grinder.] E voi, amico, come vz 
 chiamate? [The man answers. She turns again to Tom. J 
 De gentleman's name is Meestaire Francesco Guerra. 
 [Calling outside,] Da che provincia venite? [To Tom.] 
 *E come from Napoli. [Calling,] Da quanto tempo sieter 
 
284 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 m questo paese? [To Tom, as the man answers,] 'E been 
 'ere vone year an' 'e vant like 'ell to go back! [Calling.] 
 Quanti bambini avete? 
 
 Tom. [Firmly.] Madame, you'll catch your death of 
 ^•old! 
 
 RiA. [Turning to Tom.] 'E 'ave five children an' an- 
 odder vone come nex' mont' ! 
 
 Tom. [Angrily.] Tell him to go away, do you hear? 
 Tell him to go away immediately ! 
 
 Rita. [To Tom.] All right — give me de money — 
 
 Tom. [Protesting.] You're not going to — [Meekly tak- 
 ing out his purse.] Will ten cents do.^ 
 
 Rita. Qveeck — qveeck before 'e go avay ! [She snatches 
 the purse out of his hand and throws it out the window, 
 calling as she does so:] Ecco — guardate bene dove cade — 
 comperate qualche cosa pei bambini! Buona fine e buon 
 principio, amico! [Waving her handkerchief.] Arrive- 
 derci! 
 
 [She smiles and kisses her hand at the de- 
 parting organ-grinder, 
 
 Tom. [Coldly.] You talk to that man as if you'd known 
 liim all your life! 
 
 Rita. [Turning away from the window with a little sigh 
 and shrug.] Ah, ve bot' make de music. [Suddenly seeing 
 the daguerreotype on the desk.] Who is dat young lady.'^ 
 
 Tom. That's my mother. [Slight pause.] 
 
 Rita. You let me look at 'er — yes.^ 
 
 TpM. Of course. 
 
 [She takes up the picture very tenderly and 
 studies it. 
 
 Ri'^a. [Softly.] Oh, she is bee-eautiful ! 
 
 Tom. [Coming up and looking at it over her shoulder.] 
 That was taken before she was married. My father always 
 had it on his dressing-table. 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 285 
 
 Rita. [Always gazing at the picture.] I t'ink you look 
 like 'er. 
 
 Tom. [Looking at it, too,] She died when I was fifteen. 
 It was my first winter at boarding school. She'd come up 
 to see me only two weeks before and brought me this — 
 [Picking up a small, worn book from desk,] — my little 
 Testament. I'd expected a fruit-cake — you can imagine 
 how I felt! But now — [He brushes it lovingly,] — there's 
 nothing else I value quite so much ! 
 
 Rita. [Whispering,] She look like she 'old somet'ing in 
 'er 'eart — somet'ing dat make 'er 'appy — an' dat no vone 
 know — [Slight pause,] Per-aps — per'aps it is de fought 
 dat vone day she 'ave a son — like you — 
 
 [Tom has crossed the room and is unlocking 
 a drawer in the corner-cabinet, 
 
 Rita. [Under her breaih, to the picture,] Forgive — 
 [She kisses it, then puts it back carefully on desk, 
 
 Tom. [Returning with a little box,] There's something 
 here I've been meaning to show you — [He is opening the 
 box and fumbling about in it,] I keep it in this box with 
 mother's little souvenirs — [He has taken out a tiny, shabby, 
 little shoe and put it on the desk to get it out of the way,] 
 Where on earth — [Suddenly,] Oh, yes ! 
 
 [He takes out a small package done up care- 
 fully in tissue paper, 
 
 Rita. [Picking up the shoe as she interrupts,] An* 
 dis— .> 
 
 Tom. [Glancing at it,"] That? Oh, I believe that's my 
 first shoe. [His tone softening as he looks at it,] Funny 
 little thing — look ! It's all worn out at the toes ! 
 
 Rita. [Half -laughing, half-crying,] Oh! — oh, I t'ink 
 it is so sveet! [She clasps it to her heart, 
 
 Tom. [Taking a little envelope from the box and giving 
 it to her,] Here's something else, too! 
 
286 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 EiTA. [^Tremulously, as she tahes.'] Vhat — ? oh, vhat 
 you — [Reading slowly from the envelope,"] " Curl saved 
 from my son Thom-as Arm-strong's first *air-cut — June seex 
 — eighteen 'undred an' forty-vone — " 
 
 Tom. [Smiling.'] Let's see — I must have been three 
 years old ! 
 
 Rita. [Who has taken out the curl,] Oh, look! De 
 leetle curl — it is so soft — an' yellow — jus' like gol' — 
 
 Tom. I was blonde when I was young — you'd never 
 think it now, would you? 
 
 Rita. [Half -laughing, half-crying,] An' she 'ave keep 
 it in dis envelope an' write upon it — *' Curl from my son 
 Thom-as " — [She cannot go on,] 
 
 Tom. [Half apologetic] She did that because she was 
 very sentimental. 
 
 Rita. [Bursting out,] She did it because she love you 
 such a much ! 
 
 Tom. Here's what I really wanted to show you, though. 
 [He is unwrapping the little package he has been holding 
 in his hand, Rita kisses the curl and puts it back in its 
 envelope with great care,] Now ! Look at those ! 
 
 Rita. [Looking,] A necklace^ — earrings — 
 
 Tom. They were father's wedding present! [He holds 
 up the necklace — it is made of seed pearls and has a locket,] 
 There! Isn't that pretty? 
 
 Rita. [Admiringly.] Oh, mos' ver' pretty! 
 
 Tom. There's one of my baby pictures in the locket. 
 [Trying to open locket,] I wonder how — oh, yes, I remem- 
 ber — you press the back and then it opens ! There — ! 
 [Fie gives her the locket. She takes it eagerly, looks at it, 
 glances at him, then breaks out into irrepressible laughter,] 
 What's the matter? 
 
 Rita. [Trying to control herself,] You are so — so fat! 
 
 Tom. [Frowning,] Fat — ? 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 287 
 
 Rita. You 'ave such beeg cheek — jus' like dis — 
 
 l^She puffs up her own cheeks, loses her 
 breath and starts laughing again. 
 
 Tom. [Severely.] I believe I was considered a very 
 beautiful baby ! 
 
 Rita. You are de mos' funny baby I ever see in all my 
 life! 
 
 Tom, [Coldly.'] Oh^ very well. I'm sorry I showed it 
 to you ! I might have known that — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting.] Ah, don't be angry. 
 
 Tom. [Not turning.] I'm not angry! 
 
 Rita. So.'* Den von' you turn your 'ead — please? 
 [Slight pause.] I go avay to-morrow! [Slight pause.] 
 Mebbe I never come back! [Long pause. Then dreamily.] 
 I t'ink you are de mos' bee-eautiful baby in de whole world. 
 
 Tom. [Loftily.] No, you don't either. 
 
 Rita. [Eagerly.] So — si! It is true! Softly to the 
 picture.] So good-bye, leetle fat boy — good-bye — good- 
 bye! [She kisses it twice. 
 
 Tom. [Turning and seeing her.] Thank you. 
 
 Rita. [Shaking the locket.] Dat vas for 'im, my frien' 
 — not you! [She holds out the necklace for him to take. 
 
 Tom. [Embarrassed.] Er — don't you want to keep him 
 then? 
 
 Rita. Keep 'im? 
 
 Tom. Yes, and the necklace, too. I wish — I mean I 
 hope you will. 
 
 Rita. But no — I cannot — 
 
 Tom. Please — just as a favor to me! 
 
 Rita. It is your moder's — 
 
 Tom. [Eagerly.] I know — that's why! 
 
 Rita. But she vould not like it — 
 
 Tom. [A little pompously.] Of course I realize how 
 you feel about accepting presents of jewelry from men. 
 
288 ROMANCE . [Act II 
 
 but I think in this case — it's — er — quite all right! [Her 
 hand has gone instinctively to her string of pearls.] What 
 are you doing? 
 
 Rita. [Unclasping her own pearls,'] I make for it de 
 
 place ! [She drops her string of pearls on the desk. 
 
 Tom. [Heartily.] Aha! I knew you would! [Giving 
 
 her the rest of the package,] Here ! take the earrings, 
 
 too! 
 
 Rita. [With tender enthusiasm,] Dio mio! dey are so 
 bee-eautiful ! 
 
 Tom. Can you see to put them on? 
 
 [By this time the room is filled with twilight 
 shadows. The firelight is rearm and mel- 
 low. 
 Rita. [Standing on a footstool before the mantel and 
 looking into the glass.] Oh, yes I can see I 
 
 [She takes off her own earrings, lays them 
 on the mantelpiece and begins putting 
 on his earrings and necklace. He watches 
 her, 
 Tom. You know how it clasps ? 
 
 Rita. [Busy with the necklace,] Yes, it is all right — 
 [Finishing it, and turning gaily to him.] Ecco! Are dey 
 not be-coming? [He does not answer.] Vhy you look at 
 me like dat? Vhat you t'ink of — hein? 
 
 Tom. [Simply.] I was just thinking how mother would 
 have loved you. 
 Rita. Yes? 
 
 Tom. She loved everything that was beautiful and sweet 
 and good. And then your music would have interested her 
 so much 1 She was musical, too, you know. 
 Rita. Is dat so? 
 
 Tom. [Continuing.] Yes, that's why I kept her piano 
 when the Worth Street house was sold. I put it over there 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 289 
 
 — so when I'm writing sermons and get all mixed-up, I 
 can just look at it and imagine I'm eight years old again 
 and hear her dear voice singing Annie Laurie, 
 Rita. [Softly.] " An-nee Laur-ee? " 
 Tom. That was her favorite song. [Hesitating,] I 
 wish — I wish you'd sing it once before you go. 
 Rita. I tell you vhat — I play an' you vill sing! 
 Tom. [Embarrassed,] But I can't — I haven't any 
 voice — 
 
 Rita. Come — vhere is it — in dis book.'^ 
 
 l^She takes up one of the bound volumes of 
 music lying on the piano, 
 Tom. No — the big one underneath — page 27- — but really 
 — it's foolish — the idea of my trying to — 
 
 Rita. [Finding it.] Ah! Now light de candle, please. 
 
 [She puts the volume on the rack, 
 Tom. [Lighting a long paper " spill " from fire and from 
 it lighting the candles on either side of the keyboard,] It 
 goes up to E — that's pretty high, you know. Of course 
 I wouldn't mind if you weren't a professional. I always 
 help ^Ir. Gates with the choir, but they're not very critical. 
 [Taking up his position by her side,] Give me the note 
 when you come to it. 
 
 Rita. [Playing the little prelude,] Is dat too fas'.'^ 
 Tom. a little bit — that's better! [She strikes his note 
 and pauses, glancing up at him. He hesitates.] Just wait 
 till I clear my throat — [He coughs.] It's so long since 
 I've sung! Now I'm ready — go ahead! 
 
 [He sings, she '^ conducting " him with her 
 head and one hand whenever possible. 
 " Maxwelton braes are bonnie 
 Where early fa's the dew, 
 And it's there that Annie Laurie 
 Gie'd me her promise true." 
 
290 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 [Hasiili/ clearing his throat and speaking,] This is where 
 it goes up ! [Resuming the song.] 
 
 " Gie'd me her promise true. 
 Which ne'er forgot will be 
 And for honnie Annie Laurie 
 Fd lay me down and dee! " 
 Rita. [Playing,'] Bravo! Bravo! You sing ver* nize! 
 Tom. [Flattered,] I'll do better with the next verse — 
 see if I don't! [Singing,] 
 
 " Her brow is like the snowdrift. 
 Her throat is like the swan. 
 Her—'' 
 
 [Just here Giles open the door at back, 
 Giles. I beg pardon^ sir. The Deaconesses. 
 Tom. Get rid of 'em! 
 Giles. What^ sir? 
 Tom. [Impatiently,] I said get rid of 'em! 
 
 [Giles bows and goes out closing the door. 
 Tom resumes the song, 
 '* Her face it is the fairest 
 
 That e'er the sun shone on. 
 That e'er the sun shone on. 
 And dark blue is her e'e 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 I'll lay me down and dee! " 
 Rita. [Softly, not looking up at him,] It is a song of 
 love. 
 
 Tom. Yes. But I never knew it until now. Do you 
 know why? 
 
 Rita. No. Tell me. 
 
 Tom. Because I never knew what love was — until now. 
 
 Rita. [Sadly.] An' vhat is love — to you? 
 
 [She plays a little, idly, as she watches him. 
 Tom. [Leaning on the piano,] It's finding the woman 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 291 
 
 you want to live with all your life. The woman who'll show 
 you the right way and follow it with you^ side by side, 
 shoulder to shoulder, making all the good things seem a 
 little better, and all the hard things — well, not quite so 
 hard. It's knowing she'll be with you at your journey's 
 end, when you're old, and she's old, and you can smile and 
 look into each other's eyes and say " We've done our work 
 together, dear — and I think we've done it well." 
 
 Rita. [After a little pause, her eyes full of tearsJ] Oh, 
 my frien*, dat love, it is for some, yes — but it is not for me. 
 
 Tom. I don't understand — 
 
 Rita. [Wistfully and tenderly,'] For me, love is jus' a 
 leetle light in all dis darkness, a leetle varmt' in all dis col', 
 a leetle flame dat burn — not long, an' den go out. A star 
 dat come an' is so bee-eautiful it bring beeg tears, an' vhen 
 ve dry dee eyes an' look again — de star is gone. I t'ink 
 it is to be a leetle 'appier togedder den ve are apart — vone 
 meenute to lie still in de beloved's arms — vone leetle meenute 
 to forget, my frien' — an' dat is all. 
 
 Tom. [Brokenly,'] My dear — 
 
 [He comes swiftly to her and puts his hands 
 on her shoulders. 
 
 Rita. [Rising.] No — no — 
 
 Tom. [Whispering,] My dear — my dear — 
 
 [He draws her to him and holds her tightly 
 in his arms. 
 
 Rita. Oh, vhat you do? 
 
 Tom. [Pressing her to him,] I love you! 
 
 Rita. Don'— 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting.] And you love me. Now say it — 
 
 Rita. [Piteously.] No — 
 
 Tom. [Through his teeth,] You must. 
 
 Rita. [Throwing her arms about his neck with deep 
 abandon,] All right — / love you — .' Now ve are alone — 
 
292 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 you 'ear — an' dere is nodings in de vorld but you an' me! 
 Dis is our time — our leetle meenute dat vill never come 
 again — so shut your eyes — an' 'old me close — an' love — 
 Tom. But^ dear, I — 
 Rita. [Putting her mouth to his,'] Ssh! 
 
 [A long kiss. They stand motionless, locked 
 in each other's arms. And just here from 
 the parish house next door comes the 
 sound of an organ and men's voices sing- 
 ing " Ein Feste Burg " — all very faint 
 and far away,] 
 Rita. [At last,] Vhat is dat? 
 
 Tom. It's just the choir — they're practising for to-night 
 — I love you. 
 
 Rita. [Closing her eyes,] A-ah! 
 Tom. When will you marry me.'^ 
 
 [She slowly disengages herself from him and 
 turns away, 
 Rita. [Almost to herself,] I 'ave not t'ink de en' vould 
 be so soon. 
 
 Tom. [Eagerly,] When — please tell me when.'* 
 Rita. Ask me anodder time — no, never ask me — it is 
 jus' not possible — 
 
 Tom. But what's the matter? I don't understand! 
 Rita. [Defending herself,] Vhy you in such a 'urry? 
 You mus' vait! 
 
 Tom. [Coming nearer her,] I'd wait forever — if there's 
 any hope. 
 
 Rita. [Retreating.] Please don' come near — 
 
 Tom. There is hope — isn't there? 
 
 Rita. No — no — I 'ave make vone beeg meestake ! 
 
 Tom. What—? 
 
 Rita. I 'ave le': you spik vords dat I mus' never 'ear — 
 
 Tom. My darling, I — 
 
Act II] ROMANXE 29S 
 
 Rita. I t'ink I 'ave been mad for jus' vone leetle vhile, 
 but now — I cannot marry you. Good-bye. 
 
 [She goes towards door. He stops her, 
 
 Tom. Why not.^ 
 
 Rita. Oh, let me go ! 
 
 Tom. Not till you've told me why. 
 
 Rita. Can you not on'erstan' vhat is so plain an' clear? 
 Your frien's — dey know. De night I meet you you 'ave see 
 de young men look at me — you 'ave see dere vives an' 
 modders frown an' turn avay — 
 
 Tom. Rita — .' [He has guessed her meaning.^ 
 
 Rita. Dey know vhy I can never marry you — de whole 
 vorld knows — [Her voice softening,^ An' now I t'ink if 
 you don' min' — I go avay. 
 
 [There is a pause, Tom controls himself. 
 
 Tom. [Very tenderly,'] No, my dear — not yet. [He 
 leads her to settee by fire,'] I think — I think you have 
 something to tell me. 
 
 Rita. I cannot — no — please do not ask — 
 
 Tom. [Always tender,] I'm not going to ask — I'm just 
 going to sit here and hold your hand and listen. [He takes 
 her hand,] That's what I'm here for, you know — just to 
 help people when they're in trouble and need a friend. 
 
 Rita. You are so good! 
 
 Tom. [Quite pale,] No, I'm not — but you'll find I'm 
 very sympathetic. Why, I remember one day last week — 
 Tuesday, it was, that a little tenement girl named Mc- 
 Dougal, came in to see me. We sat here just as we're 
 sitting now and after a while she told me all about it. She 
 was going to be married the next day to a young carpenter 
 over on 8th Street — but there was something she hadn't 
 told him — poor child! She didn't dare. She'd been — 
 treated badly by some brute of man when she was only 
 sixteen years old. Of course he'd left her — and she'd tried 
 
^94 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 to put together the pieces of her life and go on with her 
 work — and then she met the carpenter and fell in love 
 and was going to marry him — and at the last moment her 
 conscience began bothering her — so she came to me. 
 
 Rita. An' — vhat you tell *er.^ 
 
 Tom. Oh, I didn't say much! I just suggested things 
 here and there, and in the end — God bless her! She mac'e 
 up her mind to do the right thing. 
 
 Rita. De right — .^ 
 
 Tom. She went home and told him all about it. 
 
 Rita. An' den — } 
 
 Tom. [Cheerfully,] He was a decent sort of fellow 
 -and he loved her, so of course he understood — and — well, I 
 married them Wednesday morning and now they're two 
 of the happiest people in New York ! 
 
 Rita. An' vould you feel dat vay, too? 
 
 Tom. Me? 
 
 Rita. If somevone dat you love — [Quickly.] no, don't 
 look at me! — [Resuming,] If somevone dat you love come 
 an* say ** I am not good — I mus' tell you now because ve 
 love each oder! You are de first man I 'ave ever love — 
 jou are de first man I *ave ever tol' I " 
 
 Tom. WdU 
 
 Rita. Could you forgive *er — Meestaire Tom.^ 
 
 Tom. Forgive her — } [Brokenly, as he catches her in 
 his arms,] You poor little child! 
 
 Rita. [Wailing.] No — no — you do not on'erstan' — it 
 is / who am not good — 
 
 Tom. [Soothing her.] There, darling, there! Don't 
 cry. It's all right. You've been fair and brave and honest. 
 You've told me and I forgive you from the bottom of my 
 heart ! 
 
 Rita. [Still sobbing,] Oh — ! Oh ! I do not see 'ow it 
 is possible — no, I do not see — I don' — I don' — 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 295 
 
 Tom. Why not? It was a long time ago, wasn't it? 
 When you were poor and struggling and lonely. You didn't 
 know anything about the world — how could you? And you 
 had to live — hunger and misery were right behind you, 
 driving you on — 
 
 Rita. Yes — oh, yes — 
 
 Tom. But you mustn't think of it any more ! You must 
 just remember how afterwards you pulled yourself together 
 and raised your head and said to yourself, *' I may have 
 sinned, but that's all over — and from now on I'm going to be 
 a good woman ! I'm going to turn the rest of my life into a 
 splendid, beautiful thing! I won't stop until I can be 
 proud of myself!'' And oh, my dear — I'm so glad — I'm 
 so glad that you can be — now! 
 
 Rita. An' is dat vhy you can forgive me? 
 
 Tom. Is what, dear? 
 
 Rita. Because it 'appen — so long ago? 
 
 Tom. [With a touch of his profession,] I naturally 
 believe that all sins, finished and truly repented of, should 
 be forgiven by every Christian man or woman. [Pause.] 
 
 Rita. [Gently releasing herself.] I see — I see! 
 
 [She rises and walks away. 
 
 Tom. [With an effort to shake off all these ugly things.] 
 And now that everything's cleared up between us, do you 
 know what we're going to do? 
 
 Rita. No. Tell me. 
 
 Tom. [Smiling .] Go right upstairs, of course, and an- 
 nounce our engagement to Aunt Emma and Mr. Van TuyL 
 Come on ! 
 
 Rita. [Instinctively.] No — no — not now — 
 
 Tom. What—? 
 
 Rita. Vait a leetle — vait until to-morrow — 
 
 Tom. But you're sailing to-morrow ! 
 
 Rita. Yes — dat is vhy — 
 
^96 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 Tom. [Smiling.] Nonsense! If you don't look out, 
 I'll begin to think you're ashamed of me! Come along! 
 
 [He puts his arm about her waist. 
 
 Rita, [Holding back.] No, I say — it is too soon — I am 
 not ready — ve mus' vait — 
 
 Tom. Wait? What for.? 
 
 Rita. Mebbe — mebbe dey do not like it vhen ve tell dem ! 
 
 Tom. Now don't you bother about Aunt Emma ! She — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting.] Ah, no! I do not bodder about 
 *er! But — [She stops.] 
 
 Tom. It surely isn't Mr. Van Tuyl that's worrying you ? 
 Why^ he's my oldest friend — and father's and mother's, 
 too. He's just like one of the family! Of course we must 
 tell him right off! 
 
 Rita. Vhy don' you let me tell 'im? 
 
 Tom. What.? 
 
 Rita. To-night — vhen I can see 'im all alone! 
 [Eagerly.] Oh^ please — please let me tell *im! 
 
 ToM. [Puzzled.] But why? What's the matter? 
 
 Rita. If ve tell 'im now, 'e vill be so angry ! 
 
 ToM. Nonsense ! And even if he is^ we don't care ! 
 
 Rita. ^E vill say t'ings about me — oh yes, 'e vill! 
 
 Tom. But he doesn't know anything about you. [She 
 doesn't answer. He repeats in a different tone.] Rita, he 
 doesn't know anything about you^ does he? 
 
 Rita. No — I mean — not ver' much — 
 
 Tom. What—? 
 
 Rita. Jus* a leetle — I tell 'im a leetle vone night in 
 Paris — 
 
 Tom. You don't mean — what you've told me? 
 
 Rita. Yes, an' so if ve go upstairs now an' — 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting.] But you said just a minute ago 
 that I was the only man you'd ever told — because I was the 
 only man you'd ever loved ! 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 297 
 
 Rita. [Frightened,] I 'ave forget — oh^ it vas two — 
 t'ree years ago — 
 
 Tom. [Thinking.'] But wait! He's talked to me very 
 openly about you — why, only last Saturday when I went to 
 see him about the new gymnasium — 
 
 Rita. Vhat— .> 
 
 Tom. He used every possible argimient — except that 
 one. Why, he never said so much as a word against — 
 
 Rita. I know. I — I ask 'im not to. 
 
 Tom. [More and more surprised.] You — ? But — but 
 he wouldn't take your side where I*m involved — why, it's 
 incredible ! 
 
 Rita. Oh, yes, 'e vould — you do not know ! 
 
 Tom. But why.^ 
 
 Rita. [Fighting for time,] Vhy — ? 
 
 Tom. Yes — there must be a reason. 
 
 Rita. Can you not guess.'* 
 
 Tom. No. 
 
 Rita. It is because — oh, long ago, you on'erstan' — 'e 
 was foolish enough to like me — jus' a leetle — 
 
 Tom. What—? 
 
 Rita. [Quickly,] It was not my fault — I cannot *elp it 
 vhen peoples — 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting.] When was this? 
 
 Rita. Oh, two — t'ree year ago ! I did my bes' to stop 
 'im — but it vas not easy, I tell you dat ! 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting,] Did he want you to marry 
 him.'^ 
 
 Rita. [Trying to speak lightly,] No — no — it was nod- 
 ings — nodings at all — 'e jus' like to sen' flowers an' 'ear 
 me sing an' — 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting,] How long did his — attentions 
 last? 
 
 Rita. I — I dunno. 
 
^98 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 Tom. [Going towards her.] You don't mean he's in 
 love with you still? 
 
 Rita. [With abandon,] Oh, don't talk about dat any 
 more ! Jus' take me in your arms an' kiss me till — 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting.] And you knew he felt that way 
 — you knew it all this time? 
 
 Rita. Yes — I knew — 
 
 Tom. Then why didn't you tell me? 
 
 Rita. I did not t'ink you vould — like it. 
 
 Tom. Like it! Why, it was all right. He can't help 
 loving you^ I suppose. There isn't anything to conceal — 
 [Stopping suddenly,] Rita^ there isn't anything to conceal? 
 
 Rita. Vhat— ? 
 
 Tom. Tell me there isn't — tell me — 
 
 Rita. [Retreating.] I don't know vhat you mean — 
 
 Tom. Quick — for the love of God! 
 
 Rita. Don't look at me — 
 
 Tom. Not Mr. Van Tuyl? Not he—? 
 
 Rita. [Terrified.] Please — oh, please — 
 
 Tom. [With a sudden cry.] Oh — .' 
 
 Rita. [Frantically,] It is not true! I say it is not 
 true! 
 
 Tom. What—? 
 
 Rita. Dere 'as been nodings — you make vone terr'ble 
 meestake — 
 
 Tom. How do I know? 
 
 Rita. [Striking her breast.] I tell you — // 
 
 Tom. But you kept back something before — 
 
 Rita. No — 
 
 Tom. How do I know you're not doing it again? 
 
 Rita. No — I am not! I tell you I am not! 
 
 Tom. [Pulling himself together.] Ssh — be quiet! 
 
 They'll hear you upstairs. [His voice shaking.] Now 
 
 we must be calm^ both of us, — quite calm and sensible. We 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 299 
 
 must settle this matter here, once and for all. If it's true^ 
 I — I beg you — for both our sakes — as you will answer on 
 the Day of Judgment — I beg you to tell me now. [Pause.] 
 
 Rita. If I say " Yes^ it is true ! '* vould you — vould you. 
 again forgive me.'* 
 
 Tom. [With a cry.] Ah — ! then it is — it is — 
 
 Rita. [Wildly.] No— no— 
 
 Tom. Will you swear it.'* 
 
 Rita. Yes — I vill swear. 
 
 Tom. Put your hand here — on my mother's Testament. 
 
 Rita. [Obeying him.] So? 
 
 Tom. And look me in the eye and say after me — 
 
 Rita. Yes? 
 
 Tom. '' I swear there has been nothing wrong between. 
 Mr. Van Tuyl and me." 
 
 Rita. [Faintly.] Madonna! 
 
 Tom. [Harshly.] Swear it! 
 
 Rita. [Opening her eyes.] Vhat — ? 
 
 Tom. You won't — ? 
 
 Rita. '* I svear — dere 'as been " — vhat you say? — " nod-^ 
 ings wrong betveen — Meestaire Van Tuyl — an' me — " 
 
 [She sways a little. 
 
 Tom. [With a sob of relief, as he catches her in his 
 arms.] Oh, my darling — forgive me — I've been a brute to 
 doubt you — I'm — [Suddenly.] What's the matter? Rita — 
 Rita! [Her head has fallen. She has fainted. He carries 
 her over to the settee, lays her on it, runs to the desk, pours 
 out a glass of water, returns with it, kneels by her side and 
 tries to make her drink.] My poor little girl — there — it's all 
 right — I'm never going to bother you again — forgive me — 
 oh, my darling, just forgive me this once — [She is gradually 
 reviving under his caresses and endearments.] 1 was out 
 of my head — I didn't know what I was saying — please — 
 please — [She sits up dizzily.] What's the matter? Aren't 
 
300 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 you going to speak to me — ? \^She rises unsteadily to her 
 feet,] Rita — / [He takes her hand. 
 
 Rita. Let me go! 
 
 Tom. But, darling, just listen to me for a moment — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting,] I vant to go avay — you don' 
 believe me — you don' love me — 
 
 Tom. Yes, I do ! I love you more than anything in the 
 world — I love you and I'm going to marry you — 
 
 Rita. No — no — I vill never marry you now — never — 
 never any more — 
 
 Tom. Rita— ! 
 
 Rita. [With passion,] Vhy you make me to svear dose 
 t'ings? Vhy you make me — } 
 
 Tom. Forgive me, dear — please — 
 
 Rita. I vill never forgive you. Good-bye. 
 
 Tom. No, wait ! 
 
 [He stops her at door, talcing both her hands, 
 
 Rita. I say — good-bye ! [He stares into her face. Her 
 eyes drop,] Oh, let me go please! I mus' return to de 
 'otel — it is so late — you know I alvays sleep before I sing 
 an' — [Suddenly,] Vhat for you look at me like dat? 
 
 Tom. [Trying to control himself,] I believed you when 
 you swore just now — I want it understood that I believed 
 you — 
 
 Rita. Veil? 
 
 Tom. So — if you don't mind — I think — I think — ITl 
 ask Mr. Van Tuyl to come down here — 
 
 Rita. Vhat—? 
 
 Tom. And then we'll tell him — we're engaged. 
 
 Rita. [In a sudden fright.] Ah, no — no — don' do dat 
 — please — I ask you — jus' for me — vait a leetle vhile — 
 
 Tom. [With a sudden wildness, pulling the bell-rope 
 violently,] Not a minute! Not a second! 
 
 Rita. Please — 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 301 
 
 ToxM. I wont! 
 
 Rita. No — no — 
 
 Tom. Oh, my God — [Pause. A knock.] Come in! 
 
 [Enter Giles. 
 Giles. You rang, sir? 
 
 Tom. Yes. Ask Mr. Van Tuyl to step down here, 
 please. Tell him I'll keep him only a moment. 
 Giles. Very good, sir. 
 
 [Exit Giles. 
 Rita. [As the door closes,] Ver' veil. You vill tell him 
 alone. I vill not sta\&. 
 
 Tom. [Before door,] You've got to. 
 Rita. Vhat— ? 
 Tom. I won't let you out. 
 Rita. Remembair my performance — 
 Tom. [Snapping his fingers,] I don't give that for your 
 performance ! 
 
 Rita. 'E come — I 'ear 'im — [In desperation.] O, let me 
 go — let me go! 
 
 Tom. [As if struck,] Rita — don't tell me you're 
 afraid — 
 
 Rita. Go avay — let me see 'im first — for jus' vone leetle 
 meenute — it vill be all right — 
 
 Tom. [His suspicions returning.] I won't — 
 Rita. [Wildly.] Ver* veil den. I don' care ! 
 
 [She sits down at the piano and bursts into 
 
 a Chopin polonaise. The door opens and 
 
 Van Tuyl appears. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Genially as he enters.] Ah — ! Still here? 
 
 We thought you'd — [Noticing Tom's face,] Why, what's 
 
 the matter, Tom? 
 
 [Rita stops playing and sits at the piano, 
 looking at the two men, 
 Tom. [Trying to speak naturally,] Nothing, sir. I — 
 
302 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 asked you to come down because — I wanted you to be the 
 first to know of my good luck. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Good luck? 
 
 Tom. Yes. Madame Cavallini has been good enough to 
 — [Briefly.'] We're engaged. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [/n an expressionless voice,] Engaged — ? 
 
 Tom. [Harshly,] Yes — engaged — engaged to be mar- 
 ried — this lady and myself. [Pause.] 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Calmly.] My dear boy^ I congratulate you. 
 
 Tom. [Choking,] What— .> 
 
 Van Tuyl. I congratulate you. Madame Cavallini 
 stands alone, as I have always said. And while I confess 
 I am — a bit surprised, I am flattered — [Turning to her with 
 a how.] that she has chosen one of my friends and country- 
 men for this — great honor. 
 
 Tom. Then it's all right — You approve — you give us 
 your consent? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Turning to him.] Consent? 
 
 Tom. Yes — for the parish, I mean — represented by 
 yourself as senior warden and chairman of the vestry. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Most certainly, my dear boy. You know 
 you can always count on me to wish you every happi- 
 ness. 
 
 Tom. [Baffled.] Why, you talk as if you lihed it — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Not understanding.] I don't quite — 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting .] All I can say is, you must have 
 changed your mind since Saturday. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Since Saturday? 
 
 Tom. Why, don't you remember warning me with tears 
 in your eyes to keep away from this — this lady? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Smiling.] Ah, that was Saturday! 
 
 Tom. You said we were perfectly unfitted for life to- 
 gether — we were as far apart as the poles through birth 
 and training and career — 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 303 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Deprecating,] Oh^ don't bring up any- 
 foolish statements I — 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting.'] You even went so far as to — to 
 mention certain — flaws in Madame Cavallini*s character. 
 
 Van Tuyl. My dear Tom ! 
 
 Tom. [Going on,] Her temper — selfishness — an ab- 
 sence of stability — 
 
 Van Tuyl. Really, my boy, you mustn't hold me to 
 account for — 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting.] And now, sir, I — I want to ask 
 you here, before us both, if you were absolutely frank on 
 Saturday — 
 
 Van Tuyl. What's that? 
 
 Tom. [His voice almost breaking.] If there were any 
 argument against my — my attachment which you did not 
 see fit to offer at the time — 
 
 Van Tuyl. Why, Tom, I don't understand — 
 
 Tom. If there was, sir, tell it now — tell it for God's sake 
 — or else forever after hold your peace! [Pause,] 
 
 Van Tuyl. I don't see why you're so excited, but if it 
 gives you any satisfaction to know I said all I could on 
 Saturday — 
 
 Tom. [QuicJcli/,] You held nothing back? 
 
 Van Tuyl. Why, no, of course not ! What's the matter, 
 Tom? [Tom turns away in silent agony, Rita 
 
 makes a sudden movement. Van Tuyl 
 suppresses her with a glance. A moment's 
 pause, Tom faces them again, controlling 
 himself with difficulty. 
 
 Tom. Sit down, sir, please. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Doing so.] Well? 
 
 Tom. [With difficulty.] I — I want to apologize before- 
 hand for what I'm going to say. I know I'm acting outrage- 
 ously — but — I can't help it! [Van Tuyl makes a move- 
 
304 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 merit towards him,] No, wait! You're my best friend, Mr. 
 Van Tuyl — [To Rita.] and you're the woman I want to 
 make my wife. So I — I'm sure you'll both of you be sym- 
 pa^h*=*tic and make — allowances for me. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Heartily.'] Of course, my boy, of course! 
 
 Tom. [Still with difficulty.] Madame Cavallini has been 
 very frank and open with me, sir. She's just told me — 
 about certain portions of her career — and of course, know- 
 ing as I do, how hard it is for girls when they're poor and 
 young — and alone — why, I should be only too glad to tell 
 her it's all right and blot it from my memory forever — but 
 — but — [He pauses, unable to go on, then rises, gripping the 
 edge of the desk with both hands and leaning over it, hag- 
 gard and terrible.] Before I can do that, there's one thing 
 I've got to be sure of. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Yes, Tom? 
 
 Tom. It seems — you've been an — an admirer of hers for 
 some time — [As Van Tuyl glances at her involuntarily,] 
 For God's sake, don't look at her now! [Controlling him- 
 self.] And what I've got — to be sure of is that — there 
 never has been anything — you know — between you two — 
 
 Van Tuyl. What—? 
 
 Tom. [Going on very quickly.] I've asked her and she's 
 denied it — and I believe her — implicitly, of course — but if 
 — if you II be good enough to deny it, too — oh, merely as a 
 matter of form! — why, I — I shall be much obliged. Well.'* 
 
 Van Tuyl. [After a slight pause.] There's one thing 
 I'm not going to deny, and that is my very deep and very 
 true affection for Madame Cavallini. [Looking at her,] It 
 is a sentiment none the less deep and true because it has 
 lived for years with no response from her, and I am proud 
 of my hope and my belief that it will continue so long as 
 Vm alive to cherish it. [Turning to Tom.] As for the 
 rest of your question, Tom, when you're yourself again 
 
Act II] ROMANCE 305 
 
 you'll agree with me that it deserves no answer. I don't 
 know how such thoughts have wormed their way into your 
 mind, but one thing I do know, and that is the time will 
 come when you would give your right hand never to have 
 let them pass your lips. Good-bye — [To her, 'I Good-bye, 
 madame — I offer you the best of wishes — 
 
 \^He is turning towards the door when Tom stops him, 
 
 Tom. [Seeing his hand,] No, wait — you shan't go until 
 I've begged your pardon — I've been a fool, sir — a perfect 
 fool, but if you can, I want you to forgive me ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Don't you think, my boy, you'd better ask 
 Madame Cavallini's pardon first? 
 
 Tom. [Turning to her,] Rita, darling — I don't know 
 just what to say — but I think if you forgive me again — I 
 can promise I'll never — never — oh, you do forgive me, dear, 
 don't you? 
 
 Rita. [Suddenly pulling herself away,] No — no — I 
 cannot ! It is too much — 
 
 Tom. What? 
 
 Rita. [Straightening herself up and looking at him,] 
 I love you — I mus' spik de truth — 
 
 Van Tuyl. Be quiet! 
 
 Rita. [To Tom.] It is all lies vhat ve *ave said — all 
 lies — lies! 
 
 Tom. [Crying aloud,] No — no — 
 
 Rita. I vas 'is mistress till de night I meet you! 
 
 Tom. Not Mr. Van Tuyl— not— [i^^e chokes,] 
 
 Van Tuyl. Tom, listen to me for one minute — 
 
 Tom. [Turning to him,] Liar — thief — 
 
 Van Tuyl. For God's sake, Tom, don't — 
 
 Tom. [With a cry,] A-ah ! 
 
 [He rushes at Van Tuyl to strike him down, 
 but she stands before him. 
 
 Rita. [Gasping,] 'E lied for me — I tell you 'e lied for 
 
306 ROMANCE [Act II 
 
 me — [Pause. Tom stands fighting for his control. 
 
 He regains it, exhausted, and turns to the 
 desk. 
 Tom. [In a whisper.] Please go — both of you. 
 
 [He stoops to pick up the little Testament 
 which has dropped to the floor, brushes it 
 involuntarily/, and puts it on desk. 
 Van Tuyl. Tom, I'd have given everything I have in 
 the world to have spared you this. I want you to remember 
 that — if you can. [coming towards him.'] Tom, I — 
 Tom. Don't ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Half to himself.] Very well. Good-bye. 
 [He goes out quickly. Tom sits down slowly 
 in his desk-chair. 
 Rita. [After trying once or twice to find her voice.] 
 Meestaire — Meestaire Tom — 
 
 [He shudders at the sound. She goes to the 
 
 mirror, takes off his mother's earrings and 
 
 necklace, kisses locket, and lays them on 
 
 mantelpiece. Then she puts on her coat, 
 
 picks up her muff and monkey from chair 
 
 where she left them earlier in the act. 
 
 Rita, [Softly to the monkey.] Basta — hasta — poverina 
 
 mia! [She stands looking at Tom. He makes no sign. 
 
 Then at last, very simply.] T'ank you for 'aving loved 
 
 me. 
 
 [She drops her veil and goes out. As he 
 hears the door close, he has a few seconds 
 of gasping for breath. Then, burying his 
 face in his arms, he breaks into silent 
 convulsive sobs. From far away comes 
 the sound of the little hand-organ. It i? 
 still playing the old xvaltz. 
 The Curtain Falls. 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 307 
 
 ACT III 
 
 [SCENE: Mme. Cavallini's apartment at the Brevoort 
 House, that night, after the performance. At the left 
 are doors leading to the hall. At the right are two 
 long windows, with a tall old-fashioned gilt mirror and 
 low consol table between. At the back — towards right 
 — is an arch leading to the bedroom, covered with 
 drawn portieres. At left, a smaller door. Opposite 
 the windows are the fireplace and mantel, A fire is 
 burning, A grand piano is covered with a confusion 
 of music, hats, clothes, etc. Towards the centre are 
 a couch and a table. The couch is strewn with var- 
 ious clothes, wigs, costumes, etc. Between the two 
 windows is a perch on which sit, side by side, two 
 stately scarlet macaws. Near the fire is the monkey's 
 cradle — a charming cloud of lace and pale blue satin. 
 There are several open trunks lying about the room 
 in various stages of completed packing. Clothes, of 
 all descriptions, are strewn about in the greatest dis- 
 order everywhere. The whole effect of the room is 
 luxurious, yet filled with confusion and a sense of 
 Bohemian life. 
 
 When the curtain goes up, it is night. The gas is 
 lit. Before the fire squats Signora Vannucci — a fat, 
 untidy old Italian woman with a moustache and long 
 earrings, dressed very gaily, her skirts pinned up, a 
 pair of old soiled pink satin slippers on her feet. She 
 is telling her fortune with a pack of greasy cards, 
 stopping every now and then to turn and stir two 
 saucepans which are cooking over the fire,'] 
 
 Signora Vannucci. [To herself,] O Dio mio! Non 
 imparta — riproviamo — / [She gives the saucepan a stir^ 
 
308 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 shuffles, and deals. ^ Picche! II nove di fiori! Cosa ci 
 hanno quest e bestie di carte! — Ah! II fante di cuori! Forse 
 vuol dire un' amante — chi sa? II died di quadri — / 
 A-ha-he! Posso ancora esser ricca — [She laughs to herself. 
 There is a knock at the door.^ Avanti! 
 
 [Adolph comes in. He is an old German waiter carry- 
 ing a tray with plates, napkins, glasses, howl of salad, 
 etc.] You gotta da garlic — yes? 
 
 Adolph. [Putting down tray.] Two liddle beeces. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Cut dcm ver* small an' put dem in 
 vhen you maka da salad. 
 
 Adolph. Madame, she vill be hungry when she back 
 comes from de opera. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. She eata nodings before she go — 
 she dreenka a leetle vine an' coffee, dat is all. So I come 
 back qveeck an' maka myself da macaroni wid da tomat' 
 sauce — she alvays lika dat! 
 
 Adolph. Ach ! no great artiste vill eat pef ore she sing ! 
 Do I not know.'* Have I not de first tenor of de Royal 
 Court Opera of de city of Steichenblatter been.'* Do I not 
 remember how I feel vhen — 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Gloomily interrupting him.] You 
 'ave forgetta da cheese. 
 
 Adolph. [Crushed.] Du lieber Gott! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [With a retrospective smile.] Ah, 
 vhen I was prima donna at Bologna an' maka my debut as 
 Linda di Chamonix in da great, da bee-eautiful, da gala 
 performance — an' *is — 'ow you say — 'is eccellenza da duca 
 di Modena, 'e stan' an' clappa de 'an's an' say so loud — 
 '* Bravo, Vannucci ! Bravo ! Bravissimo ! " — 
 
 Adolph. [Interrupting.] Your sauce, it burn. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Rushing to fire.] Madonna santa 
 proteggeteci! 
 
 [She stirs the sauce vigorously. 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 309 
 
 Adolph. [Sadly as he mixes salad.^ Ach — so! De 
 good old days — dey are all gone ! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. \^Stirring,^ Da opera now — vhat 
 is ett? Vone beeg noise! 
 
 Adolph. Dis Faust an* Mignon — 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Covering her ears.] Impossibili! 
 
 Adolph. Schreklich — .' 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Orribili! 
 
 Adolph. Ungeheuer — .' 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Kissing her hand.] Ma La Fa- 
 vorita! 
 
 Adolph. Der Freischutz! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Bellissima! 
 
 Adolph. Wiinderschon! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Celestiale! 
 
 Adolph. Kolossal — .' 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Sighing.] But ah ! who now gotta 
 da voice to seeng dem! 
 
 Adolph. [Scornfully.'} Mario — ? Bah! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Loftily.] Grisi — ? Pouf! 
 
 Adolph. Giuglini — ? Etn schwein — / 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. La Patti — ? JJn pulce — .' 
 
 Adolph. La Cavallini — ? 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Ah, si — la Cavallini ! 
 
 Adolph, [Patronizingly.] She 'ave a leedle some- 
 thing— 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. You bet my life she 'ave! Ah! 
 sometime vhen I stan' in de veengs an* 'old 'er shawl an' 
 leesten — I t'ink it is myself again come back from long 
 ago ! 
 
 Adolph. Ach, Gott! I, too^ haf treams! An' vhen I 
 my half dollar pay an' de stairs up climb an' de orchestra 
 begin — I shut my eye an' yet vonce more again I ajn 
 in Steichenblatter — 
 
510 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Catching his enthusiasm,] Si — 
 si! Da box vhere seeta da duca di Modena — 
 
 Adolph. I see again the tears upon de ladies* cheeks — 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Da *' Bravos ! *' of da bee-eautiful 
 young men — 
 
 Adolph. The opera — it is Norma — I am Pollio — 
 SiGNORA Vannucci, [Clasping her hands,] Ah Nor- 
 ma — / 
 
 Adolph. [With the bottle of oil in one hand.] De great 
 duet — act dree — it come at last! 
 
 [He sings softly in German. 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Rising from fire with spoon still 
 in hand.] Piii forte! Cosi! Ora! Crescendo! 
 
 [They sing the duet together in the very old- 
 fashioned operatic way, tremendously in 
 earnest. At the closing high note they 
 fling themselves violently in one another's 
 arms. Just here a small bellboy in but- 
 tons, enters from right, whistling between 
 his teeth. He carries a card-tray, and 
 stops, amazed at the sight. 
 The Bellboy. Where*s the madam .^ 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Kneeling by the fire and stirring.] 
 She 'ave not yet return. 
 
 The Bellboy. [Confidentially.] Say, wotter ye t'ink 
 she do if I asked her t' put her name in me autograph 
 album } 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Your — vhat.^ 
 
 The Bellboy. [Proudly,] Me autograph album! 
 [Taking it from breast,] I got Sam McGuire, the famous 
 murderer, an' Edwin Booth, the celebrated actor, not t' 
 mention the lady author o' '* Uncle Tom's Cabin " an' — 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Impatiently,] Go vay! Go vay ! 
 Vhat for you come an' talk so much an' — 
 
Act III] ROMANCE Sll 
 
 The Bellboy. Hold yer horses, old lady ! 'Tain't no 
 
 use gettin* mad ! There's a gent downstairs a-callin' on 
 
 the madam — see? [He holds out the salver with card. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Irritably,'] Giva me da card — 
 
 qveeck, leetle animal! Qveeck^ I say! 
 
 The Bellboy. Quit callin' me names, ye big Eyetalian 
 rag-bag, or I'll — 
 
 Adolph. [Interrupting.'] Ssh ! Keep still! I vip you 
 good! [The bellboy hands her salver. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Reading card. A-ah ! It is milor ! 
 'E 'ave come back! Santi benedetti! [To the bellboy.] 
 Go — breenga 'im in! [To Adolph.] An' leesten, my 
 frien', a bottle of champagne ! 
 
 Adolph. [With tray, at door.] Champagne.^ 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Joyously.] You bet my life ! Da 
 besta you got! 
 
 [Adolph goes out. She rises, puts card on 
 piano, and begins unpinning her skirts, 
 etc. The bellboy profits by this to steal 
 some grapes and a cake from the table. 
 She turns and sees him. 
 Ah, demonietto! 
 
 [She rushes at him with hand upraised. 
 The Bellboy. Rag-bag! 
 
 [He escapes. She hastily attempts to tidy 
 the room, closes a couple of trunks, etc. 
 Then, singing an incredible cadenza, she 
 puts on a scarf, sticks an ostrich feather 
 in her hair and is admiring the result 
 in the long mirror, when there is a knock 
 at the door to the hall. 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [With a long trill] Avanti! 
 
 [The door opens and Van Tuyl appears. 
 Van Tuyl. [Entering.] Well, signora ! I haven't seen 
 
312 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 you for some time^ have I? You're younger and more 
 beautiful than ever! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. ^Shaking hands.] Ah, milor — you 
 maka da joke as alvays ! But I don* care — I am so full 
 of joy because you *ave come! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Thanks very much. [Loolcing about,] 
 How*s the menagerie? [To the parrots,] Remember me, 
 old lady — eh? 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Dey are full of love for milor — 
 ecco! See! Manrico, *e visha to keess 'is 'and! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Bite it^ you mean. [Going to fire.] Where's 
 Adelina — ? [Seeing the cradle.] Oh! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. She 'ave jus' eata vone greata beeg 
 suppair. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Looking into cradle.] Six olives — straw- 
 berry jam — a few hothouse grapes — 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Rapturously.] An* da cupa of 
 chocolate ! Ah, milor — 'e 'ave recoUeck ev'ryt'ings ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Seeing the saucepans by the fire.] What's 
 that you're cooking — not your famous macaroni? 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. It is for madame. She eata nod- 
 ings alia da day. An' she looka so vliite an' seeck — ah. 
 Madonna! I gotta vone great beeg fear! 
 
 Van Tuyl. How did she get through the performance? 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Milor vas not dere — ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. No. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. 'E 'ave not 'card — ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. No. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Volubly.] Ah, she maka — vhat 
 you say? — un triomfo enorme! It maka me t'ink of dat 
 so splendid night I sing Lucrezia Borgia an' 'is Excellenza 
 da duca di Modena, 'e — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Interrupting.] Yes, I remember. [Look- 
 ing at his watch.] Madame is late. 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 313 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. She say addio to Signer Strakosch 
 an' de oder artistes an' receive da present — 
 Van Tuyl. Really? 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. {^Nodding.'] Da pin vid da big 
 rubee, an' de bracelet vid many pearl, an' ah ! i\Iadonna ! — 
 da di'mon* crown from alia da signora of New York! 
 
 [^During the following she works at the pack- 
 ing and -finally finishes and shuts one more 
 of the trunks. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Not paying much attention.'] It's true — 
 the city's gone quite mad. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Dio mio! Vhen I recolleck dat 
 tomorrow ve go so far avay from dis country an' milor 
 an' all da mon* — it maka my 'eart feel jus' like 'e vill 
 break ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Smiling.'] Poor little heart! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. An' vhen do ve see milor again .^^ 
 
 Van Tuyl. Soon, I hope. But in the interval, signora, 
 I want you to enjoy yourself, so — 
 
 [Putting his hand in his pocket and taking 
 out his wallet. 
 
 SiGORA Vannucci. [Sidling up to him.] Oh, milor — ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Selecting a hill.] So here's a little some- 
 thing just to remind you that — 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Interrupting.] Oh, no, milor — 
 you already giva me so much — no — no — it is imposs' — 
 
 [She holds out her hand greedily. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Putting bill in hand.] Nonsense! As 
 friend to friend! There! You can change it when you 
 get to Naples. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Enthusiastically, as she puts bill 
 in stocking.] Ah, milor — 'e is so good! Jus' like 'is Ex- 
 cellenza da duca di Modena — 
 
314 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Interrupting,] I believe you. [Suddenly,] 
 Wait! What's that? 
 
 [There is an instant's pause. From far away 
 come the distant strains of " Yankee Doo- 
 dle/' played on a brass band. During 
 the following scene the music grows near- 
 er, and beneath it can be heard the vague, 
 confused noise of many people shouting, 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [After listening a moment,] Da 
 music — [She goes quickly to windoxv, opens it, steps 
 
 out on balcony and looks up street. 
 Van Tuyl. [Following her.] A brass band ! 
 
 [He stands by window, 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [As the music grows louder,] 
 Santi buonissimi! Vhat is dat dey play? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Opening the window wide and joining her 
 on the balcony], "Yankee Doodle!" 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Suddenly,] Ah! Dey come! 
 Dey come! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [As the sound increases,] Where? [He 
 leans out, too]. Fourteenth Street! That's en route from 
 the Academy — 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Who grows more and more ex- 
 cited as the scene proceeds.] Ecco! See — ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Torches — ! By Jove^ it's a regular Re- 
 publican rally ! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. More peoples — an' more — an' more 
 an' more dey come! 
 
 Van Tuyl. Every fellow with his hat off — [Shivering.] 
 and zero weather_, too. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Pointing,] See — de peoples in 
 de vindows ! Dat so fat man — vhat is dat 'e say ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Raising his voice above the uproar.] I 
 can't hear! [The music stops. 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 315 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [At a loud roar of ''Bravo!'* 
 
 "Cavallini!" "Hurrah!" etc.] Ah! She come— she 
 
 come ! [She claps her hands and leans far out. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Leaning out, too.] Where? 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Pointing,] Dere — do you not 
 
 see da carriage? 
 
 Van Tuyl. But where's the coachman — where are the 
 horses — ? Good Lord! if those young fools aren't drag- 
 ging it themselves I 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Ah ! vhen I was prima donna at 
 Bologna an' singa Lucre zia Borgia for — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Interrupting and chuckling to himself.'] 
 In evening dress — without any overcoats! By Jove^ what 
 a lark! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Suddenly.] Ah! Eccola lal 
 Bellaza mia! Come e bella! You see 'er — yes? 
 
 Van Tuyl. No — that tall young devil's in the wayf 
 [Suddenly.] Ah^ there she is! [To himself.] By Jove f 
 By — Jove! [He stares spell-bound. The band, now much 
 nearer, slowly begins '' Way Down Upon 
 the Swaunee Ribber,'' The torchlight il- 
 lumines the two figures on the balcony. 
 The procession now is almost underneath 
 them. The music stops. There is a burst 
 of cheering, Signora Vannucci waves 
 her handkerchief wildly, 
 Signora Vannucci. Evivva! Evivva! Brava Cavallini! 
 Brava regina! Ecco mi alia finestra! Guarda alia tua 
 povera vecchia Vannucci — [In delight,] Ah! Ecco! 
 Cost va bene! [She laughs and waves. To Van Tuyl.] 
 She look up — she see us ! 
 
 [Van Tuyl takes off his hat and bows in a 
 very stately way. Suddenly the glitter of 
 a rocket is seen in the street outside. 
 
316 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Ehi! Ehi! Cosa fate? [An- 
 other rocket goes off and the red glow of Bengal light is 
 seen from the street below, lasting for a moment and then 
 dying away.^ Ah! Maledetti! 
 
 [She clutches Van Tuyl and crosses herself. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Reassuringly,'] It's all right — those fel- 
 lows in the corner are setting off some fireworks, that's 
 all. 
 
 [There is a great cheer from the crowd, 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. She come — she descend from da 
 carriage — Look ! look 'ow da young men kissa 'er 'and ! 
 [There are more rockets and the band begins to play 
 '' Kennst Du Das Land." From below is heard a volley 
 of shouts and cheers and laughter,] Dere ! Up-a da step ! 
 So — ! At las' she is inside — [Coming back quickly into 
 the room.] Qveeck! Shuta da vindow — dis room is all 
 dam' col' — [He steps inside and closes the window. The 
 fireworks are still seen, but the music and crowd are heard 
 more faintly. Signora Vannucci bustles about, putting a 
 new log on the fire, adjusting furniture, etc.] So ! Dere ! 
 Ecco! Dat is right! Vill milor 'elp me vid dis chair — ? 
 an' da table — ^more near da fire — Lika dat! [Suddenly,] 
 Madonna mia! I 'ave forget — [She quickly pulls back 
 the portieres over arch at back, revealing the bedroom. 
 There is a canopied bed, turned down, with elaborate pil- 
 lows, etc, A small lamp burns on its head, casting a warm 
 glow. On the bed is a nightgown case, heavily embroid- 
 ered, A luxurious negligee of fur and velvet lies across 
 a near-by chair, with a pair of slippers beneath. Signora 
 Vannucci picks them up and comes back immediately into 
 the sitting-room. She hangs the robe on a chair close to 
 fire and puts the slippers where they, too, will warm] 
 Milor, 'e recolleck dis robe — ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Helping her arrange it.] Millefleurs! 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 317 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Laughing.] Ah^ vhat good time 
 milor 'e giva us dere! I vish dat — 
 
 [There is a knock at the door and before 
 anyone can answer it is opened, and 
 Adolph appears hurriedly, carrying a 
 champagne bucket. 
 
 Adolph. [Excitedly,] You haf hear — ? You haf seen? 
 Look dere ! [He points to fireworks outside.] Mein Gott 
 im Himmel! [He puts down the campagne by the table. 
 The bellboy bursts in excitedly.] 
 
 The Bellboy. [With a long whistle.] Whew — ! Holy 
 cats ! This town ain't seen the like since the Prince o* 
 Wales was here! [There is an especially brilliant effect 
 of fireworks outside.] Jee-rusalem — ! [He rushes to the 
 window. The Head Waiter, two subordinates and two hall 
 boys in uniform come in, one after the other, talking among 
 themselves and laden with '^ floral offerings " of all kinds. 
 There are wreaths, '' set-pieces " in the form of harps, 
 hearts, etc. One large bird with '' Nightingale '' worked 
 in white roses upon red, etc. Some have the American and 
 Italian colors attached, others have sentiments such as 
 " Say Noi Good-bye," '' Our Mignon/' '' Addio," etc.] 
 
 One Waiter. Ouvrez la porte! 
 
 Another Waiter. Oui — ne voyez-vous pas que je suis 
 occupe — ? 
 
 Head Waiter. Oil faut-il poser ces engins-ci, madame? 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Sur le piano — bien! c'est ga! Dis- 
 donc — et ce que tu as sur la table — [To Van Tuyl.] 
 Are dey not bee-eautiful ? Santi benissimi! [To the wait- 
 ers]. Va doucement, idiot — / Tu vas Vabimer — / Pen- 
 chez celle-la a cote de la chaise — 
 
 Head Waiter. Vite! Vite! Espece d'un escargoi — / 
 Madame va venir — toute de suite! Ah, la voila — .' Comme 
 elle est ravissante — .' 
 
318 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 M. Baptiste. [Outside.^ Ah, madame, nous sommes in- 
 finiment heureux de prendre part dans le triomphe d'une 
 artiste si celehre — 
 
 \_As he has spoken, he has entered and stands 
 respectfully on one side of the door, bow- 
 ing and rubbing his hands. He is the 
 hotel proprietor and wears a frock-coat, 
 Rita. [Entering.] Merci, monsieur — merci mille fois — 
 vous etes trop aimable — [To Signora Vannucci in a 
 whisper.'] Per Vamor di Dio, mettili fuoril Non posso 
 piu — [She is in gorgeous evening dress, glittering with 
 jewels. On her head is a crown of diamonds. Her cloak 
 is purple. In one hand she carries a wreath of laurel, tied 
 with a golden ribbon. With the other she holds a great 
 armful of white roses. She is very pale and exquisitely 
 gracious. The music comes to an end just after her en- 
 trance. There is a renewed burst of cheering outside.] 
 Us sont tou jours la? Ecoutez — qu'est-ce qu'ils disent? 
 
 M. Baptiste. C'est tres confus, madame — [To the 
 bellboy.] Eh^ you! Dose peoples out dere^ vhat is it dey 
 say? 
 
 The Bellboy. [Shrilly.] They're yellin' fer a speech! 
 [There are indeed heard loud cries of 
 '' Speech! " " Just a little one! " '' Come 
 on! " etc. 
 M. Baptiste. [To Rita.] Si madame etait assez aima- 
 ble de leur addresser — 
 
 Rita. [T>rawing back.] Ah, non — non — c'est impos- 
 sible — 
 
 M. Baptiste. Trois paroles, vous savez — 
 Rita. V raiment, monsieur — je suis si fatiguee — 
 The Bellboy. [Yelling inside.] They won't go way! 
 M. Baptiste. Je vous prie, madame — pour Vhonneur de 
 Vhotel— 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 319 
 
 Rita. [In a flash of petulance.'] Non, Je refuse — en- 
 tendez vous? Je refuse ahsolument! [Turning away.]. 
 Ah, par example — c'est trop fort! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [CoaxinglyJ] Ti prego, cara. 
 
 Rita. [Stamping her foot,] Dio bono! Per che cosa 
 mi prendete? [There is a renewed outburst from the crowd. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Speaking for the first time.] Madame, 
 your public's calling you. 
 
 Rita. Vhat— ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Simply,] You must obey. [Pause.] 
 
 Rita. [In a low tone.] Open de vindow. 
 
 [The bellboy does so, the noise is heard very 
 much more clearly. She lays down her 
 wreath, then goes slowly to the window. 
 
 M. Baptiste. Ah, que madame est bonne — 
 
 [Rita steps out on balcony. There is a great 
 cheer as she appears, the red Bengal 
 light, blazing up again, falls fitfully upon 
 her figure. There is the hiss and glare 
 of many rockets set off simultaneously. 
 The band plays a fanfare — the general 
 effect IS a blare of light, noise and splen- 
 dor. She stands in the midst of it all, — 
 bowing, smiling and holding up her hand 
 for silence. In the room behind her 
 everyone is applauding. Baptiste utters 
 an occasional " Bravo! '' and Signora 
 Vannucci ostentatiously wipes away her 
 tears. Then quite suddenly there is a 
 silence. A man's voice is heard yelling 
 '' If you don't feel like talkin' — sing! " 
 There is a burst of laughter, cries of 
 '' Shut up! " " Give her a chance! " etc., 
 and silence again falls. A little pause. 
 
320 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Rita. [Simply and tenderly,] Sveet ladies — gentle- 
 men — dear peoples who 'ave been so good to me ! I do not 
 know your names an' faces — I cannot follow you into your 
 'omes^ an' laugh an' veep vit' you in every joy an' sorrow. 
 I can jus' sing a leetle, an' pray de saints dat somet'ing 
 in my song vill spik to you an' say — [Holding out her 
 arms to them.] '* I love you! You are all I 'ave to love 
 in dis beeg vorld!" [There are cheers from below, cries 
 of ''That's the ticket!'' ''Hear that?'' "Shut up!" 
 "Let her go on!" etc.] Mebbe you don' on'erstan' jus' 
 vhat dat mean — you who 'ave 'usban's^ vives an' leetle chil- 
 dren^ too! [With a smile,] Ah^ veil! I vould not like 
 it dat you should! I only tell you so you feel like doing 
 for me vone las' great kin'ness — [There are cries of 
 " What is it? " " Tell us! " " Give us a chance! " etc., 
 from below. She takes a step forward and speaks very 
 earnestly.] To-morrow I go far avay. Mebbe sometime 
 I sing for you again — [Cheers and cries of " Of course! " 
 " That's right! " " Come back soon! " etc. She puts up 
 her hand for silence.] — an' mebbe not. Who knows .'^ But 
 if t'rough all your 'appy^ '^PPy lives you carry^ vay down 
 deep^ vone leetle t'ought of me — vone golden memory of 
 my song — wherever I am, dear f rien's, oh ! I vill know it 
 an' be glad! [Shouts of "We will!" "That's easy!" 
 " Couldn't help it! " " Trust us! " etc. Her tone changes. 
 She continues with tender playfulness.] In my country 
 ve 'ave a leetle — vhat you say? — t'ing ve tell each oder 
 vhen ve say ** Addio " — " Che le rose fioriscano nei vostri 
 cuori fin ch'io ritorno a coglierle! " May de roses blossom 
 in your 'cart until I come to gadder dem again ! 
 
 [There is a great shout from the adoring 
 
 crowd. "Good-bye!" "Good luck!" 
 " Come back soon! " " We'll wait for you! " 
 
 etc., etc., are heard. The band begins to 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 321 
 
 play, very slowly, " Auld Lang Syne." 
 The cheering continues. There is a final 
 burst of fireworks, Rita tosses one of her 
 white roses over the balcony, there is a 
 renewed shout, she smiles and follows it 
 with another and another, until they are 
 gone. Then, still smiling and showing 
 her empty hands, she blows a last kiss 
 and steps inside, shutting the window be- 
 hind her. There has been applause from 
 the people in the room at the close of her 
 little speech, and now there is a general 
 movement forward to congratulate her, 
 M. Baptiste. [Effusively,] Ah, madame, mes compli- 
 ments! C'etait par fait! 
 Rita. Merci — merci — 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Embracing her,] Amore mio — / 
 Come sei bella! 
 
 Rita. Ah, non era niente — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Formally,] Madame^ my congratulations ! 
 
 Rita. T'ank you ver' much — I — 
 
 [She staggers suddenly, leaning on a chair 
 
 and putting her hand to her head. There 
 
 IS a moment's pause, then everyone speaks 
 
 at once, 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Rushing to her.] Tesoro mio — ! 
 
 Cos'e'—? 
 
 M. Baptiste. Mais elle est malade — 
 Van Tuyl. [To Adolph.] A glass of water — quick! 
 
 [He brings it hurriedly, 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [To Rita.] Bevi, 
 Rita. [Recovering and refusing the glass,] No — sto 
 benone — [To Baptiste.] J'ai la tete en feu — mille par- 
 dons — [She smiles,] 
 
S22 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 M. Baptiste. [Sympatheticalli/,'] Ah oui, madame-^-je 
 comprends — des fois, vous savez, ga arrive — 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. \_To Van Tuyl.] She 'ave eat 
 nodings for vone — two day! [To Baptiste.] Monsieur, 
 vous saves madame — elle est au bout de ses forces — alors, 
 vous comprenez — 
 
 M. Baptiste. Mais certainement — [To the waiters, 
 chasseurs, bellboys, etc,\ Assez — assez, mes enfants! 
 Dites bon soir a madame et sauvez-vous — .' 
 
 [They all huddle towards the door. 
 
 The Bellboy. [To Adolph who is trying to pull him 
 along,] Leggo o* me ! Don't ye see this is my only 
 chance? [He struggles,] 
 
 Adolph. [Under his breath,] Ssh! Be still! 
 
 A Waiter. [Officiously], Tais-toi! 
 
 The Head Waiter. [Angrily,] Nom d'un pipe — .' 
 Enlevez cet enfant-la — .' 
 
 The Bellboy. [Loudly, as they all try to pull him,] 
 I will not! [Calling to Rita.] Say! 
 
 Rita. You vant to spik to me — yes? Come, I vill lees- 
 ten! [The waiters release him. 
 
 The Bellboy. [Triumphantly to them,] Ya — ya ! Did 
 ye ever get left? 
 
 [He turns to Rita and suddenly becomes hor- 
 ribly embarrassed, 
 
 Rita. [Smiling,] Veil? 
 
 The Bellboy. [All in one breath, speaking very rap- 
 idly.] Beggin* yer pardon an' thankin' ye for all favors 
 past an' present would it cause ye too much inconvenience 
 t' affix yer autograph to this little album thus joinin' the 
 large company o' famous ladies an' gents what have spread 
 sunshine in the life of a po'r bellboy! 
 
 Rita. [Bewildered,] Vhat — ? [To Baptiste,] Que 
 dit-il, le p'tit? 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 323 
 
 M. Baptiste. [Smoothly.] Oh, c'est voire autographe, 
 madame — [Under his breath as he glances ferociously at the 
 boy.] Sacre p'tit cochon — 
 
 Rita. Mats certainement — [To the bellboy holding 
 out her hand for book.] 'Ere — vhere shall I — ? 
 
 The Bellboy. [Gratefully giving her the book and a 
 pencil.] Say, yer a real Jim Dandy! [Pointing to the 
 page.] Right there — between P. T. Barnum an' General 
 Grant! [As she writes.] I've been savin' that space for 
 two years^ but holy Moses ! I guess I'll never get any- 
 body t' beat you! 
 
 Rita. [Returning him book.] So — ! Be good boy — 
 vork 'ard — an' grow up fine, big Amer'can man ! Vait ! 
 [Picking up a wreath of roses and smilingly putting it 
 round his neck.] A souvenir! 
 
 The Bellboy. T'anks. But if yer givin* away sou- 
 venirs, there's one I'd like more'n this! 
 
 Rita. [Innocently.] An' vhat is dat.'^ 
 
 The Bellboy. [Taking his courage in both hands.'\ 
 Would ye — would ye give me a kiss? 
 
 [A movement of horror on the part of the 
 waiters, proprietors, etc. 
 
 Rita. [Smiling as she makes believe to box his ears, 
 then bending over and kissing him.] Barabbin — .' [Push- 
 ing him towards door.] Now run — qveek — qveek — ! 
 
 The Bellboy. [As he dashes out.] S'elp me Gawd, 
 I'll never wash that side o' my face again ! 
 
 Rita. [To all the waiters, etc., as they go out.] Bon 
 soir! Bon soir! Merci bien — bon soir, Adolph — 
 
 The Waiters. Bon soir, Madame — bon soir — 
 
 [They go out. 
 
 M. Baptiste. [Kissing her hand.] ^A demain, madame — .' 
 £t dormer bien! 
 
 Rita. Merci — merci, cher m'sieur — 
 
324 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Head Waiter. [Kissing her hand,] Ah, madame, vous 
 saves nous serons desoles de vous perdre — / 
 
 Rita. [Murmuring politely,'] Ah, m'sieur — c^est tres 
 aimable de voire parti Bon soir — hon soir! 
 
 [They go out. Rita, Signora Vannucci and 
 Van Tuyl are left alone, 
 Rita. [Turning away with a sigh of lassitude.] Oh — / 
 Oh — / Oh — .' Son cosi stanca — 
 
 Signora Vannucci. [Sympathetically,] Poverina! 
 Rita. [To the parrots.] Beh, Manrico, come stai stas- 
 sera — eh? E tu, Leonora bella — [Giving them a lump of 
 sugar from the table,] Ecco — .' Per celebrare! 
 
 [She turns away, takes a cigarette from a box 
 on a small table and lights it. Van Tuyl, 
 leaning against the piano, smokes a cigar- 
 ette quietly and watches her. Signora 
 Vannucci bustles about the fire, prepar- 
 ing the negligee, slippers, etc. 
 Signora Vannucci. [Always speaking as one would to 
 a spoilt, tired child.] Vieni, piccina! Levati il mantello! 
 Guar da! Ecco la tua veste da camera tutta bella calda — 
 
 Rita. [Blowing out her match and turning vacantly,] 
 Eh — ? [Understanding,] Ah, gia — il mio mantello — 
 
 [She drops her cloak carelessly on the floor 
 
 as she comes over to the fire and stops 
 
 by the monkey's cradle. She draws over 
 
 it a small monogrammed blanket, which 
 
 hangs over the foot, and carefully tucks 
 
 it in. 
 
 Rita. [Smoking and gently rocking the cradle,] Va 
 
 bene — dormi — dormi, belleza mia! Mamma e qui, vicino 
 
 a te — dormi, anima mia — dormi — dormi — 
 
 Signora Vannucci. [Coming to her with a large jewel- 
 case,] La tua corona, car a — e i tuoi gioielli — 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 325 
 
 Rita. [Putting her hand to her brow.'] Oh^ my 'ead — 
 it is so tired — Eccola — / 
 
 [She slowly and listlessly takes off the crown, 
 
 her necklace, bracelets, brooches, rings, 
 
 etc, and gives them to the Vannucci. The 
 
 latter puts them in the jewel-case, 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [While this is going on,] E la 
 
 collana — cosi si fa — ora gli anelli — ora dammi il tuo braccio 
 
 che ti levo i braccialetti — 
 
 Rita. [Petulantly, as Signora Vannucci pinches her in 
 unclasping a bracelet,] Fa attenzione — che mi fai male! 
 
 Signora Vannucci. [Quickly,] Oh, scusa — scusa, 
 car a! 
 
 [She shuts the case and puts it in the inside room, 
 Rita. [Sitting down on the floor before the fire where 
 the cards are scattered and speaking in an odd voice,] Per 
 V ultima volta — chissa cosa diranno? 
 
 [She recovers herself with an effort, gathers 
 up the cards, shuffles, and begins to deal, 
 her cigarette still in her mouth. 
 Signora Vannucci. [Coming from the inner room.] Ah, 
 lascia le carte stassera! 
 
 Rita. [Paying no attention to her.] La carta di mezzo 
 
 a destra — cosi! [Counting,] Una — due — tre — died! Cost! 
 
 [She deals and moves about the cards in a 
 
 mystic pattern. 
 
 Signora Vannucci. [Kneeling by her and taking off her 
 
 slippers, trying not to disturb her,] Eccoci! [Feeling her 
 
 feet,] Madonna mia! Come son freddi — .' 
 
 Rita. [Busy with the cards.] II re di cuori cambia 
 posto col fante — [She kicks viciously at the Vannucci. 
 Then resuming,] E il fante colVasso — 
 
 Signora Vannucci. [Gingerly trying to put a slipper 
 on the other foot,] Adagio! Adagio! [As she succeeds. '\ 
 
326 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Ecco, E gid finita! [Undoing Rita's dress,] Adesso 
 leviamo quesio — ci vuole un momento solo — 
 
 Rita. [Over her shoulder, ^^ Via! [Resuming,'] Metto 
 I'ultimo quadro su il primo cuore — 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [As before.] Ti prego, cara — un- 
 momentino — 
 
 Rita. [In sudden anger,] Lasciami stare — .' ti do 
 una lavata di capo — 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Appealing to Van Tuyl.] Milor 
 — 'e see — she villa not let me — 
 
 [Rita solemnly crosses herself thrice. 
 
 Van Tuyl, [Tossing away his cigarette and rising.] 
 Rita. 
 
 Rita. [Looking up,] Vhat — } 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Quietly,] Stand up. The signora wants 
 to put on your dressing-gown. 
 
 Rita. [Whimpering as she tosses her cigarette into the 
 fire and rises,] Oh^ dear ! Vhat for you make me — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Interrupting,] Ssh — ! 
 
 [During the following, with the Vannucci's 
 help she slips off her ball-gown and puts 
 on the elaborate negligee, 
 
 Hita. [Simply, still looking at him,] Vhy you come 
 'ere.> 
 
 Van Tuyl. Don't you want to see me? 
 
 Rita. Oh, I dunno — I am so tired — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Taking one of her hands,] Poor little 
 thing ! 
 
 Rita. Yes, dat is right — poor leetle — [Suddenly and 
 viciously to Vannucci,] Per carita! Credi che sia fatta 
 di legno — ? 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Panic-stricken,] Scusi tanto, cara 
 mia! Va bene, — cosi! 
 
 [^She goes off into the inner room, carrying the dress. 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 327 
 
 Rita. [In a sulhy voice to Van Tuyl.] She mos' ver' 
 nearly break my arm ! 
 
 [She drops on the floor again and lies at full 
 length, her chin in her hands, studying the 
 cards. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Smiling,'] And what do the cards say — 
 eh^ little Italian sorceress? 
 
 Rita. Dey say — dey say — \^She looks far away,] You 
 did not see 'im veep ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. What? 
 
 Rita. [As before,] 'E veep jus' like a leetle boy — vhen 
 first 'e meet de badness of, de vorld — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Concerned,'] Ah^ don% my dear! Don't 
 think of it any more ! 
 
 Rita. [Looking down again at the cards.] T'ree club 
 — dat mean a long, long journey — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Cheerfully,] Well! You're certainly go- 
 ing away. What comes next? 
 
 Rita. Vour — ^yq di'mon' — an' good vones, too. Dat 
 mean success an' money — vhat you say } — great fame. Only 
 to reach it I mus' go t'rough much. 
 
 Van Tuyl. You'll get there — never fear ! 
 
 Rita. [Closing her eyes,] Ah^ my frien', I t'ink I am 
 too tired to try. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Sympathetically ,] I know it's hard, my 
 dear, but — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting,] 'E vould not spik to me vone 
 leetle vord ! I say '* T'ank you for 'aving loved me ! " — 
 jus' like dat! — an' den I vait. But 'e say nodings — so I go 
 avay. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Pained,] Don't, dear, it's no use ! [Point- 
 ing to a card.] What's that jack of hearts doing up here 
 in the corner? 
 
 Rita. Mebbe 'e is a blond young man who give to me 'is 
 
S28 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 'eart — [Breaking off,] 'Ow long you t'ink^ before *e vill 
 forget ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. Ssh ! 
 
 Rita. [Returning to cards.] Ah, che m'importa? 
 [Pointing to the jack.] Dat blond young man — look ! 'Ow 
 'e is far from me ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Looking at cards.] From you — ? Oh, of 
 course! You're the red queen down in the middle of all 
 those spades. They're nothing bad, I hope.^ 
 
 Rita. You are among dem. 
 
 Van Tuyl. I— .^ 
 
 Rita. Yes, an' de oders, too — see! You are all about 
 me — dere is no vay out. 
 
 Van Tuyl. But, dear, I — 
 
 Rita. [Beginning with a little smile.] My — vhat you 
 say? [Tenderly,] — my flames — my splendid vones of 
 whom I vas so proud — look! 'ow you are black, an' strong 
 — ah, santa Madonna! I 'ave give you ev'ryt'ings, an' now 
 vhen love, 'e come an' smile an' 'old out 'is* dear 'ands, I 
 cannot give — no, cruel vones! You 'ave leave me nodings 
 — you 'ave take it all — 
 
 [She sweeps away the cards and buries her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Gently.] No. Not all. No one could do 
 that. [Changing his tone.] Come and play for me! Please, 
 there's a dear! 
 
 Rita. [Vacantly.] Play — ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Standing above her.] Yes. A little music 
 will do you good. 
 
 Rita. Music — ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Simply.] That's left, my dear. [Pause.] 
 
 Rita. [Half to herself.] Yes— dat is lef. [To him.] 
 Veil, vhat you vant I play? 
 
 [She holds out her hands for him to help her up. 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 329 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Doing so,'\ Try something of our old 
 friend Abbe Liszt. You know, that thing I used to like so 
 much — all stars and jasmine — voices in the night — 
 
 [She sits at the piano and plays. 
 Van Tuyl. [Delighted.] That's it! [He hums the air 
 lightly.] By Jove—! Isn't that beautiful.^ What's it 
 called ? 
 
 Rita. [Playing,] A dream of love — 
 Van Tuyl. Of course! So it is! [She breaks off,] 
 What's the matter? 
 
 Rita, I 'ave vake up — dat is all. De dream is gone — 
 
 [She buries her face in her hands. Van 
 
 Tuyl puts his hand gently on her 
 
 shoulder. There is an instant's pause, 
 
 Signora Vannucci comes bustling in 
 
 from the other room, 
 
 Signora Vannucci. [entering.] Adesso! Siamo belVe 
 
 pronti per — [She sees Rita's position. Van Tuyl makes 
 
 a gesture for her to be still. She stops in the middle of her 
 
 phrase. Then, under her breath,] Poverina! 
 
 [She catches Van Tuyl's eye, makes a ges- 
 ture towards Rita, then to macaroni at 
 fire, next to table — then pantomime of 
 eating. He nods assent. With every evi- 
 dence of satisfaction she goes over to fire 
 and takes up the macaroni, pours the 
 sauce over it, and stirs it. 
 Van Tuyl. [Turning to Rita, speaking kindly and 
 cheerfully.] Supper's ready ! 
 
 Rita. [Stifled.] I am not 'ungry. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Pleading.] Oh^ please ! Why, the signora 
 has taken all the trouble to cook your favorite macaroni — 
 
 Signora Vannucci. [From fire.] Al sugo — sono 
 buonissimi! 
 
330 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Rita. No — no — no — 
 
 Van Tuyl. Think how disappointed she'll be — [Raising 
 her,] There! Come along, little girl — [Showing her the 
 table,] Doesn't that salad look good? We'll sit you down 
 in this big armchair at the head of the table — [Doing so 
 as he speaks,] and I'll be butler, with my napkin over my 
 arm — so ! [Imitating a servant's manner,] And will 
 madame drink Chianti or a little champagne — ? [Looking 
 at the label on the bottle,] Roznay et PerrauU, '52 — not 
 too dry^ I venture to recommend it. Champagne — ? Very 
 good^ madame — I'll open it at once ! [He begins to do so.] 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Serving her with spaghetti,] Ecco! 
 Che buon odore? [Sprinkling it with cheese.] Mettiamo 
 abbastanza formaggio — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Pulling the cork and -filling a glass,] There ! 
 That's a happy sight for any prima donna ! Just taste it 
 now and tell me if it's all right. If not, I'll send down and 
 — [As she refuses the glass.] Please, dear! You really 
 need it ! 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [As one speaks to a child.] Macche! 
 Non mangi? [Coaxingly,] Ti prego — .' 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Offering her again the glass,] Just as a 
 favor — please. [She shakes her head, 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Winding a great coil of spaghetti 
 around the end of a fork and holding it in front of Rita's 
 mouth,] Questo pochino — presto! presto! Apri la bocca! 
 [As Rita draws her head away and the spaghetti falls to 
 the plate,] Santo Dio! 
 
 [A pause of discouragement. She and Van 
 Tuyl look at each other and shrug their 
 shoulders. Then a happy idea comes to 
 the signora. Behind Rita's back, she 
 gestures towards Van Tuyl, then to the 
 spaghetti, pantomime of his sitting at 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 331: 
 
 table opposite Rita, and eating and drink- 
 ing. He smiles and nods. 
 Van Tuyl. [To Rita.] You know the sight of that 
 macaroni's making me hungry? I wonder if there'd be 
 enough to give me just a — 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Interrupting and running to serve 
 him,] But certainly! Now if milor 'e jus' sita downa — 
 [As Van Tuyl does so, opposite Rita.] Ah, dat is all 
 right ! You lika da macaroni, I bet my life ! 
 
 [She serves him. 
 Van Tuyl. Here! That's enough! Thanks. [As he 
 pours himself a glass of wine,] And just a swallow of 
 champagne — I declare, I feel quite famished ! [Pause. He 
 does not touch anything,] Well! Are you going to let me 
 starve } 
 
 Rita. [Rousing herself,] Vhat you say? 
 Van Tuyl. You know I can't eat anything until my 
 hostess does. 
 
 Rita. [Aggrieved,] It is a treeck you play! 
 Van Tuyl. [Humbly,] No, on my word, I'm hungry! 
 Rita. [Smiling unwillingly,] Den jus' because I am 
 so frightfully polite! 
 
 [She eats a piece of spaghetti. Signora 
 Vannucci and Van Tuyl exchange 
 glances, 
 Signora Vannucci. [Hanging over Rita.] Buoni? 
 Rita. [Patting her cheek,] Squisiti — .' 
 Signora Vannucci. [Kissing her,] Tesorino mio! 
 Van Tuyl. I'm thirsty, too ! 
 Rita. [Smiling,] Blageur! 
 
 [She drinks some champagne. He smiles 
 and follows her example. 
 Van Tuyl. [Putting down his glass,] A thousand 
 thanks ! And now^ my dear, the signora's had a hard day's 
 
332 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 packing and to-morrow she'll be up at dawn. Why don't 
 you send her to bed and give her a good night's rest ? 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. Grazia, milor — I am nota much 
 tired — 
 
 Rita. Ha ragione, A letto! E metti in gabbia i pap- 
 pagalli! [She drinks again. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [Meaningly,] Capisco! Tu e 
 milor avrete da chiacchierare un po'l [To the parroL] E 
 voi, povere bestie! Dovete avere un bel sonno. [Unchain- 
 ing them and taking one on each wrist,] Andiamo — .' [To 
 Van Tuyl.] I 'ope milor 'e sleep ver' fine! Good night! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Politely rising.] Oh^ thanks. Good nighty 
 signora. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci. [At door — back.] E tu, anima mia 
 — mangia piu che puoi! 
 
 Rita. Buona notte — [Suddenly putting down her glass, 
 rising and running to Signora Vannucci.] Carissima mia, 
 ti ringrazio tanto — tanto! Ti amo sempre — non dimenti- 
 care! Ti amo — Ti amo — 
 
 [She throws her arms around her neck and 
 kisses her warmly. 
 
 SiGNORA Vannucci [Half smothered by the embrace.] 
 Madonna santissima, cosa vuol dire tutto questo? [Snivel- 
 ling a little.] Corpo di Bacco! Mi fai piangere! Buona 
 notte — [Kissing her.] Buona notte, milor — .' [Kissing 
 her again.] Carissima — .' Buona notte — buona notte — 
 [She goes out, sniffing and smiling and carry- 
 ing the parrots. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Who has served her with salad.] Now sit 
 down and finish your supper. 
 
 Rita. [Shaking her head.] No — it is enough — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Filling her glass and lifting his own.] 
 Well, then, let's drink a toast — eh.^ I have it! To the 
 splendor of your days to come ! [He bows and drinks. 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 333 
 
 Then, seeing she has not followed his exampleJ\ What's 
 the matter? Don't they tempt you? 
 
 Rita. [Holding her glass.] I do not drink to vhat 
 I know mus' be, but to a dream I vill not dream again — 
 de picture of a small room, varm an' bright, vit' 'im so busy 
 writing at 'is desk, — an' me, before de fire, jus' rocking, 
 smiling, vit' a little baby nursing at my breas'. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Suddenly,] My dear, I want you to listen 
 to a plan. [Sitting in the big chair and drawing her down 
 until she nestles at his feet.] There — ! That's right — ! 
 [Cheerfully resuming.] Now how would you like it if I 
 sailed on the Alaska in April and met you in Paris and took 
 you straight back to Millefleurs — 
 
 Rita. But my Russian concert tour? 
 
 Van Tuyl. They can get Patti in your place. 
 
 Rita. [Noi pleased.] Patti — ? 
 
 Van Tuyl. Yes, she'd be glad enough to go. 
 
 Rita. [Less and less enthusiastic] But my dear frien', 
 it is not — vhat you say? — it is not fair? 
 
 Van Tuyl. To whom? 
 
 Rita. To dose poor Russians ! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Smiling.] You're jealous! 
 
 Rita. [Outraged.] Of Patti? Me — ? [Very scorn- 
 fully.] My Lord! 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Caressing her hair.] Then why bother? 
 Think of Millefleurs and how we loved it on those nights 
 in May ! And it's there now — asleep and empty, like some 
 spellbound garden, j ust waiting for the touch of spring, and 
 us, to give it life again. 
 
 Rita. [Her head against his knee.] You tol' me vonce 
 you are too ol' to love Millefleurs — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Smiling.] My dear, your sorcery can make 
 me young again. 
 
 Rita. No — no — dat is impossible — you don* on'erstan' — 
 
SS4 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Holding her.] What is it? Tell 
 
 me! 
 
 Rita. [Rising,] I cannot do things like dat any more. 
 [A pause,] 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Humbly,] Forgive me. It was a mistake. 
 I didn't mean to hurt you. 
 
 Rita. [Choking,] 'Urt me.^ You — ? My dear^ dear 
 frien'^ I am not vort* such kin'ness — [She takes his hand.] 
 But in dese las' few veeks^ I learn somet'ing all new an' bee- 
 eautiful — de goodness of de vorld — ! It come like some 
 great light dat burn an' blind an* strike me to de groun' ! 
 It show me for de first time to myself! Ah, santo Dio! 
 vhat it is I see ! But now I cannot change, an' yet I 
 cannot jus' forget, an' go on as before — you see, I am — 
 oh, vhat you call it? all meex up! [Pointing to her bed,] 
 I almos' vish dat I could lie down dere tonight — an' say 
 good-bye. 
 
 Van Tuyl. And what about Tom? 
 
 Rita. [Quickly,] Don' spik 'is name — 
 
 Van Tuyl. I must. If knowing him has done all that 
 for you — and God help me, dear, but up to now I didn't 
 realize that it had! — don't you think you owe him some- 
 thing in return? 
 
 Rita. Somet'ing? 
 
 Van Tuyl. Yes, and I'll tell you what it is. You've 
 got to pull yourself together, to raise your head and say, 
 **rve been foolish in my time — but that's all over. From 
 now on I'm going to be strong. I'm going to turn the rest 
 of my life into a splendid noble thing. I won't stop till 
 I'm the sort of woman Tom* would be proud of" — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting.] Please — please — 
 
 Van Tuyl. [With sudden tenderness,] I know it's 
 hard, my darling, but that's no reason why you should give 
 up. Why, it's your prize, your chance — the power to turn 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 335 
 
 this dreadful business into something radiant and true — 
 the final gift Tom's put into your hands ! 
 
 Rita. [Clasping her hands.] Ah, Dio mio — 
 Van Tuyl. [Going on,] Be brave! live gloriously! 
 And if responsibility's the price of love, love's worth it. 
 Isn't it, my dear.^^ [A pause,] 
 
 Rita. You are right. But oh, my frien' — my frien' — 
 
 vhat 'ave I done — vhat 'ave I done dat all dis come to me — ? 
 
 [She bursts into agonized tears and throws 
 
 herself on the couch, sobbing bitterly. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Putting his hand on her shaking shoulder,] 
 
 My dear^ I'm proud of you. 
 
 [There is a knock at the door to the hall. 
 They both turn, A moment's silence. 
 The knock is repeated. 
 Rita. [Whispering,] Vhat shall I — } 
 Van Tuyl. Go and open it. 
 Rita. [Going to door.] Who is dere.^ 
 The Bellboy's Voice. [Outside.] It's me, ma'am. 
 There's a gent downstairs t' see ye. 
 
 Rita. Vhat — ? [She opens the door a crack. 
 
 The Bellboy. They told him it was awful late an' you 
 was tired, but he wouldn't go an' made 'em send up this. 
 [He sticks in his arm with a tray, on which 
 is a note. Rita takes it, looks at it, then 
 opens it quickly and takes out a card, 
 which she reads,] 
 Van Tuyl. [Watching her face.] It's Tom? 
 Rita. [Nodding,] Yes. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [In a low voice,] What does he want? 
 Rita. [Reading,] ** I mus' see you. It is life or death." 
 [Looking up,] Dat's all. 
 
 Van Tuyl. What are you going to do ? 
 
 Rita. I will say *' no." [She turns towards the door. 
 
836 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Van Tuyl. Wait! 
 
 Rita. [Shuddering.] After vhat 'as 'appen, I can never 
 look into 'is eyes again. 
 
 Van Tuyl. Perhaps this is the last time you two will 
 ever meet. Be merciful. Don't leave the poor boy with 
 the memory of this afternoon. Give him the chance of 
 seeing you as you are. Give him the joy of knowing what 
 he's done for you. 
 
 Rita. [Nervously,] Please don' ask me — no — I do not 
 dare — 
 
 Van Tuyl. Be a brave child ! Let me send for him ! 
 
 Rita. No — not to-night — 
 
 Van Tuyl. This very minute. [Going to the door,] 
 Ask the gentleman to come upstairs. 
 
 The Bellboy. All right, sir. 
 
 [He closes the door. Van Tuyl turns to find 
 his coat, hat and stick, 
 
 Rita. [Terrified.] You are not going! 
 
 Van Tuyl. He mustn't find me here. 
 
 Rita. [Trembling and clinging to him,] Ah, don' leave 
 me — please — I am afraid — 
 
 Van Tuyl. Afraid — when you can help him ? I thought 
 you loved him, dear. [She releases her hold on him. He 
 offers her his hand,] Good-bye. 
 
 Rita. [Taking his hand.] Good-bye. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Still holding hers.] Do you forgive me, 
 Rita? 
 
 Rita. For vhat? 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Wistfully.] For everything. 
 
 [With a little gasp she lifts his hand and 
 touches it to her lips. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [Deeply moved as he suddenly gathers her 
 in his arms.] My darling — ! Beautiful — ! Joy of 
 men — ! 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 337 
 
 Rita. [Brokenly.] Oh, my good frien' — 
 
 [She buries her face on his shoulder. 
 
 Van Tuyl. [With infinite tenderness,] Little bird — ! 
 I shall hear your singing in my heart forever, and I thank 
 you from the bottom of my soul! 
 
 [He bends over and softly kisses her hair. 
 Then, quickly and sharply, turns and goes 
 out the other door, Rita is left alone. 
 She looks after him for a moment, then 
 runs to the window and opens it. Outside 
 the gleam and swirl of falling snow can 
 be seen. She stands there, one hand to 
 her throat, breathing deeply, A knock 
 is heard at the door to the hall. She closes 
 the window and turns. The knock is 
 repeated, more loudly. She tries to speak, 
 but cannot. The knock is heard a third 
 time. She controls herself with a great 
 effort. 
 
 Rita. Come ! 
 
 [The door opens and Tom appears. He 
 closes the door and stands with his back 
 against it, looking at her. He is quite 
 white, his hair dishevelled, his eyes wild. 
 He is without overcoat or gloves — the 
 snow is still on his shoulders, his hands 
 are red with cold. His voice is strange. 
 He moves and talks as though devoured by 
 some inward flame. During the entire 
 scene he rarely, if ever, takes his eyes 
 away from her. 
 
 Rita. [With difficulty,] You — you vant to — see me.*^ 
 
 Tom. Yes. 
 
 [They look at each other, breathing deeply. 
 
338 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Rita. [Unsteadily.] Veil? 
 
 Tom. Just wait. I — I'm sort of cold. 
 
 Rita. [Her manner changing at once,] De fire — please 
 — go qveeck an' varm yourself — [Taking him by the arm 
 and drawing him across.] Santi benissimi! You are all 
 vet! [Glancing at his feet,] An' your shoe — per capita! 
 You 'ave valk 'ere in dis snow! 
 
 Tom. [Oddly,] Yes. I've been walking. All the time 
 that you were singing there. I think I got as far as Trinity, 
 but I don't — quite remember. 
 
 Rita. Vhat for you come out on a night so bad.^ An', 
 if you mus', vit'out dat beeg t'ick coat.^ 
 
 Tom. [Looking down at himself,] My coat.^^ I suppose 
 I — I forgot to put it on. 
 
 Rita. Forget — ! [With an exclamation.'] Madonna! 
 
 Tom. [Again staring at her,] I was thinking about 
 something else. About you. I was praying for you in the 
 twilight — in the evening — in the black and dark night — 
 
 Rita. Oh, Meestair Tom! 
 
 Tom. [Continuing,] I walked and prayed. And in my 
 prayers I felt a little hand here on my arm. Some lost 
 one offering herself, I thought. But when I looked down 
 at the red mouth under the veil and the tawdry bonnet, my 
 head swam. It was you! 
 
 Rita. [Amazed.] Me — ? 
 
 Tom. I heard you crying as I ran away. And I ran 
 and ran — I don't know where — till I saw some lights and 
 people. And then a little beggar, playing on the curb, held 
 up her hand. And when I gave her a penny^ she thanked 
 me — with your voice. 
 
 Rita. No — no — you vere meestake — 
 
 Tom. Of course! And then I saw you walking by me 
 in the streets and looking at me out of windows — hundreds 
 of different women, but every one was you. I couldn't 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 339 
 
 move — you were so thick and close. And it began snowing, 
 and I thanked God, because that would blot you from my 
 sight. But no! Each snowflake was a tiny face. Your 
 face. Some crowned with diamonds, some with loosened 
 hair, some old and terrible, some sad and young. Some 
 with your sweet lips parted and your cheeks all wet with 
 tears. And you came and came and kept on coming. 
 Thousands and millions of you, driving and swirling in 
 your deviFs dance by the glare of the gas-light on the 
 corner. And not one spoke. You all just looked at me as 
 if you wanted something — imploring — longing with your 
 beautiful dumb eyes. And suddenly I knew! You were 
 begging me to bring your soul to God before it was too 
 late! And I called to you — I cried out that I would! 
 And then you smiled and vanished, and I came here though 
 the storm. 
 
 Rita. [Clasping her hands,] You poor, poor boy — 
 
 Tom. It's different now. Of course you understand. 
 [With emphasis,] As man and woman, we've done with 
 one another. Everything like that is over and forgotten — 
 seared away. But I am still a minister of God's word and 
 you are still a human being in mortal peril! 
 
 Rita. [Tenderly,] Ah, don' talk dat vay ! But come — 
 sect 'ere! You are all shaking — see! you vill catch col'! 
 
 [She tries to make him sit by fire, 
 
 Tom. [Paying no attention,] Do you know you're stand- 
 ing on the brink of life or death } You must choose between 
 them. 
 
 Rita. [Trying to calm him.] Yes, yes — anodder time. 
 
 Tom. No, not another time! Tonight! This very 
 minute ! Now ! 
 
 Rita. [In deep distress.] Oh, vhy you come? 
 
 Tom. To save you, dear. Now listen! At midnight 
 I must lead my clergy through the streets. You know, my 
 
340 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 plan to gather in the vagrants for my New Year Service. 
 And tomorrow you go away. So this is my hour — my hour 
 of hours! And I'll never leave you till youVe given me 
 your soul! 
 
 Rita. Ah^ if you only knew 'ow — 
 
 Tom. [Interrupting and holding up his hand,] Listen ! 
 Don't you hear it — ^now — above us — in this very room.^ 
 
 Rita. 'Ear vhat — ? 
 
 Tom. [In a sort of rapture.] The sound of many 
 waters — 
 
 Rita. [Puzzled.] Eh? 
 
 Tom. The Voice — [Very solemnly.] The thunder of an 
 angel's wings ! [A pause.] 
 
 Rita. I 'ear de vind blow, an' my eart* beat. Dat 
 is all. 
 
 Tom. It's here! I feel it! [Ecstatically,] Oh, dear 
 God! Dear God! You're giving me the strength to con- 
 quer her! 
 
 Rita. [Anxiously.] Conquair — ? [Suddenly.] You 
 vant to 'urt me ! Ah, don' 'urt me — please ! 
 
 Tom. [Turning to her and speaking with sudden tender- 
 ness.] My dear, I wouldn't hurt you for the world. It's 
 love I'm offering you — [As she makes a quick movement.] 
 — no, wait, my poor child. Not the sick passion of those 
 luxurious beasts. Not even the great pity I once knew. 
 Not theirs, not mine, the love I bring to you tonight is God's 
 alone ! 
 
 Rita. God's love — ? 
 
 Tom. Yes, darling. His. The mighty tenderness that 
 moves the stars, and understands when little children pray. 
 It's ours forever! [In sudden anxiety.] Do you realize 
 the meaning of that word? 
 
 Rita. [Sadly.] Your keess 'ave teach me. 
 
 Tom. [Always staring at her.] Little lost soul, I am 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 341 
 
 ready to carry you home ! Little tired heart, eager for joy! 
 Follow me and find it in His arms! 
 
 Rita. Vhat you mean? 
 
 Tom. Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white 
 as snow. For you come out of great tribulation and have 
 washed your robes in the blood of the Lamb — 
 
 Rita. Vhat is it — vhat you say? 
 
 Tom. [More and more moved.'] You shall no longer 
 hunger and thirst. For He will lead you to the living 
 waters and the Tree of Life, and God himself will wipe 
 away your tears ! 
 
 Rita. [Looking at him,] I don' — qvite on'erstan' — 
 
 Tom. I thought our meeting was the work of chance — 
 the call of a man for his earthly mate. But in bitter shame 
 have I learnt my error. God drew you to me, over land and 
 sea, that I might be the engine of His Word. You are a 
 bride — but ah! not mine — [His voice dropping.] — not 
 mine! 
 
 Rita. A bride — me? No — no — dat is impossible — 
 
 Tom. [His eyes gleaming.] Don't you hear the mid- 
 night cry — ** Behold ! the Bridegroom cometh ! Go ye 
 out to meet him ! " Don't you see Him, coming from the 
 wilderness like a pillar of smoke, perfumed with myrrh 
 and frankincense? His eyes are as a flame of fire^ on his 
 head are many crowns. He wears a garment dipped in 
 blood and on it a name is written — Lord of Lords and King 
 of Kings! Hark! He is outside, knocking at your door! 
 O Rose of Sharon — Lily of the Valley ! Cease your slum- 
 ber, for the hour has come ! 
 
 Rita. [Nervously.] I do not like it vhen you talk 
 dis vay — 
 
 Tom. [Coming nearer as she shrinks away.] How can 
 you sleep when His voice is calling — " Rise up, my love, 
 my fair one — and come away! For lo! the winter is past^ 
 
S42 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 the rain is over and gone! The flowers appear on the 
 earthy the time for the singing of birds is come! Open to 
 me^ my sister_, my love^ my dove^ my undefiled — for my 
 head is filled with dew and my locks with the drops of the 
 night — *' 
 
 Rita. [Desperately.'] Santa Madonna — / Vhat is it 
 you say — ? 
 
 Tom. Awake, O fairest among women! Awake, and 
 open wide the door! Awake and sing and shout and cry 
 aloud — ** My beloved is mine and His desire is towards 
 me!'' 
 
 Rita. Your eyes — dey bite me — oh, dey burn me up — 
 
 Tom. [Breathing fast and deep as he comes nearer,] 
 My dear. He's tired! Don't keep Him standing there! 
 
 Rita. Meestair Tom — Meestair Tom! 
 
 Tom. [Hoarsely.] Darling, open your heart! For 
 God's sake, let Him in! 
 
 Rita. [In a spasm of nervous horror as he finally 
 seizes her.] Don' touch me — don' — don' — let me go! 
 
 [She drops writhing at his feet. He holds 
 fast to her hands and speaks quickly bend- 
 ing over her, 
 
 Tom. [Changing his tone.] So that*s it, is it.^ So 
 jou're proud! You think you can close your soul against 
 the Lamb! Well, let me tell you now that unless you 
 repent, the day will come when your pride lies broken, 
 shattered by His wrath! You're young and beautiful, but 
 that won't last! Your head is burdened with the weight 
 of gold and splendors. But, unless you pray God to for- 
 give you, the time is near when the stench of your dead 
 vanities will fill the world — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting.] Let me go — let me go — 
 
 [She tears herself free and runs over to the 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 345 
 
 jire where she crouches trembling against 
 the wall, 
 
 Tom. [With horrible intensity. '\ When the kings of the 
 earth have sealed themselves in pleasure on your heart — 
 when the merchants of the earth have grown fat through 
 the abundance of your delicacies — when you have glorified 
 yourself and lived deliriously^ and all lands are drunk 
 with the wine of your abominations — when you have said 
 in your soul^ I sit a queen^ and am no widow^ and shall 
 see no sorrow — then will the Son of Man thrust in His 
 sickle ! Then will He gather your grapes and cast them 
 down and tread them in the winepress of God's rage ! 
 
 Rita. It is not true — 
 
 [A coal breaks in the grate behind her and 
 her figure is bathed in a ruddy, flickering 
 glow. 
 
 Tom. [With a cry, covering his face as if to shut out 
 some dreadful sight.] Ah! No! Not that! Dear God^ not 
 that — not that — 
 
 Rita. [Terrified,] Vhat? Vhat you say — ? 
 
 Tom. [Pointing at her.] Look — ! The red light — hell 
 is burning — 
 
 Rita. [Beginning suddenly to cry like a frightened 
 child.] Oh—! Oh—! I am afraid! 
 
 Tom. [Wildly.] Afraid—.^ Afraid—? Miserable 
 sinner^ how can you live with that horror staring in your 
 eyes ? The vision of that dreadful day when the sun is 
 smitten^ and the moon is bloody and the great stars reel 
 and fall down from the sky — 
 
 Rita. I don* believe — no — no^ I don' — I don' — 
 
 Tom. When the graves are broken^ and the sea gives up 
 its dead — and great and small they stand before Him and 
 He sits in judgment — 
 
544 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Rita. [Trying to interrupt him.'] Meestair Tom — jus' 
 vait vone meenute — 
 
 Tom. [Going on.] Don't you hear that great Voice like 
 
 a light that blinds — " I made you keeper of my vineyards. 
 
 But your own vineyards you have not kept. So you shall 
 
 drink from the cup of the wine of the fierceness of My 
 
 wrath and be cast into the bottomless pit and the lake of 
 
 fire. And there^ in the midst of your eternal torment you 
 
 shall hear the alleluias in the rainbow round My throne ! '* 
 
 [He sinks into a chair, and buries his face in 
 
 his hands. A pause. Rita, who has risen, 
 
 now comes nearer him. 
 
 Rita. [Simply.] I am qvite sure dis is de las' time dat 
 Te spik togedder — de las' time dat 1 look upon your face. 
 An' so I vant to tell you jus' a leetle somet-ing — an' den — 
 veil, mebbe I can say good-bye. [She comes a little nearer 
 and speaks at first with some difficulty.] You are ver' kin' 
 to t'ink of me so much, aftair all de trouble I 'ave bring. 
 An' I t'ank you — I shall alvays be oblige*. But, dear, you 
 can forget me now. It is all right. Your vork is done. 
 
 Tom. What's that.^ 
 
 Rita. Before I meet you I did not know much vhat a 
 voman's life should be. But now I know. You show me. 
 An' I cannot do dose ol' t'ings any more. 
 
 Tom. [Looking up at her,] You don't mean — } 
 
 Rita. [Her eyes shining.] I vant to make my life all 
 good — like yours ! Ah, yes, I know dat vill be 'ard, but I 
 don' care ! An' mebbe de kin' Madonna she vill 'elp me, 
 vhen she sees me try! 
 
 [She clasps her hands, the dawn of hope in 
 her face. 
 
 Tom. [Staring at her.] Your lips drop as the honey- 
 comb. Your mouth is smoother than oil. But your feet go 
 down to death, and your steps take hold on hell. 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 345 
 
 Rita. [A little anxious.'] You don* t'ink God^ *E vill 
 forgive me — no? [Smiling,'] Ah^ foolish vone — ! 'E villi 
 Did 'E not make my face so men 'ave alvays love me ? Did 
 'E not put my voice 'ere to delight de vorld? Did 'E not 
 give to vone poor leetle girl^ who ask 'Im nodings, so much 
 to carry dat she lose 'er vay? 'E vill not be surprise she 
 stumble sometime. 'E vill not scol' much vhen she make 
 meestake. 'E vill jus' smile an' keep 'Is candle burning. 
 An' in a leetle vhile she see it^ an' come 'ome ! 
 
 Tom. Promise me something — 
 
 Rita. Vhat? 
 
 Tom. Take my hands and look me in the eyes and 
 promise me never to give yourself to any man again. 
 
 Rita. Ah ! I knew it ! You 'ave not believe me ! 
 
 Tom. [Wiping the sweat from his forehead,] Of course 
 I believe you but promise me. For God's sake^ promise just 
 the same ! 
 
 Rita. [Turning away in agony,] Ah^ vhy don* you 
 trust me.^ Vhy you doubt me so? 
 
 Tom. [Loudly,] You won't — ? 
 
 Rita. [Turning,] 'Ere — take my 'ands. [He seizes 
 them.] 'Ow col' you are! I promise — vhat you vant I 
 say.^ — never to give myself to any man again! 
 
 Tom. [Devouring her with his eyes,] You swear it? 
 
 Rita. Yes^ I svear! Now are you satisfied? 
 
 Tom. [Suddenly uttering a cry of pain and hideous 
 unrest,] Ah! [He pushes her away from him, 
 
 Rita. Vhat is it now — ? 
 
 Tom. I've just remembered that you swore before ! 
 
 Rita. [Shrinking as she understands,] No — no! 
 
 Tom. You put your hand on my dear mother's Testa- 
 ment and you looked up^ just as you're looking now — 
 
 Rita. [Putting up her hands as if to ward off a blow^l 
 No — stop it! 
 
S46 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Tom. And you lied^ and lied ! You lied to me — 
 Rita. No — don' — please — it is all diff'rent now — 
 Tom. Different? I don't see it. Why^ it's just the same ! 
 Rita. No — no! I tell you / am diff'rent! I 'ave 
 change ! I am going now to be good ! 
 Tom. But can you? 
 
 Rita. Listen ! I tell you 'ow I show ! I vill stop sing- 
 ing, fin' out a convent vhere dey take me in an' — [Sud- 
 denly,'] Ecco! I 'ave it! Dere are some nuns near Geneva 
 who nurse de sick. I vill go straight from Napoli^ learn 
 'ow to 'elp, an' vork until dis flesh fall from de bone ! 
 Tom. You'll do that just to show me you're sincere? 
 Rita. [Imploringly,'] I vill do all you vant ! Yes, 
 anything! Only believe me, jus' believe — or else I die! 
 
 Tom. [Deeply moved,] All right. I take you at your 
 word. 
 
 Rita. [Hardly daring to believe.] You mean it — ? 
 Tom. [Huskily, his face working,] Yes. God bless 
 you, dear. Good-bye. [He turns away,] Before I go — 
 there's something I forgot — [Remembering.] Oh, yes ! 
 Your cross — your pearls. You left them at the Rectory. 
 [He has unfolded his handkerchief and taken 
 from it the jewels. As he lays them on 
 the table he sees Van Tuyl's card, left 
 there by Signora Vannucci at the begin- 
 ning of the act. He stands rigid, A mo- 
 ment's pause. 
 Rita. T'ank you. [Her voice changes as she sees his 
 face,] Vhat is it? 
 
 Tom. [Trying to point,] That card — Van Tuyl — 
 
 [He chokes suddenly. 
 Rita. [Anxiously,] Meestair Van Tuyl. Yes? 
 Tom. [With difficulty,] He's been here then? 
 Rita. [Looking at him,] Si — si — 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 347 
 
 Tom. [Putting his hand to his throat,] To-night? 
 
 Rita. Yes. 
 
 Tom. [Hardly able to contain himself, 1 When.'* 
 
 Rita. Jus' before you come. 
 
 Tom. [Seizing the card and crumpling it in both hands. 1 
 Oh! What a fool I ve been! What a fool! What a fool! 
 What a blind, miserable, wretched fool! 
 
 Rita. Vhat is it ? Tell me ! Vhat 'as 'appen ? 
 
 Tom. Why didn't I feel it as 5oon as I saw you in that 
 indecent dress, with your hair unbound, and the night-light 
 burning? Why didn't I smell it in the sickening perfume 
 that this whole place reeks of — 
 
 Rita. Vhat you mean? O dear Lord, vhat you mean? 
 
 Tom. Don't try to cheat me any more ! I know what's 
 happened in this room to-night! While I was tramping 
 through the storm and snow, praying with my whole heart 
 for your soul's redemption — [Pointing to the bedroom,] — 
 you lay there laughing in your lover's arms. 
 
 Rita. [Stung,] No — no! Dat is not so, I say — not 
 so — not so! 'E come in kin'ness, jus' because 'e feel ver' 
 sorry for me, an* vhen 'e ask me to go back to 'im, I 'ave 
 refuse ! 
 
 Tom. What—? 
 
 Rita. I 'ave refuse! You *ear me? I 'ave toF 'im 
 '' No! '' An' 'e is great beeg man, an* on'erstan'. An' den 
 I t'ank 'im, an* ve say good-bye. 
 
 Tom. [Fiercely,] You lie! Why, look at those two 
 chairs — so close together! They look like a refusal, don't 
 they ? And those glasses — champagne — 
 
 Rita. No — no ! It is qvite diff 'ren' ! You are all mees-- 
 take — 
 
 Tom. [More and more fiercely,] A private orgy^ 
 
 planned and thought out days ahead ! Your last caresses — 
 
 [He has seized the table cloth with both hands^ 
 
548 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Rita. Oh^ take care ! 
 
 Tom. [Between his teeth,'] A farewell debauch — 
 
 [He pulls the cloth and drags, everything to 
 the floor with a crash. 
 
 Rita. [Closing her eyes.] Oh — ! 
 
 Tom. [Turning on her.] Now do you dare deny Van 
 Tuyl's your lover ? 
 
 Rita. [Her eyes still closed.] Yes ! Yes ! I do ! I do ! 
 [Beginning to sway a little as she speaks.] I 'ave refuse 
 'im an' I tell you vhy ! I t'ought it was because my 'eart 
 'ave change^ because I vant so much to be good ! But now 
 I know dat I vas all meestake ! I 'ave not change ! My 
 'eart, it is not good ! / break vit 'im because I love an- 
 odder — 
 
 Tom. [Ready to kill her.] Who is he? 
 
 Rita. [Half -fainting, as she opens her eyes and sways 
 towards him, holding out her arms.] You — 
 
 Tom. [Turning sharply as if she had struck him with 
 a whip.] Don't! 
 
 Rita. [Pulling herself together.] Forgive me — 
 
 Tom. [Twisting his hands as if in prayer.] Oh_, my 
 God ! Oh, my God ! 
 
 Rita. [Her back to him, holding the big chair for sup- 
 port.] An' now — if you don' min' — I mus' ask you — to 
 leave me — it is almos' midnight — you 'ave your service in de 
 church — an' I myself mus' — try to sleep a leetle — [Turning 
 With an enormous effort and holding out her hand with a 
 smile.] So good-night! I 'ope you — [Her words die away 
 as she sees the expression on his face. Then in a sudden 
 paroxysm of terror.] Vhy you look at me like dat? [A 
 brief pause.] Please go avay ! [He doesn't move.] Go 
 avay! 
 
 Tom. [Starting, wiping his forehead nervously, and 
 trying to speak in his natural voice.] All right. I'm going. 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 349 
 
 Yes, I'm going. [His tone deepening,^ But first there's 
 something we must do — what is it? I forget — oh^ yes, of 
 course — of course! We must pray together — that's it! 
 Pray for your soul and for your soul's salvation — 
 
 Rita. [Nervously.'] No — go now! I am in God's 'ands. 
 'E vill take care of me. [In quick fear, he comes towards 
 her.] Oh, vhat you vant .^ 
 
 Tom. [Thickly,'] Come here — [He seizes her by the 
 arm.] Kneel down! [He sits on the couch and draws her 
 down before him between his knees.] There! That's right! 
 Give me your hands ! 
 
 [He fumbles, finds them, and holds them tight 
 against his breast. A silence, they look 
 into each other's eyes. 
 
 Rita. [Suddenly in wild terror as she looks up at him.] 
 
 Pray! Vhy don' you pray.^ Pray! [Half -smothered.] 
 
 Gesu — [In a silent fury of passion he has leaned 
 
 forward, drawn her up to him, and 
 
 crushed her in a terrible embrace. 
 
 Tom. [Triumphantly .] It's all over! I thought I came 
 here to save you, but I didn't! It was just because I'm a 
 man and you're a woman, and I love you, darling — I love 
 you — I love you more than anything in the world — 
 
 [He is kissing her frantically. 
 
 Rita. [Half -fainting.] Oh — ! 
 
 Tom. [Betz^een his kisses.] My dearest — my precious 
 — I've never felt this way in all my life before — [With a 
 laugh.] What a fool — what a fool I've been ! But that's 
 all right, it's not too late — we're here — together — and the 
 night is ours — 
 
 Rita. [Terrified.] No — no! 
 
 Tom. It's ours — the whole, long splendid night — it's 
 ours, I tell you — every marvellous minute — why, God Him- 
 self can't rob us of it now! 
 
350 ROMANCE [Act III 
 
 Rita. [Strugglirig.] Don' — please — ! Oh^ take avay 
 your *ands — 
 
 Tom. I won't — 
 
 Rita. It is because I love you — 
 
 Tom. [Leaning forward to kiss her,] Ah — ! I knew — ! 
 
 Rita. [Pushing him away from her,] An' so^ because 
 I love you, I mus' save you from yourself! 
 
 Tom. You can't — it's too late — 
 
 Rita. Now leesten — please ! It is you who 'ave teach 
 me vhat is love! I 'ave know nodings — nodings — till you 
 show me — all ! 
 
 Tom. Till/—? 
 
 [He breaks into a peal of jangled laughter. 
 
 Rita. To love a man is jus' vone big forgetting of vone's 
 self — to feel so sorry for 'im dat it break your 'eart — to 
 'elp 'im vhen 'e need 'elp if it cost your life — 
 
 Tom. [Laughing again.] Oh^ darling — you don't really 
 think that's love — } 
 
 Rita. I know it — now! [With a sudden sob,] But, 
 oh, I learn it in such pain an' sorrow ! [In passionate en- 
 treaty.] Don't take it from me, now dat it is mine ! 
 
 Tom. Oh, nonsense! That's not love — why, that's the 
 sort of thing / used to talk! [Intoxicated.] But I know 
 better now ! It's you who've taught me ! Love isn't think- 
 ing or forgetting about anything — love's just feeling — it's 
 being awfully sick and faint — as if you hadn't had anything 
 to eat for years and years — it's — 
 
 Rita. [Interrupting.] Don' — ! Don' — ! You mus* 
 not talk dat vay — 
 
 Tom. [Moistening his lips.] I love you — 
 
 Rita. [In despair.] Oh, t'ink of dat beeg lake — de lake 
 of fire — de smoke an' torment dat you tell me of ! 
 
 Tom. [Recklessly.] I know I'm lost! I'm done for. 
 
Act III] ROMANCE 351 
 
 damned forever ! But I'll have had this night, so I don't 
 care! 
 
 Rita. But 7 care! I care! 
 Tom. [Panting,'] I'm going to kiss you — 
 Rita. [Wild with fright.] Don' touch me — no — go back 
 — please — keep avay — 
 Tom. I won't — 
 
 Rita. [Shrinking against the sofa,] For God's sake — 
 Tom. [Seizing her in his arms,] My darling — 
 Rita. [Closing her eyes.] 1 am all alone. I 'ave no 
 strengt'. I cannot fight against you any more. But now, 
 before it is too late, remembair — oh, remembair vhat I say ! 
 Dis is de vone big meenute in my life. De kin' of voman 
 I vill alvays be, it is for you to say — 'ere — as ve stan' in dis 
 room — now! [Like a child,] Oh, Meestair Tom! Please 
 — please let me be good ! Don' treat me like de odders 'ave ! 
 Don' make me bad — again ! You are a man God send to 
 'elp de vorld. All right — 'elp me! I need you! Go avay ! 
 My 'eart, it vill go vit' you alvays, but I don' care — jus' so 
 you let me keep my soul ! 
 
 [She stands transfigured. As she speaks he 
 slowly releases her and sinks to his knees. 
 His face is buried in his hands. There is 
 a pause. 
 
 Then, in the distance, sounds the first 
 note of the midnight bell. As it continues, 
 a choir of men^s voices — sturdy and sweet 
 — strikes up far away. It gradually comes 
 nearer. They are singing the old Lutheran 
 hymn *' Ein Feste Berg,'' As Tom hears 
 them he rises unsteadily to his feet. He 
 passes his hand over his forehead, as one 
 awakening from a dream. 
 
352 ROMANCE [The Epilogue 
 
 Tom. [In his natural voice, very formal and polite, hut 
 a little constrained.] I beg your pardon — I must take my 
 leave — [As he looks about for his hat,] My church — the 
 choir — procession — join them as they reach the Avenue — 
 my apologies — disturbing you at such an hour — 
 
 Rita. [Her eyes closed, crossing herself and murmuring 
 almost inaudibly,] Ave Maria gratia plena — Sancta Maria 
 Mater Dei — 
 
 Tom. [At the door,] I beg you to accept — very best 
 wishes — coming year — my — my — good-night — good-bye — 
 
 Rita. [As before,] — ora pro nobis peccatoribus nunc 
 et in hora mortis — 
 
 [He is gone. Only her praying figure re- 
 mains. The hymn swells to triumph as 
 the lights fade. The scene is in darkness. 
 For a moment the noise of the chimes and 
 bells continues. Then it gradually dies 
 away. The singing voices are no longer 
 heard, A little band is playing the hymn. 
 It is almost grotesque — so very thin and 
 cracked and out of tune. To this music 
 and the fading sound of the bells, the 
 lights gradually appear. They reveal the 
 scene set for the Epilogue, 
 
 THE EPILOGUE 
 
 [SCENE: The Bishop's library again. The Bishop is sit- 
 ting in the red glow of the dying fire, finishing his 
 story. His grandson is at his feet. Outside are heard 
 the last echoes of the bells and whistles. The little 
 street band is still playing " Ein Feste Berg " — a 
 lamentable performance. 
 
The Epilogue] ROMANCE 35S 
 
 The Bishop. . . . And that's how I remember her — 
 standing there with her hair loosened and her eyes shut. 
 She crossed herself. I think now she was praying. And 
 the next thing I knew I was on the sidewalk and my choir 
 — God bless 'em ! — were swinging round the corner of Tenth 
 Street^ marching like soldiers to the same tune those 
 wretched Germans are murdering outside there now — [As 
 they strike a particularly distressing dissonance.] Ah — ! 
 Really, that's too much! Give them a quarter, Harry, and 
 tell them to go away. [As the young man rises and goes to 
 the window,] ** Ein Feste .Berg" — ! How well we used 
 to sing it at St. Giles' — ! [He smiles and shakes his head, 
 
 Harry. [Throwing up the window and calling,] Hi — 
 you ! That'll be enough for to-night ! Catch ! 
 
 [He throws out a coin. The music stops. 
 There is silence, save for a few far-off 
 horns. 
 
 The Bishop. [Rousing himself as Harry returns and 
 putting the dead violets and the handkerchief in his pocket.] 
 So that's what I wanted to tell you, my boy ! I came home 
 that night a different — and I think a better man. It was 
 the following June that your dear grandmother and I were 
 married. Mr. Van Tuyl came all the way from Madrid just 
 to be there and to give his niece away. They're fine people 
 — the Van Tuyls. But your grandmother was the finest of 
 them all. She understood the world and loved it, too. She 
 made my life a happy one — a very happy one indeed ! 
 
 Harry. [Boyishly.] And — Madame Cavallini.'^ 
 
 The Bishop. [Still looking in the fire and smiling.] She 
 became even more famous before her retirement. But, of 
 course, you know. 
 
 Harry. Where is she now? 
 
 The Bishop. Now? I'm not sure, but I believe she's in 
 Italy somewhere — living rather quietly. [Wistfully.] She 
 
S54> ROMANCE [The Epilogue 
 
 and Patti are the only ones left. A wonderful career^ my 
 boy. A very great artist. I never saw her again. 
 
 Harry. [Patting his arm awkwardly,] I think you're 
 just a corker! 
 
 The Bishop. [Smiling.'] Nonsense! But now. I hope 
 you understand I haven't quite forgotten what it feels like 
 to be young. And although it's true I always read the 
 Evening Post, I still can sympathize — and even presume to 
 offer some occasional advice! 
 
 Harry. I know^ and I appreciate it. 
 
 The Bishop. [Very solemnly,] My dear^ dear boy, un- 
 less your love is big enough to forget the whole world and 
 yet remember Heaven, you have no right to make this girl 
 your wife. 
 
 [A pause, 
 
 Harry. [Rising abruptly.] Grandfather, I've been an 
 ass ! 
 
 [He puts his hands in his pochets and walks away. 
 
 The Bishop. [Whimsically, as he wipes his glasses,] I 
 suppose you have, Harry — I suppose you have. 
 
 Harry. [Turning back again,] I've been an ass to hesi- 
 tate one single minute ! However, it's all right now. Your 
 story's settled it. Lucille and I are going to get married 
 as soon as ever we can. 
 
 The Bishop. [Thoroughly startled,] God bless my 
 soul ! But that isn't why I told it to you ! I wanted to get 
 this nonsense out of your silly young head ! 
 
 Harry. [Laughing affectionately as he stands behind 
 the BiSHOP^s chair and pats his shoidders,] Never mind! 
 You did something quite different and it's too late now to 
 change — [Suddenly,] By the way, have you any engage- 
 ment for to-morrow afternoon? 
 
 The Bishop. [Still flustered,] I — I can't say that I 
 recall any at this moment — 
 
The Epilogue] ROMANCE S55 
 
 Harry. Then do you mind if we make one now? I 
 want you to marry Lucille and me. How about four-thirty 
 to-morrow ? 
 
 The Bishop. [Gasping,'] Four-thirty — } 
 Hx\RRY. [At the door, shyly,] I don't know how to say 
 it, grandpa, but— but Lucille and I— well, well be grateful 
 all our lives for what you've done for us to-night. 
 
 [He goes out quickly, his head bent. 
 The Bishop. Well ! Well ! I declare ! 
 
 [He takes out his spotless handkerchief and 
 
 passes it nervously over his brow. The 
 
 door open» and Suzette appears, smiling 
 
 brightly. 
 
 Suzette, [Standing at the door.] Happy New Year, 
 
 grandpa ! 
 
 The Bishop. Happy New Year, my dear ! 
 Suzette. [Coming to his chair,] Well — } 
 The Bishop. Suzette, I want you to order some white 
 flowers and some black wedding-cake — 
 
 Suzette. [With a wriggle of delight,] Oh — ! 
 The Bishop. [Finishing.] For to-morrow afternoon — 
 four-thirty, I believe. 
 
 Suzette. [Flinging her arms around his neck.] You 
 duck! 
 
 The Bishop. [With some asperity.] Don't kiss me in 
 the ear ! 
 
 Suzette. [Triumphantly.] I just knew Harry could 
 get around you ! 
 
 The Bishop. [Drily,] Oh, did you? Well, then, now 
 that you two have arranged everything to suit yourselves, 
 would you please finish reading me my paper and then go 
 to bed? [He leans back comfortably and closes his eyes, 
 
 Suzette. [Going to the desk.] Where is it? Oh, yes ! 
 Wait till I turn on the lamp — 
 
S56 ROMANCE [The Epilogue 
 
 » [She does so, sits down, sighs, and unfolds the '' Post/^ 
 
 The Bishop. Is there any foreign news? 
 
 SuzETTE. [Carelessly.^ Oh^ just some uprising in 
 Portugal — a new Chinese loan — [Turning the page,'] Why^ 
 Cavallini's dead ! I thought she died a long time ago^ didn't 
 you? [She reads to herself. A slight pause. 
 
 The Bishop. What does — it say? 
 
 SuzETTE. Oh^ it's just a cable, [Reading.] " Milan — 
 December 30. Mme. Margherita Cavallini died this morn- 
 ing at her villa on the Lake of Como." 
 
 The Bishop. Is that — all? 
 
 SuzETTE. That's all the dispatch. There's a whole 
 column of biography stuck on underneath. Shall I read it ? 
 [Suddenly.] Oh^ of course! I forgot! She and Patti 
 were your two great operatic crushes^ weren't they? Well^ 
 she was born at Venice in 1841. That makes her — [Look- 
 ing up thoughtfully.] Let me see — 
 
 The Bishop. Don't tell me how old she was ! 
 
 SuzETTE. [Smiling.] All right. [Running her eyes 
 down the column.] Debut at Milan in 1859 — Forze della 
 Destine. I never heard of it^ did you? Sang prima donna 
 roles at the Italian Opera in Paris under the direction of 
 Rossini — brilliant figure during the last years of the Em- 
 pire — success in London — ;hm! — brought to this country 
 first by Strakosch — appeared as Mignon at the Academy of 
 Music — [Looking up.] Everyone went mad over her^ didn't 
 they? [Resuming.] Opera and concert tours over all the 
 civilized globe — retired in 1889 — numerous charities — 
 founded and endowed a home in Paris for poor girls who 
 come to study music — in 1883 created Marchese Torre- 
 bianchi by King Umberto First — never married — that's 
 funny^ isn't it? [Turning the page.] Well^ no matter what 
 you say I bet she wasn't a bit more wonderful than my 
 divine Geraldine! [Reading headlines.] *' Anglican Con- 
 
The Epilogue] ROMANCE 357 
 
 gress at Detroit — City Chosen for June Conference — Feder- 
 ation of Churches — Further Plans/' [Bored,] Oh dear! 
 There's the old Conference again ! [She yawns and look- 
 ing up, notices that the Bishop^s head has fallen.] Sleepy, 
 grandpa ? 
 
 The Bishop. [Rousing himself,] I — ? No, my dear, I 
 was just thinking — that's all. 
 
 SuzETTE. [With affectionate impudence,] I don't be- 
 lieve it ! [Yawning,] Well, I am^ anyway. May I go to bed 
 now.'^ There's so much to do to-morrow — and I think I've 
 finished everything in this. 
 
 [She puts down the paper and rises. 
 The Bishop. Of course^ my dear, of course. 
 SuzETTE. [As she alights like a bird on the arm of his 
 chair and kisses the top of his head,] Oh, grandpa, you are 
 such an old darling! 
 
 The Bishop. Thank you, my dear. 
 
 SuzETTE. [At door.] And please don't sit up too late, 
 will you ? And don't forget to turn off all the lights before 
 you come upstairs! 
 
 The Bishop. [Meekly.] I'll do my best. 
 SuzETTE. Grandpa — ! [He turns in his chair. She 
 smiles and blows him a kiss.] I love you ! 
 
 [She runs out. 
 The Bishop. [Calling after.] The same to you, my 
 dear. Good-night. 
 
 [He sits alone for a moment in silence, then, 
 rising slowly, he closes the door and 
 listens. There is no sound. Almost 
 stealthily he goes over to the case where 
 the phonograph records are kept, puts on 
 his glasses, and looks over those lying on 
 the top. Finally he selects one with much 
 care and gingerly puts it on the machine. 
 
358 ROMANCE [The Epilogue 
 
 He starts it going. Then, switching off 
 the lights, he returns to his armchair by 
 the fire. The red glow from the coals 
 lights up his face. He carefully takes 
 from his inside pocket the dead violets and 
 the woman's handkerchief. Looking at 
 them, he smiles a tender little ghost of a 
 smile and slowly sits down. The rich 
 voice thrills through the darkness. 
 *' — Kennst du es wohl? 
 
 Dahin! Dahin! 
 Mocht* ich mit dir, mein Geliehter, ziehn! " 
 
 The Curtain Softly Falls. 
 
THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 
 
 A Modern Comedy in Three Acts 
 
 By 
 LOUIS KAUFMAN ANSPACHER 
 
 Louis Kaufman Anspacher was born in Cincinnati, 
 Ohio, March 1, 1878. He received his A.B. at the College 
 of the City of New York in 1897, his A.M. at Columbia 
 University in 1899 and his LL.B. at the same institution 
 in 1902. He studied in the Post-graduate School of Phi- 
 losophy at Columbia from 1902-5 and was secular lecturer 
 at Temple Emanu-El, New York City, for the same period. 
 Since 1906, he has lectured for the League for Political 
 Education, New York City, for the University Extension 
 Center, New York City, and since 1908 at the Brooklyn 
 Institute of Arts and Sciences. 
 
 His plays are Tristan and Isolde (1904), The Em- 
 barrassment of Riches (1906), Anne and the Arch-Duke 
 John (1907), The Woman of Impulse (1909), The Glass 
 House (1912), The Washerwoman Duchess (1913), Our 
 Children (1914), The Unchastened Woman (1915), That 
 Day (1917), The Rape of Belgium (1918), Madame 
 Cecile (1918), The Dancer (with Max Marcin, 1919), 
 Daddalums (England, 1919). 
 
 The Unchastened Woman was first produced by Oliver 
 Morosco at the 39th Street Theatre, New York City, Octo- 
 ber 9, 1915, with Mr. H. Reeves-Smith as Hubert Knollys 
 and Miss Emily Stevens as Caroline Knollys. 
 
 [Copyright, 1916, by Louis Kaufman Anspacher] 
 
PERSONS OF THE PLAY 
 
 (Arranged in the order of their first entrances.) 
 
 Hubert Knollys 
 
 Mrs. Murtha, a charwoman 
 
 Miss Susan Ambie 
 
 Caroline Knollys, wife of Hubert Knollys 
 
 Lawrence Sanbury 
 
 HiLDEGARDE SaNBURY, his wifc 
 
 Miss Emily Madden 
 Michael Krellin 
 
 Time : The Present 
 Place: New York City 
 
THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 
 
 ACT I 
 
 [The play opens in a morning in October, It is about ten 
 o'clock. The first act presents the drawing-room of 
 the Knollys' house, situated on a corner in the fashion- 
 able fifties. New York City, The room is spacious, but 
 a little old-fashioned. Up stage, at the right, is a large 
 arch opening on a hall, which leads out to the front door 
 off stage at the right. In the center of the arch there 
 are three steps leading to a platform, from which a 
 flight of stairs rises, going left, and leading to the 
 rooms above. The balustrade continues on a level with 
 the stage, and indicates that the stairs lead also down- 
 ward from the front hall to the basement. 
 
 In the middle of the right wall is a large marble 
 mantelpiece, with an open fireplace. Above the mantel 
 hangs an old family portrait. On the wall below the 
 mantel hangs an ornamental Venetian mirror. In the 
 rear wall of the room, toward the left, is a mahogany 
 door, leading to the basement. Between this door and 
 the arch stands a large bookcase, filled with books in 
 expensive bindings. The left wall of the room is 
 pierced by two large windows, with practical shades 
 and blinds. 
 
 A library table and three chairs occupy the center 
 of the room, under a heavy chandelier. There is a 
 large divan chair with cushions and a foot-stool placed 
 down left of the room. Set on an angle in front of 
 the fireplace is a Davenport. Below this, also on an 
 
 361 
 
362 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 angle is a settle. Several of the chairs and the Daven- 
 port are covered with linen slips or sheets, which indi- 
 cate thai the house has not been occupied for some 
 time. The size and visible appointments of the room 
 must suggest the atmosphere of large, though rather 
 formal, luxury, 
 
 \ The curtain rises on an empty stage. Dim light sifts 
 through the closed blinds. There is a pause, and then 
 the front door of the house is heard to open and close. 
 A moment later Hubert Knollys enters from the 
 hall, through the arch, putting his keys into his pocket. 
 He is followed by Mrs. Murtha. Hubert Knollys 
 is a tall and distinguished looking man of fifty-three. 
 He is dressed in a morning suit and a Panama hat. He 
 carries a whisky and a couple of soda bottles under his 
 arm. He also has a newspaper, Mrs. Murtha is 
 an elderly Irish woman.^ 
 
 Hubert. Phew! It's close in here! [Goes to a window 
 which he opens and lets in the sunlight, then he turns and 
 looks at Mrs. Murtha.] Is your name Agnes Murtha? 
 
 Murtha. No. That's me daughter. D'ye see, Agnes 
 was comin', the Lord love her, but she had a fall yisterday — 
 
 Hubert. Oh, too bad. 
 
 [He begins removing the slips from the furniture. 
 
 Murtha. [Undoing her bonnet and showing her white 
 head.] Yis — She's a foine eddication, so she has; but she 
 bez a little weak in th' knee. So Oi came over mesilf, as 
 soon as Oi heard from Mrs. Sanbury. 
 
 Hubert. [Seeing her white hair.] Perhaps you're not 
 strong enough — 
 
 Murtha. Oi'm as shtrong as ivir Oi wuz. 
 [She energetically takes a slip from a piece of furniture. 
 
 Hubert. The whole house must be got in shape. 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN S6S 
 
 MuRTHA. Yis^ m*am. [Awed.] An* do yez own th* 
 whole house entoire? [He nods quizzically,] Ah^ glory 
 be to God fer that! 
 
 Hubert. [Going to open the second window,] Til tend 
 
 to the windows on this floor. [Looking out, then turning,] 
 
 Ohy catch that ice-man and get him to leave a piece of ice. 
 
 MuRTHA. Now do you be shtandin' there, son, so he 
 
 don't get away. Oi'll let him in. 
 
 [She starts to go off through the arch, 
 Hubert. [Pointing to the door,] No, this way through 
 the basement. 
 
 MuRTHA scrambles off quickly, Hubert 
 pauses, looking out, sees the ice-man, 
 whistles and gesticulates to him to wait 
 and go down into the house. During this, 
 Susan Ambie enters from the hall through 
 the arch, Susan is a woman of forty- 
 five. She has the soul of a chaperon. 
 She enters in nervous haste. 
 Hubert. Why, Miss Ambie ! [Shaking hands,] Where's 
 Caroline? 
 
 Susan. Get your hat and come right down to the dock 
 with me. 
 
 Hubert. I'm never missed unless there's been some 
 trouble. What is it.'* 
 
 Susan. Your wife has been grossly insulted, as I was ! 
 It's unheard of ! 
 
 Hubert. [Dawning,] Ah ! trouble with the customs. Is 
 that it? 
 
 Susan. [Indignantly,] They have dared to suspect us^ 
 your wife and me ! 
 
 Hubert. You mean they've found you out. You too ! 
 Susan. I'm not speaking for myself. When I saw 
 they were going to be disagreeable, I declared everything* 
 
364 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 But suddenly I realized that a vulgar inspector woman had 
 been watching Caroline. I saw her take Carrie off! All 
 your wife's trunks are held ! 
 
 Hubert. [Grimly relieved,^ Good! 
 
 Susan. [Recoiling with a stare,] Carrie's told me 
 many things; but I never believed that you could be so 
 heartless ! 
 
 Hubert. I've been prepared for this for many years. If 
 she will do things in her own high-handed way, she'll hai^e 
 to stand the consequences. That's why I never meet her. 
 
 Susan. Then you refuse to go? 
 
 Hubert. I refuse to be made a cat's-paw. That is, when 
 I can help it. 
 
 Susan. Oh ! 
 
 Hubert. What is there for me to do.^ You must have 
 made false declarations. 
 
 Susan. We didn't know they'd be so strict with us. 
 We're not tradespeople or importers, or — 
 ^ Hubert. No, you're worse. Two women without even 
 the wretched excuse of poverty, attempting to defraud the 
 government ! 
 
 Susan. Mr. Knollys! 
 
 Hubert. Ha! The cold sweat isn't worth the money. 
 
 [Wipes his brow, 
 
 Susan. I don't know what she'll do! 
 
 Hubert. She'll come home chastened in spirit, I hope, 
 after having profited by this experience. 
 
 Susan. I really believe you're glad she's in trouble ! 
 
 Hubert. Not that. But I shall be glad if this popula- 
 tion of a hundred million citizens in their corporate capacity 
 are able, for once in her life, to demonstrate to my good 
 wife that she can't do everything she likes with everybody. 
 I've tried, her friends have tried, society has tried, perhaps 
 the government will succeed. 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 365 
 
 Susan. Well^ if I can't make you see your duty — 
 
 Hubert. [Interrupting,'] The question of my duty to 
 my wife is one that I do not care to discuss even with 
 you. 
 
 Susan. It's none of my business^ I suppose . . . 
 
 Hubert. [Bluntly,] Quite so. 
 
 Susan. [Fixes her hat,] Then 111 go back alone. Car- 
 rie's my dearest friend — [Then, in a bravado of accusing 
 tearfulness,] And I can't help it if I'm not strong enough 
 to stand by quietly and see her die of mortification! 
 
 Hubert. [Sarcastically.] You might advise her to ap- 
 peal to them for clemency. 
 
 Susan. She can't find less of it there than here ! 
 
 [He turns and goes up, Susan is about to 
 exit when Caroline Knollys enters from 
 the hall, Caroline is a woman of forty, 
 very young looking, handsome, command- 
 ing and self-possessed. She is faultlessly 
 gowned, 
 
 Susan. [With a cry.] Oh, Carrie ! 
 
 Caroline. [Entering,] Oh, there you are, Susan. How 
 are you, Hubert.^ [Shakes hands with him. Then to 
 Susan.] I didn't know what became of you. 
 
 Susan. I came right here. 
 
 Caroline. You should have told me. Ninette and I 
 looked every place. 
 
 Susan. I didn't want those men to see us together. 
 
 Caroline. Nonsense ! 
 
 Susan. And I thought — 
 
 Caroline. [Interrupting,] You didn't think. You 
 went right off your head. 
 
 Hubert. [Expectantly.] Well? 
 
 Caroline. [To Hubert.] You seem to thrive in my 
 absence. [To Susan.] Doesn't he? 
 
366 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 Hubert. I return the doubtful compliment. The same 
 to you, and many of them. 
 
 Caroline. Thank you. [To Susan.] You got through 
 quickly, didn't you.^ 
 
 Susan. When I saw they were going to be disagreeable, 
 I declared everything. 
 
 Caroline. What ! 
 
 Susan. What could I do? 
 
 Caroline. [Shrugging her shoulders,^ I told you ex- 
 actly what to do. 
 
 Susan. But when that woman searched me, I — 
 
 Caroline. You lost your nerve. 
 
 Susan. Oh, Carrie, I'm not thinking of myself. What 
 did they do to you? 
 
 Hubert. [Expectantly.'] Yes, what did they do to you ? 
 
 Caroline. To me? Why, what's the matter? 
 
 Susan. [Relieved,] Nothing, dear, if you're all right. 
 How brave you are! 
 
 Caroline. Don't be absurd ! 
 
 Hubert. [Breaking in,~\ I should hardly call it bravery. 
 This was bound to come some time. I've always said so. 
 I've always feared it. 
 
 Caroline. [Calmli^,'] Feared what? 
 
 Hubert. Miss Ambie's told me everything! 
 
 Caroline. [With a sharp look at Susan.] Oh, indeed! 
 Then there's nothing for me to say. [Rises to cross, 
 
 Hubert. [Nettled.] Caroline, I want to know exactly 
 what has happened ; so if there's anything that can be done 
 now, I — 
 
 Caroline. [Sarcastically.] My dear Hubert, I'm really 
 sorry to disappoint you; but there's nothing to be done. 
 
 Hubert. And how about your difficulty with the trunks ? 
 
 Caroline. [Smiling,] Sorry again. There's been no 
 difficulty. 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 367 
 
 Hubert. Then why did you send for me? 
 
 Caroline. I didn't send for you. 
 
 Hubert. You didn't! [He looks at Susan inquiringly, 
 
 Susan. I know^ but — 
 
 Caroline. Whenever we are away from you^ Hubert, 
 we grow so accustomed to depend on the chivalry and cour- 
 tesy of men^ that on our return, Susan forgets, and has to 
 learn her lesson of self-dependence over again. You must 
 forgive her. Really, Susan, you gave yourself too much 
 concern. 
 
 Susan. My dear, I was so frightened. Didn't that 
 woman search you? 
 
 Caroline. Me? Oh, no! I very soon put her in her 
 place. And then, besides, I was careful to have nothing 
 dutiable on my person. 
 
 Hubert. Where are your trunks? 
 
 Caroline. I couldn't carry them with me, all nine of 
 them. They'll be here shortly, I suppose. 
 
 [She stands before the Venetian mirror, takes 
 off her hat and -fixes her hair, 
 
 Hubert. Caroline, there's been quite enough of this 
 bantering. Did you make a declaration ? 
 
 Caroline. Sufficient for all practical purposes. 
 
 Hubert. And what does that mean? 
 
 Caroline. I've done exactly as I've always done. I 
 refused to argue the matter. I settled. Of course, as the 
 law puts a premium on dishonesty, I found it expedient to — 
 
 Hubert. [Interrupting,'] To what? 
 
 Caroline. [Smiling.] To pay the premium. 
 
 Hubert. It isn't only a question of expediency. It's 
 downright lying! 
 
 Caroline. [Sarcastically.] Behold the moralist! 
 
 Hubert. [Continuing.] And it's a question of decent, 
 honest citizenship ! 
 
368 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 Caroline. But I'm not a citizen; and I don't care to be. 
 If you were honest, you'd confess you're only irritated, 
 Hubert, because you can't say: '* I told you so." So don't 
 moralize; it doesn't suit you; and don't talk like a husband 
 the first day I arrive. That doesn't suit me. 
 
 [Hubert is about to say something, hut is 
 interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. 
 MuRTHA from the basement, Caroliite 
 looks at her with an amused smile, 
 
 Murtha. Mr. Knowllez, the motor-man from the taxi- 
 cab is ashkin' if you'll be wantin' him to wait any longer. 
 
 Susan. Oh, that's my cab! He's been there all this 
 time ! [^She flounces to the hall, 
 
 Hubert. Wait, I'll— 
 
 Susan. [With acerbity, '\ No, thank you. [Exits, 
 
 Murtha. An' th' oice man will be wantin' twinty cints 
 fer th' oice. [To Caroline.] Shure, it's the grand box ye 
 have. 
 
 Hubert. [Giving her money,'] Here. [Murtha goes 
 to door,] Oh, you can fetch up some glasses now, with ice 
 in them; if you will. 
 
 Murtha. Yis, sor. [Exits hastily, 
 
 Caroline. [Amazed,] Where did you get her.^* 
 
 Hubert. At a place that calls itself the " Co-operative 
 Servant Agency." 
 
 Caroline. That must be the new name for the " Zoo." 
 Have you a match } 
 
 Hubert. Yes. 
 
 Caroline. [Opening her cigarette case,] Will you 
 smoke ? 
 
 Hubert. Thank you, I prefer my own. 
 
 Caroline. These are contraband. 
 
 Hubert. The kind you like. 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN S69 
 
 Caroline. Yes. 
 
 [He strikes a match for Caroline. She 
 lights her cigarette. 
 Hubert. Well, didn't you have a good time abroad.'^ 
 Caroline. Certainly. 
 
 [He sits at left of table, and lights his cigar- 
 ette. She sits at right, 
 Hubert. But you changed your plans rather unex- 
 pectedly ? 
 
 Caroline. I hope that hasn't inconvenienced you. 
 Hubert. Not at all. 
 
 [Susan enters from the hall. 
 Susan. I hate America! 
 Hubert. Eh? 
 
 Susan. When you sail up the harbor and see the Statue 
 of Liberty, you feel a tremendous emotion of patriotism; 
 but when you see your first cab charge, you want to turn 
 around and go right back to Europe. I told the man there 
 was something the matter with his meter! It jumped ten 
 cents while I was arguing with him! 
 Caroline. Did you pay.^ 
 Susan. I had to! 
 
 Caroline. Then don't complain. Pay or complain; but 
 don't do both. It isn't economical. 
 
 [MuRTHA enters, carrying three glasses awkwardly. 
 MuRTHA. Here ye are, Mr. Knowllez ! 
 
 [Caroline opens the newspaper on the table 
 and begins to read. 
 Hubert. Thank you, that will do. 
 
 MuRTHA. [Putting down the glasses.] Shure, they'll 
 do. [She suddenly stares as she sees Caroline smoking.] 
 Ah, fer th' love o' God! [Caroline looks up. Murtha 
 continues :] Shure, Oi do be fergittin' mesilf when Oi be 
 
370 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 passin* rhemarks wid your hushband. [Catching Caroline's 
 eye,] Oh, Lord, yis, m'am. 
 
 [She wilts away and exits to basement, 
 [Hubert opens the whisky bottle, 
 
 Hubert. Miss Ambie, will you have a Scotch and soda? 
 
 Susan. No, thank you, it always makes me silly. I'll go 
 directly to my room. 
 
 Caroline. [Not looking up from the newspaper,] Take 
 the front room on the third floor. 
 
 Susan. Don't worry about me. Ill have Ninette ar- 
 range your things. 
 
 Caroline. [Turning over the paper,] Thank you, dear. 
 
 [Susan exits up stairs. 
 
 Hubert. She's going to stay here? 
 
 Caroline. Yes. 
 
 Hubert. Oh, then, in that case — [He ostentatiously 
 doubles his drink,] How do you stand her? 
 
 Caroline. She pays her own way and is very useful. 
 
 Hubert. [Sarcastically.] I daresay; but to me she's 
 simply an interfering nuisance. 
 
 [Pours soda into his whisky, 
 
 Caroline. [Still reading,] No. She's a constitutional 
 altruist. That is, she has the soul of a servant. 
 
 Hubert. A scotch and soda? 
 
 Caroline. I never take it in the morning. 
 
 Hubert. [Drinking,] I always forget. 
 
 Caroline. [Looking up,] The Homestead stock at 
 sixty-four ? 
 
 Hubert. It closed at seventy yesterday. 
 
 Caroline. What made the slump? 
 
 Hubert. A series of muck-raking articles about Fac- 
 tory Reform, and a lot of talk about Child Labor. 
 
 Caroline. I hope you're not embarrassed. 
 
 Hubert. I've got to keep buying in to steady them. 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 371 
 
 Caroline. [Putting down the paper,] I'll lend you, 
 Hubert; but I won't invest. 
 
 Hjbert. [Ironically,] Really, Caroline, your gener- 
 osity overwhelms me. 
 
 Caroline. Not at all. I know you have collateral. 
 
 Hubert. I still hope to worry along without placing 
 myself under financial obligations to you. 
 
 Caroline. [Placing both her elbows on table and look- 
 ing at him narrowly,] Hubert, IVe often thought you re- 
 sented my having independent means. 
 
 Hubert. It's foolish of me; but I believe it might have 
 made some difference in our lives, if you'd been — 
 
 Caroline. [Interrupting,] If I'd been dependent upon 
 you for everything. If I had had no individuality of my 
 own, or the means of keeping it intact. In other words, 
 if I'd been poor. Is that what you mean? 
 
 Hubert. No. But the superfluous wealth youVe had has 
 deprived us both of at least one of the real things. If we'd 
 been poor toegther, there might have been something in our 
 lives . . . something we've missed — something at any 
 rate Fve missed. Some mutality — some interest together. 
 [Rising,] Here we are, two people who have lived for 
 twenty odd years together, and who have never really had 
 even a trouble in common! 
 
 Caroline. [With a remote smile,] What trouble would 
 you like to have me share with j^'ou? [Pause, 
 
 Hubert. [With a changed tone.] Oh, none. 
 
 Caroline. [Laughing,] Hubert, don't be romantic 
 toward your wife. That's waste. You're neither old enough 
 nor young enough to play that sketch convincingly. You're 
 neither dawn nor twilight; and Romance needs something 
 undiscovered, something in possibility, something not yet 
 precipitated into noonday commonplace reality. And you 
 and I — we know too much about each other to really carry 
 
372 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 that off without laughing in our sleeves. You say it isn't 
 money. Oh^ then I fear something has gone wrong with 
 some object of your affection. 
 
 Hubert. Please! 
 
 Caroline. Then what is it? 
 
 Hubert. I — I was about to speak of Elsie and Stephen. 
 
 Caroline. [Carelessly,'\ Oh^ yes. How are the happy 
 couple ? 
 
 Hubert. I'm afraid our daughter's not very happy. 
 Stephen is a fool. 
 
 Caroline. I can't help that. 
 
 Hubert. Have Elsie down here with us a little while — 
 
 Caroline. [Interrupting,'] Impossible ! 
 
 Hubert. She might occupy her old rooms. 
 
 Caroline. I have other plans. 
 
 Hubert. But a little motherly counsel from you might — 
 
 Caroline. [Waving the discussion aside.] Oh, Elsie 
 and Stephen bore me to extinction, — both of them. I did 
 my best for her — gave her a coming out, a season in New- 
 port and — 
 
 Hubert. [Interrupting,] Then married her off, made 
 her a settlement and got rid of her. Gad! A girl of 
 nineteen married! 
 
 Caroline. How old was I? 
 
 Hubert. Well, our married life is nothing to boast of. 
 
 Caroline. Pardon, my dear Hubert, we've made a 
 brilliant success of marriage. We ought to be grateful to 
 the institution. It has given both of us the fullest liberty — 
 a liberty that I've enjoyed; and you've — 
 
 Hubert. [Interrupting,] Yes, you've always done ex- 
 actly what you wanted. ^ 
 
 Caroline. [Meaningly,] And you? 
 
 Hubert. It makes no difference where we begin, we 
 always wind up at the same place; don't we? 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN S7S 
 
 Caroline. Because you have abused your liberty. 
 
 Hubert. Yes, I admit, it's my fault — if you like, all 
 my fault. It's useless to go back over the old ruptures 
 and recriminations. The prime mistake in both our lives 
 was that we ever married. Well, we did. After about two 
 years of doves, we had several years of eat and dog — and — 
 
 Caroline. I beg your pardon, in which class of animals 
 do you place me.^ 
 
 Hubert. We won't quarrel about the phrase. You re- 
 fused divorce or separation at a time in life when we might 
 have got one without making ourselves ridiculous. 
 
 Caroline. Divorce is always ridiculous. I made up my 
 mind you'd never get free for anything I should do. 
 
 Hubert. Yes, you've always been very careful about 
 that. It isn't morality; but you never cared to relinquish 
 an advantage. You refused divorce for your own reasons; 
 and I agreed with you for Elsie's sake. Then Elsie mar- 
 ried — a great relief to you; and we both agreed that the 
 altitude of ideal husband and wife was too high for me 
 to breathe in. You never cared about me; yet you were 
 always very anxious that nobody else should. In the real 
 significance of marriage, you have broken all your vows 
 but one. I have kept all my vows, — 
 
 Caroline. [Sharply.] Eh.^ 
 
 Hubert. But one. 
 
 Caroline. Ah! 
 
 Hubert. [Continuing. 1^ That one violation of mine has 
 given you the whip hand over me for these long years. 
 
 Caroline. Have you broken with that woman .^ 
 
 Hubert. WTiat woman? 
 
 Caroline. That Madden woman — Emily Madden. 
 
 Hubert. You know nothing whatever about her. 
 
 Caroline. Pardon, I have taken the trouble to gather all 
 the intimate details. 
 
374 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 Hubert. Indeed? 
 
 Caroline. And my friends have seen you every place 
 with her. That*s all I really care about. 
 
 Hubert. And they will continue to see us; whenever 
 Miss Madden does me the honor to accompany me. 
 
 Caroline. [Resuming 'her newspaper.] Oh^ very well. 
 I shall continue to condone everything; because I do not 
 wish the elaborate structure I have built for many years 
 to be destroyed. Our marriage stands as a temple to the 
 Gods of Convention. The priests are hypocrites; but be 
 careful not to make the congregation laugh. That's all I 
 ask of you. Quite simple, isn't it.^ 
 
 Hubert. Yes, simple as all heartless things are. 
 [Pause, She reads, Hubert walks up as Susan Ambie 
 enters from up stairs, 
 
 Susan. Carrie, I tried to 'phone the Intelligence Offices ; 
 but your 'phone isn't connected. 
 
 [She looks accusingly at Hubert. 
 
 Hubert. [Irritated,] Excuse me. [Goes to door, then 
 turns,] Oh, Miss Ambie, there's a prize of fifty dollars for 
 the first good news that you announce. [Exits, 
 
 Susan. [Sentimentally,] I can see by your face, dear, 
 you've had a scene. 
 
 Caroline. No. Just our annual understanding. 
 
 Susan. [Curiously,] You don't have to tell me, Carrie. 
 [Pause,] Has he broken with that Madden woman.'' 
 
 Caroline. [Smiling,] I hope not. 
 
 Susan. It's wonderful that all this hasn't made you 
 bitter. 
 
 Caroline. Bitter.^ [Laughing,] I am very grateful 
 to Miss Madden. 
 
 Susan. [Quickly,] Oh, Carrie, you didn't tell him that, 
 did you? 
 
 Caroline. [Laughs,] Oh, dear no! I never let him 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 375 
 
 forget that at any moment I could name Miss Madden as a 
 co-respondent. She is a weapon in my hands. 
 
 Susan. [Admiringly.'] What a wonderful person you 
 are ! Only — 
 
 Caroline. Only what? 
 
 Susan. Only be careful, dear. Don't give him a weapon 
 against you. 
 
 Caroline. In what way? 
 
 Susan. Of course you'd never think about it; and it's 
 quite as well you shouldn't, as long as I can do that for 
 you. But be careful, dear, about Lawrence Sanbury. 
 
 Caroline. Don't be absurd. You were practically al- 
 ways with me. 
 
 Susan. [With a nervous whimper."] Oh, no, I failed 
 you, Carrie; I should have dragged along no matter how 
 ill I was. 
 
 Caroline. [Bluntly.] Get that idea out of your head. 
 
 Susan. But if he should ever learn about your last 
 days alone with Lawrence in the mountains . . . 
 
 Caroline. He'll never learn it. 
 
 Susan. And there is a Mrs. Sanbury, too! 
 
 Caroline. [Impatiently.] Of course ! Susan, I've 
 known artists all my life, and I've never had to bother 
 with their wives; at least . . . 
 
 [MuRTiiA enters excitedly from the hall. 
 
 Caroline. Would you mind knocking on the door before 
 you enter a room? 
 
 MuRTHA. [Pointing innocently to the arch,] But there 
 isn't any door, me dear. 
 
 Caroline. What is it? 
 
 MuRTHA. Me great friend and sishter, Mrs. Sanbury, 
 is here wid her hushband ! They be a wantin' to see you ! 
 
 Susan. [Frightened.] She's here ! 
 
 Caroline. Tell them I'm at home. 
 
376 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 MuRTHA. [Going to the arch.] Why wouldn't you be? 
 Shure, Oi told thim that already. 
 
 Susan. [Anxiously.] Oh, Carrie! She's here! 
 Caroline. [Secretly.] Don't be an ass! 
 MuRTHA. [Calling out into the hall.] Come, Lord bless 
 yer lovin' hearts ! It's roight in here, yer to come ! [Re- 
 entering.] Shure Oi'd trust her wid a million dollars. 
 It was Mrs. Sanbury, it was, that sint me to you. 
 Caroline, Oh, I've her to thank for you, have I.'^ 
 MuRTHA. Yis, m'am. Shure ye have. 
 
 [Lawrence and Hildegarde Sanbury enter 
 from the hall. He is a handsome vital 
 looking man of twenty-five. He has a 
 quick and ingenuous, volatile manner. 
 Hildegarde, his wife, is a woman of 
 thirty, of sympathetic and responsive 
 nature, full of exuberant gratitude to 
 Caroline, whom she has never met. In 
 dress Hildegarde is the exact opposite 
 of Caroline. She is scrupulously neat, 
 hut Caroline is a perfect conscience of 
 every allure of fashion. They enter fol- 
 lowed by MuRTHA, who goes up rear. 
 Lawrence nods to Susan. 
 Caroline. [To Hildegarde.] I'm very glad you've 
 come. 
 
 Lawrence. Hildegarde, this is Mrs. Knollys. 
 
 [Hubert enters quietly from the door lead- 
 ing to the basement. He is unnoticed 
 amid the greetings. He goes nonchalantly 
 towards window at left. 
 Hildegarde. When I heard Larrie was coming to you, 
 I just couldn't stay at home. 
 
 Lawrence. She wouldn't. So we — 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 377 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Interrupting.'] Oh^ Larrie, you must let 
 me speak ! YouVe had Mrs. Knollys all to yourself for 
 six long weeks — [Hubert turns as Lawrence goes to 
 Susan.] You see IVe heard so much about you. Larrie 
 wrote me reams and reams of letters right from the be- 
 ginning. 
 
 Caroline. [PurringlyJ] Yes. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Oh, ycs ! I've followed you every step 
 you've taken. 
 
 [Susan looks anxious and laughs a little hysterically, 
 
 Caroline. [Noticing Hubert^s presence,] Indeed! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Seeing Caroline^^ face change.] I hope 
 we haven't intruded ! 
 
 Caroline. Not at all. Oh_, Hubert^ let me present you 
 to Mr. and Mrs. Sanbury. 
 
 Hubert. Ah! How do you do? 
 
 [They exchange greetings. 
 
 Caroline. I've persuaded Mr. Sanbury to accept the 
 commission to remodel the house. 
 
 Hubert. [Surprised.] Oh^ have you! [Pause.] 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Continuing to Caroline.] Oh. it was 
 wonderful for Larrie to be with you. You were eyes to him 
 in Italy. 
 
 Caroline. Let me present you to Miss Ambie. [Point- 
 edly.] She was with us too. 
 
 [Hubert notes this closely ^ though seeming 
 not to listen. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Surprised.] Oh, were you.'* [Goes im- 
 mediately to Susan.] Larrie wrote me you were taken ill 
 in Switzerland, and that he and Mrs. Knollys went on 
 alone. 
 
 Susan. [Nervously.] Oh, dear no, I mean ... I 
 . . . It was really nothing serious. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I hope you'vc recovered. 
 
378 THE UNXHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 Susan. Oh^ perfectly^ thank you. I didn*t miss much 
 of the trip . . . You see it was really only . . . 
 
 Caroline. [Seeing Hubert's eye on them,] Oh^ Susan, 
 it's nearly twelve. [To the others,~\ Excuse me. [Again 
 to Susan.] You might hail a taxi and settle the matter 
 of servants for me. 
 
 Su.sAN. [Anxiously.'] Yes, yes, but hadn't I better — -? 
 
 Caroline. [Decisively, going to the hall with Susan.] 
 The club for luncheon. One o'clock. [Susan exits. 
 
 Murtha. [Coming up from rear.] Ah, it do be good 
 to see thim together again, eh? 
 
 Caroline. Did you want to ask me anything? 
 
 Murtha. If it's a chambermaid ye want, me daughter 
 Agnes — 
 
 Caroline. Would you mind closing the door? 
 
 Murtha, Ah, not at all. 
 
 [She crosses and closes the door, then returns. 
 
 Caroline. [Cuttingly.] I mean behind you. 
 
 Murtha. [Catching Caroline's eye and meaning.] Oh, 
 yis, m'am. [She exits. 
 
 Caroline. [Motioning Hildegarde to a chair.] Do I 
 understand you run an Intelligence Office? 
 
 Hildegarde. I've organized a general employment 
 bureau in connection with the tenements. 
 
 Lawrence. But, my dear, it's hardly fair to Mrs. 
 Xnollys to send this old — • 
 
 Hildegarde. [Interrupting.] We sent her daughter 
 Agnes. You understand, only the derelicts come to us; 
 but you'll see, Mrs. Murtha will do her work well. 
 
 Caroline. Tell me, do you really live among these 
 people? 
 
 Hildegarde. Yes, at the model tenement. Have you 
 vcver seen one? 
 
 Caroline. No! 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 379 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I'd be delighted to show you around. 
 
 Caroline. Yes. Miss Ambie and I will come some- 
 time together. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Do, and take luncheon with us at our co- 
 operative dining-room. 
 
 Lawrence. [To Caroline.] I wouldn't expect too 
 much. You see^ it's a fad of hers — Democracy and the 
 Underdog. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Oh, no, that's my real work. 
 
 Hubert. [Coming into the conversation,^ What.^ 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. We bclieve in giving the poor people 
 better living conditions first; so that then they will be 
 better able to fight for other things. 
 
 Hubert. Yes^ and make them discontented all along the 
 line. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Fervently,'] If only we could make them 
 sufficiently discontented ! 
 
 Hubert. [Taking up the newspaper,] I should say 
 you were succeeding very well. Have you seen this series 
 of furious articles on Factory Reform? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Looking at paper,] Yes. 
 
 Hubert. What do you think of them ? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I ought to approvc of them. 
 
 Hubert. Why? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Bccausc I wrotc them. 
 
 Hubert. [Amazed,] What! You? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Ycs. Thev'rc mine. 
 
 Hubert. You label these articles reform^ but they read 
 pretty much like anarchy to me. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Do you know about our present factory 
 conditions ? 
 
 Hubert. [Grimly,] Somewhat, to my cost. You've 
 made me one of your horrible examples. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. What ! ! 
 
380 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 Hubert, I own the majority stock in the Homestead 
 Mills. 
 
 Lawrence. [^Nervously, 1 Good Lord^ Hildegarde! 
 Your crowd haven't been attacking Mr. KnoUys^ have they ? 
 
 Hildegarde. [To Lawrence.] No one was mentioned 
 by name. [To Hubert.] Your manager refused to show 
 his stock sheet to our committee; so we simply wrote up 
 the mill. 
 
 Hubert. Our manager has to compete with others. We 
 give these people work. We don't force our hands to come 
 to us. 
 
 Hildegarde. That's it. The whole system is wrong. 
 The state must remedy it. Individuals can't. You've got 
 to resort to the means of your lowest and most unscrupulous 
 competitor; or leave the field. 
 
 Hubert. Do you mind answering a few questions.'^ 
 
 Hildegarde. Not at all. 
 
 Hubert. [To Caroline and Lawrence.] Excuse us. 
 
 [He and Hildegarde go toward the hall. He takes some 
 
 clippings from his pocket.^ In the first place you 
 
 stated . . . [They exit and pass out of sight, going 
 
 toward the right, in earnest conversation. 
 
 Caroline is sitting in the large divan 
 
 chair at the left, Lawrence comes 
 
 toward her. 
 
 Lawrence. [Enthusiastically,'] Isn't she splendid! 
 
 Caroline. [Softly ironical.'] You treat us all alike; 
 don't you? 
 
 Lawrence. How? 
 
 Caroline. [Quietly.] She, too^ is older than you. 
 Isn't she? 
 
 Lawrence. Oh, a year or two. That doesn't matter. 
 
 Caroline. How chivalrous you are. But for your sake, 
 she ought to be wiser. 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 381 
 
 Lawrence. What do you mean? 
 
 Caroline. Her radical theories about Democracy and 
 — the great Unwashed. . . , Do you agree with them? 
 
 Lawrence. I'm an artist. I take no side whatever. 
 
 Caroline. But don't you see, you'll have to take a side ? 
 
 Lawrence. Why? 
 
 Caroline. People of our class won't support you^ if 
 your wife attacks the very sources from which they pay 
 you. 
 
 Lawrence. [With sudden anxiety,] Oh, perhaps Mr. 
 Knollys will resent what Hildegarde has done, and won't 
 care to give me the work. Is that what you mean ? 
 
 Caroline. I mean your wife mustn't add to my diffi- 
 culties. 
 
 Lawrence. [Sincerely distressed,] Oh, Lord! In 
 wrong the first crack out of the box; and I wanted you so 
 much to like each other! 
 
 Caroline. Tell me, — is she really as frank as she seems ? 
 
 Lawrence. Why, yes. What makes you ask that? 
 
 Caroline. I was a little startled when I learned you'd 
 written her so definitely about our tour in Italy. 
 
 Lawrence. [Relieved,] Oh, that's all right. Hilde- 
 garde thinks nothing about that. 
 
 Caroline. But she mustn't give everybody credit for so 
 much sympathetic understanding. 
 
 [With a glance toward the hall, 
 
 Lawrence. You mean your husband! 
 
 Caroline. [Quickly.] Don't speak so loudly ! [With 
 a change to a seductive, problematical manner,] I haven't 
 told you everything about my life. I thought you guessed. 
 
 Lawrence. Why, surely, he wouldn't dare to misjudge 
 you, would he? 
 
 Caroline. We move in a society that does not trust 
 itself, so it is always suspicious. 
 
382 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 Lawrence. I hope youll forgive me. I'm just a fool 
 about these things. 
 
 Caroline. [Seeing Hubert and Hildegarde approach- 
 ing.] Pst ! Say nothing more. 
 
 Hubert. [Re-entering from the halL] [To Hilde- 
 garde.] If I'm on top, I know I'll treat the laborer as 
 well as I can afford. If he's on top, I can't expect so much 
 in return. They get a living wage. 
 
 Hildegarde. You'd better take a trip down South and 
 see how well they live. 
 
 Hubert. Perhaps I shall. And then 111 want to see you 
 again. 
 
 Hildegarde. Do! [To the others.] Until then we 
 part, good, class-conscious, cordial enemies. 
 
 Hubert. [Pointing to the newspaper.] Very well. 
 And how about these articles ? 
 
 Hildegarde. To-morrow we begin on your competitors. 
 
 Hubert. Good ! That's fair play. 
 
 Caroline. Hubert^ would you mind showing Mr. San- 
 bury about the house? 
 
 Hubert. Now.^ 
 
 Caroline. Yes. Mrs. Sanbury will remain with me. 
 
 [Hildegarde nods. 
 
 Hubert. We'll go this way. 
 
 Lawrence. Excuse me. 
 
 [Lawrence and Hubert exit through hall 
 and are seen mounting the stairs. 
 
 Caroline. [Points to a chair in the full light.] You 
 don't mind the light ? 
 
 Hildegarde. Oh, not at all. 
 
 Caroline. [Speaking as she pulls up the shade full 
 upon Hildegarde.] I'm sure we shall understand each 
 other thoroughly; because we both want your husband to 
 succeed. 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 383 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. It's fine of jou to be so interested. He's 
 never had a chance to prove what he can do. 
 
 Caroline. [Sitting with her hack to the light,] My 
 interest will excuse many personal questions. [Charm- 
 ingli/.] He being so young, we can discuss him and his 
 future from the same point of view. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Ycs, Larric for all his twenty-five years 
 is just a great big boy. 
 
 Caroline. How did you come to live there in the tene- 
 ments ? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Surcly Larrie has told you ! 
 
 Caroline. But I never trust a husband to tell me all 
 about his home. [Insinuatingly,'] If the wife loves him 
 very much, he never really knows his circumstances. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Wc'vc had no secrets from each other. 
 We struggled on together right from the beginning. I 
 sometimes got disheartened, but Larrie never did. 
 
 Caroline. Ah! Did he decide to live there? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. No. I Hvcd there first, and when we mar- 
 ried, we decided to settle there together, so I might con- 
 tinue my work. 
 
 Caroline. But do you think the tenement is quite the 
 — ah — the atmosphere for him to work in? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. He hasn't complained; and offices cost lots 
 of money. 
 
 Caroline. Yes. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Your commission will enable him to start 
 in business for himself; and then we hope to afford a 
 better place. 
 
 Caroline. Yes. But have you ever considered how your 
 very work in the world might hinder him? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Puzzlcd,] In what way? 
 
 Caroline. Art has always been the luxury of a leisure 
 class. It has always been supported by the patronage 
 
384 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 of wealth; and you can't expect that the people whom 
 you attack, and publicly attack, are going to reply by using 
 their influence to promote your husband. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Then Lawrence must work his way with- 
 out their influence. 
 
 Caroline. [With narrowing eyes,'] In the school of 
 adversity, eh? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Proudly,'] That school has brought out 
 the best in many artists ! 
 
 Caroline. And has killed thousands of others that we 
 never hear of. My dear, the school of adversity is a very 
 good school; provided you don't matriculate too early and 
 continue too long. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I'd rather continue just as we are now to 
 the end of our days, than have him sell his soul and aban- 
 don all he's stood for. 
 
 Caroline. You would; but how about him? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. He would too ! 
 
 Caroline. Perhaps I know him better than you do. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I dou't think so. 
 
 Caroline. Then some day, you may have to reproach 
 yourself for his failure. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I ? 
 
 Caroline. Yes. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Why should he fail? 
 
 Caroline. Just because of his unusual qualities. The 
 world at best is a cruel place. It gives its prizes to the 
 ordinary. It martyrizes the exceptional person, because 
 it doesn't understand him, and what it doesn't understand, it 
 fears; and what it fears, it destroys, or worse than that, it 
 allows to die unnoticed. The world will make your husband 
 suffer, just because he is exceptional, 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I Can't bclicve that! 
 
 Caroline. [Sarcastically.] One must indeed be an 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 385 
 
 optimist to be a fanatic. With your help I hoped to place 
 him where I know he belongs. But I cannot ; if you oppose 
 it. [Pause,] 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I don't scc how I stand in his way ! 
 
 Caroline. You have already made a difficulty with my 
 husband. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. HoW ? 
 
 Caroline. My dear, you can hardly expect my husband 
 to give your husband an expensive commission; when you 
 spend your time writing articles that lower the value of 
 the most important investment he holds. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Then Lawrence will have to choose. 
 
 Caroline. Oh^ no. You mustn't put that on him. You 
 mustn't bind him by his love for you. For if he fails to 
 choose properly, you will be forced to bear the burden of 
 his bitterness. And there's nothing so bitter in the world as 
 an artist's bitterness. [Looking at her closely.] It won't 
 come now. I grant you a few years more of his hopeful 
 illusions and youthful courage; but then your awakening 
 will come . . . when you are gray — at heart, and he 
 still in his prime ; but with the sources of his faith run dry 
 — eaten with disappointments, sick with postponements, his 
 inspiration festered by discouragement ; while he still knocks 
 listlessly at the doors, which would be open to him now; 
 but will be closed hereafter^ when his opportunities have 
 passed him by. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. That Can't be true! 
 
 Caroline. [Continuing ruthlessly,] And in the cruel 
 retrospect, then his awakening will come; and he will see 
 that it has been [Cynically] what you call your " life-work " 
 that has hindered him. And then, what will his love for you 
 be worth to you or him? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Obstinately,] He has his work, I have 
 mine. It's for him to choose. 
 
386 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 Caroline. And is your muck-raking worth his career? 
 Knowing that he loves you now, and will be influenced by 
 you, have you a right to make him choose? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. No morc than you! 
 
 Caroline. There is this difference: — / do it for his sake 
 purely. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. So do I ! 
 
 Caroline. I doubt it. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Passionateli/,] Don't you think it would 
 be easier for me to see him settled? I've walked the floor 
 at night! I've agonized over his career, while he's been 
 sleeping like a child ! 
 
 Caroline. [Quickly.] Ah, then there have been 
 secrets ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Continuing,'] Yes! I've made it a point 
 of honor not to allow him to spend one cent on me ! 
 [Suddenly.] You're looking at this dress! I know it's 
 shabby — You've noticed it — He hasn't . . . 
 
 Caroline. My dear, you mustn't feel sensitive about 
 your clothes ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [ChoJcing hack her tears.] It's the first 
 time that I ever was ! 
 
 Caroline. You must let me give you a gown or 
 two. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [RccoiUng.] Oh, no! I couldn't accept 
 them — I couldn't! 
 
 Caroline. But, my dear — 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Proudly.] Excuse me, don't presume ! 
 
 Caroline. I hoped you'd understand. Your husband's 
 profession has a social side. There are people he must 
 meet — people that will be of use to him. I want to ar- 
 range it. You won't object? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Oh, no ! 
 
 Caroline. It's always easy for a man — a dress suit and 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 387 
 
 there you are. But we women are at a disadvantage with- 
 out the proper equipment, and . . . 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Please leave me out of all your calcula- 
 tions. I shan't complicate matters. 
 
 Caroline. My dear, I merely intended to save you 
 from embarrassment. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I am vcry grateful. But I repeat, it's 
 impossible I should accept anything from you. We belong 
 to two totally different orders. 
 
 Caroline. Then as you're unwilling to meet the social 
 requirements, you will understand perfectly, if you're not 
 included in . . . 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Certainly. I shall not expect to be in- 
 vited. 
 
 Caroline. I must compliment you, Mrs. Sanbury. 
 You're stronger than I thought you were. 
 
 [Pause. The two women look at each other. 
 HiLDEGARDE is dazed. Caroline is smil- 
 ingly confident. 
 
 Lawrence. [Coming down stairs.] We'll have a jolly 
 job introducing Queen Victoria to the Renaissance. You've 
 plenty of room; that is, if you'll let me smash the conven- 
 tional partitions. 
 
 Caroline. [Meaningly.] I always like to smash con- 
 ventional partitions; provided the outside walls remain in- 
 tact. Have you explained to Hubert? 
 
 Lawrence. He couldn't follow the sketch. 
 
 Caroline. [With a veiled sneer.] You'll have to build 
 models before he can see. 
 
 Lawrence. [After a slight hesitation.] Will you really 
 need models ? 
 
 Caroline. I am afraid so. How long would it take you.'* 
 
 Lawrence. Well, you know, I've left my old firm; and 
 I'll first have to look about for larger quarters. 
 
388 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Involuntarily,] Oh ! 
 
 Lawrence. [Confidently,'] I've been thinking of chang- 
 ing. It's only been a question of the proper place. 
 
 Caroline. [Knowingly smiling at Hildegarde.] Oh, 
 of course. But I've an idea. In insisting upon models^ I 
 appreciate I am asking the unusual ; but I want to expedite 
 matters. 
 
 Lawrence. Yes . . . Yes . . . 
 
 Caroline. You've seen the fourth storey? 
 
 Lawrence. Yes. 
 
 Caroline. Couldn't you build your models there? 
 
 Lawrence. [Eagerly.] Splendidly! [Relieved.] That 
 would solve everything; wouldn't it, Hildegarde? [To 
 Caroline.] And I could consult with you at every step. 
 
 Caroline. Yes. [To Hildegarde.] And in that way, 
 we needn't interfere with your plans at the tenement. 
 
 Hildegarde. Oh ! 
 
 Caroline. Perhaps you'd better advise with your wife 
 before you decide. I'll speak with Hubert. Excuse me. 
 
 [She exits through the hall. 
 
 Lawrence. [Watches her out of the tail of his eye. 
 As soon as she is off, his manner changes, and he comes to 
 Hildegarde in hushed excitement. He takes her hands 
 and speaks quickly.] I'm glad, old girl, you didn't butt 
 into any of my bluffs ! I got a cold sweat when she spoke 
 about models! [Wiping his brow.] Phew! That was a 
 poser! But did you see me do it? [Imitating his former 
 manner.] *' Just looking for a proper place." [With a 
 flourish of his hand.] Money no object. Did you see me.'^ 
 With not enough to the good to keep the sheriff off any 
 place for a single month! [Sitting.] That fourth storey 
 is too good to be true! [Devoutly.] God bless the ugliness 
 of Queen Victoria ! God bless the rich with big houses and 
 small families ! Don't wake me ! 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 589 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Then you're going to accept her top 
 floor ? 
 
 Lawrence. [Flabbergasted to an echo.] Am I going 
 to accept her . . .? Watch me! I've never told you; 
 but I haven't been able to work there in the tenements. 
 This address alone will get me credit for materials. And 
 right now^ I'm in no position to deny her anything. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Evidently. 
 
 Lawrence. [Rubbing his chin,] Gosh! The old man 
 was pretty mum about the plan. [Suddenly,] He may be 
 sore about those articles of yours! I hope they haven't 
 queered it. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Oh, I fancy she'll arrange it. 
 
 Lawrence. I hope she will. [Suddenly,] Golly, you 
 don't seem to realize what this job means to me! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Perhaps I do, even more than you. 
 
 Lawrence. [Intensely.] Money ! That's what it means 
 . . . Money! A thing we've never had, and a thing 
 we've got to get ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Is moDcy everything.'^ 
 
 Lawrence. Yes, now — everything. . . . Money ! I 
 want money — money to be free to do things — money to get 
 things for you. Do you think I like to see you wearing 
 rags like this } 
 
 [Pointing to her dress^ 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [With a quick pain,] Oh, as for me — 
 
 Lawrence. I've had enough of the tenements ! IVe 
 never told you — 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Larrfc ! ! 
 
 Lawrence. [Excitedly,] That's all right, my deai^. 
 You're a fanatic about some things. I don't interfere with 
 you, and you mustn't interfere with me! [Change,] Pei^ 
 haps you'd better go. ... I mean if you're not in sym- 
 pathy with the scheme, for God's sake, don't hang on. 
 
390 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Slowly.] Thcrc's lots that I could say, 
 Xarrie. . . . 
 
 Lawrence. Yes, I know, but not here. Listen — Open 
 your head! IVe got to nail this job. I want to do it on 
 jnj own hook. Then if I take it to a firm, I collar some of 
 i;he swag and get some credit for my work. ... I may 
 never wing a chance to start like this again. [She is about 
 io say something but he continues.l We're broke — and no 
 instalment until the plans and models are accepted. Here 
 I get a place rent free, materials on tick, with Lawrence 
 Sanbury I-n-c upon the signs. . . . I'll incorporate my 
 debts. Otherwise, back again into an old thirty a week job 
 to sweat for the other fellow all my life. [Quickly giving 
 HiLDEGARDE her coat,] Hildegarde, here — take your rags 
 ^nd run. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Quictly.'] Shall I wait luncheon? 
 
 Lawrence. Hang luncheon. I'm going to eat this 
 /job. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. But on your first day home, after . . . 
 
 Lawrence. There'll be lots of days like this coming. 
 IHdding her coat.] Here — here she comes. Just say 
 :good-by. 
 
 [Enter Caroline from the hall. 
 
 Caroline. Well, IVe spoken with my husband. 
 
 Lawrence. [Restrained.] Yes . . . ? 
 
 Caroline. He thinks it an admirable plan for you to 
 ^ork here. 
 
 Lawrence. [Relieved.] Ah, then that's settled ! 
 
 'Caroline. So we can begin immediately . . . that 
 is • . . if — 
 
 [Looks at HiLDEGARDE. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I was just going. [Caroline is silent.] 
 Good-by, Mrs. Knollys. 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN SQl 
 
 Caroline. [With feigned surprise,] Oh! [Then in a 
 commonplace tone,] Good-by. I shan't forget your invita- 
 tion to the tenements. 
 
 Lawrence. Excuse me, Hildegarde, I'll be home — ah — 
 
 shortly. [Hildegarde goes quickly to the arch, and 
 
 exits through the hall, 
 
 [Lawrence makes a move to follow her, then^ 
 
 pauses perplexed, Caroline watches him 
 
 narrowly, 
 
 Lawrence. [Scratching his head,] By Jove! What 
 makes a fellow a brute sometimes to the woman he cares 
 for? 
 
 Caroline. [Slowly,] It's the artist in you, Lawrence, 
 that is instinctively unscrupulous toward anything that hin- 
 ders its development. 
 
 Lawrence. But Hildegarde wouldn't hinder me ! 
 
 Caroline. Not intentionally, certainly not. She's an: 
 exceptional person. [Sitting,] I'm sorry she doesn't like- 
 me. 
 
 Lawrence. [Fighting against his own conviction.'^ 
 What makes you think she doesn't like you.^ 
 
 Caroline. She has her — ah — principles. Unfortu- 
 nately they oppose everything I stand for. 
 
 Lawrence. You don't know her, she . . . 
 
 Caroline. Perhaps not, and I'm so sorry! for I hoped 
 we should agree about you. 
 
 Lawrence. But she must see how much you mean to 
 me, and — 
 
 Caroline. Perhaps you've been too frank with her. 
 
 Lawrence. I never conceal anything from Hildegarde^ 
 
 Caroline. [Ironically.] No. . . . 
 
 Lawrence. [Continuing.] And I'd hate any person 
 that made me lie! [Sitting disconsolately,] What can I 
 do? 
 
392 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 Caroline. That you must decide yourself. You stand 
 at a crossings Lawrence. The one road means the old limi- 
 tations and the commonplace: the other leads to freedom 
 and opportunity. It's difficult to choose^ because she loves 
 you . . . dearly. 
 
 Lawrence. Of course she does ! 
 
 Caroline. Therefore it*s quite natural she should resent 
 any one having the power to do for you what she would 
 like to do; but can't. I'd feel that way myself^ if . . . 
 
 Lawrence. If what? 
 
 Caroline. If I loved you the way she does. If I 
 weren't ambitious for your great work! 
 
 Lawrence. But she wants me to do big work. 
 
 Caroline. [Shaking her head,] You feel things in you 
 that she never dreamed of. That's why . . . [With a 
 change,] But I oughtn't make you conscious. 
 
 Lawrence. What is it? 
 
 Caroline. [With a show of reluctance.] That's why 
 you aren't at your best^ when you're with her. Now there^ 
 I've said it. 
 
 Lawrence. But I haven't had the chance of really ex- 
 plaining to her all I want to do, and . . . 
 
 Caroline. [Unscrupulously,] An artist justifies him- 
 self by doing: not explaining! Consider everything that 
 helps you to your end as good. That is the conscience of an 
 artist. His work is always greater than his life. 
 
 Lawrence. By Jove^ I always see clearer when I talk 
 to you ! 
 
 Caroline. [Passionately,] I am unscrupulous for the 
 best in you! 
 
 Lawrence. [Talcing her hands,] You're wonderful! 
 
 Caroline. I mustn't be mistaken in you ! 
 
 Iawrence. [Kissing her hands,] You won't be. 
 
 Caroline. I have a problem too, because of you. 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTEXED WOMAN SQS 
 
 Lawrence. [Dropping her hands,] Yes^ I know. 
 
 Caroline. And you must justify me as well. We made 
 a compact. Have you forgotten it.^ 
 
 Lawrence. The afternoon we left Florence. 
 
 Caroline. And climbed the hills toward Fiesole . . » 
 alone. 
 
 Lawrence. [Rapt,] In the flaming orange scarfs of 
 mist^ with the whole world behind us in the valley. 
 
 Caroline. Where you said the world should always, 
 be for the artist with the vision and the will to create a 
 new form of art. You were splendid then ! 
 
 Lawrence. And afterward, the long ride on to Brescia 
 and Como and — 
 
 Caroline. Psch! That lies behind us. [Pause, With 
 a change.] I thought that memory belonged to us alone. 
 
 Lawrence. It does ! 
 
 Caroline. [Raising her finger,] You shared it. 
 
 Lawrence. Forget that, please. 
 
 Caroline. I hope the other's will. 
 
 Murtha's Voice. [Up stairs.] Will I hang the things 
 up here, sir.^ 
 
 Hubert's Voice. [Up stairs,] Yes^ just put them in 
 the closet, please. 
 
 Caroline. [Quickly to Lawrence.] Sit down. [He 
 starts to sit in a chair near her. She points to one at right 
 of stage,] No; over there. [He goes quickly to the other 
 side. She continues,] We'll lunch together. The Colony- 
 Club at one o'clock. 
 
 Lawrence. I thought that Hildegarde might — 
 
 Caroline. [Interrupting peremptorily,] I must see 
 you. 
 
 Lawrence. But on my first day home — 
 
 Caroline. [Impatiently.] Between Susan's nervousness, 
 and your thoughtlessness, I . . . 
 
 Lawrence. Very well. 
 
394 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 [Enter Hubert from the hall, 
 
 Hubert. H'm ! Still talking over plans ? 
 
 Lawrence. [Rising, embarrassed,] Yes . . . yes 
 ^ , . and I want to thank you, Mr. Knollys. 
 
 -Hubert. Me.^ For what? 
 
 Lawrence. The fourth storey. It'll be a great help to 
 me. [Hubert looks perplexed, 
 
 Caroline. You know, I have asked Mr. Sanbury to build 
 his models there. 
 
 Hubert. [Grimly,] Ah . . . have you! I didn't 
 Jaiow. 
 
 Lawrence. [Filling in the awkward pause,] Then you 
 'Can see exactly how the rooms will look. 
 
 Hubert. Oh, as for me . . . [Smiles,] Quite so. 
 Very kind of you — very. ^Vhere's your wife.^ 
 
 Lawrence. She's already gone. 
 
 Hubert. [Sarcastically.] If you should see her again, 
 you might tell her that I've decided to go South immedi- 
 ately, 
 
 Lawrence. [Jerking at his watch.] Yes — ah . . . 
 'She'll be delighted to hear that . . . and ... ah 
 ^ , . I was delighted to meet you, Mr. Knollys; and if 
 you'll excuse me — I'll — I'll ... be going now. 
 
 [He stands awkwardly. Hubert goes to the 
 hall, then turns to Lawrence. 
 
 Hubert. Good morning. 
 
 Lawrence. Oh, good-by, Mrs. Knollys. [To Hubert.] 
 Good-by, Mr. Knollys. 
 
 Caroline. Good-by. 
 
 [Hubert nods. Lawrence exits. Pause, 
 
 Hubert. [Laughing softly.] Caroline, I think your 
 latest is a light-weight! 
 
 Caroline. [Changing the subject,] You're going South? 
 
 Hubert. I hope you'll endure my absence. [Pause.] 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 395 
 
 What was your object in giving your young man the im- 
 pression that you had to consult me in anything? 
 Caroline. I generally consult you. 
 
 Hubert. Yes. After you've completed your arrange- 
 ments. It's your house. IVe nothing to say. But I see 
 now why you needed Elsie's room. 
 
 [A furious knock is heard in the hall. They 
 both start as Murtha enters. 
 MuRTHA. [Proudly.'] Ah^ did ye hear me knock? 
 Caroline. What is is? 
 
 Murtha. A young lady's in th' front hall. [To- 
 Hubert.] She wants to see you^ Mr. KnowUez. 
 Hubert. To see me? 
 
 Murtha. [Hesitating.] She says she's from th' Cush- 
 toms office^ so she says. 
 
 Hubert. [Grimly to Caroline.] I fancy it's about 
 your trunks. 
 
 Caroline. [To Murtha.] Send her in here. 
 Murtha. Shure Oi will — whoy wouldn't Oi? 
 
 [Ea;its to hall., 
 Hubert. Why should the young lady want to see 
 me? 
 
 Caroline. Have you money with you? 
 Hubert, [Taking out his bill case.] Yes. 
 Caroline. [With a smile.] I gave her my card. 
 Hubert. But — 
 
 Caroline. [Taking his bill case and going to window.^ 
 Let me see. All she's come for is more money. 
 
 [Hubert during the above goes toward the 
 hall, Caroline's back is to him. Emily" 
 Madden enters nervously from the rights 
 She is a young woman of about twenty- 
 eight. Hubert makes a quick recoil of 
 amazement and a half -smothered exclama- 
 
-396 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 tion: *' Emily! '' She, seeing Caroline, 
 gives him a quick gesture of silence, 
 ^MiLY. [/n a breathless staccato and a forbidding man- 
 -ner,'] This is Mr. KnoUys, I believe. 
 Hubert. Yes. 
 
 Caroline. [^Turning and coming down,'] I hope you've 
 Lad no difficulty. 
 
 Emily. You evidently did not understand. 
 Caroline. Oh^ I see. In that case^ why^ of course^ I 
 wish to pay you for any further — 
 Emily. [Violently,'] Please! 
 Hubert. Caroline ! 
 XI^aroline. Oh! 
 
 Emily. Mrs. Knollys, all your trunks are held. 
 Caroline. [Savagely,] The insolence! 
 Emily. It was the only way to save you from a charge 
 of smuggling and ... 
 Caroline. Indeed! 
 
 Emily. I couldn't make you realize it. That's why I've 
 come to see your husband. 
 
 Caroline. [With a smile,] Thank you very much. 
 Hubert. Caroline, you'd better let me settle this. 
 Caroline. [Crossing to the hall.] By all means. You 
 always settle things so adequately. [To Emily.] Good 
 morning. [She starts to go up stairs, then turns and says 
 significantly to Hubert;] Oh, your purse! 
 
 [She throws it gracefully over the balustrade. 
 He, standing below, catches it. She con- 
 tinues up stairs. He watches her out of 
 sight, then turns and comes down to 
 Emily. 
 Hubert. [Giving way to his astonishment.] Emily! 
 I'm all in the dark ! How are you mixed up in this ? 
 
 Emily. [Quickly,] I left the newspaper and got a posi- 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 397 
 
 tion in the Customs. This morning I saw her name on the 
 list of passengers. She fell into the hands of one of the 
 sourest old inspectors. He found some jewels in a sachet 
 bag. Then he caught her in a lie. As usual, he asked her 
 to reconsider her declaration. She refused . . . 
 
 Hubert. [Unconsciousli/.'] The damned fool! 
 
 Emily. Then he insisted she be searched. 
 
 Hubert. Naturally. 
 
 Emily. As I was standing there, the officers deputed me 
 to look her over. 
 
 Hubert. [Appalled.'] But she didn't know who you 
 were, did she.^ 
 
 Emily. Oh, no, but I took the chance to tell her of the 
 penalty: ten thousand dollars' fine, or two years' imprison- 
 ment, or both. 
 
 Hubert. I hope that sobered her! 
 
 Emily. Judge for yourself. She said she had a list, and 
 gave me this envelope. [Giving him an envelope out of her 
 bag.] Open it. 
 
 Hubert. [Opening it,] Two one hundred dollar bills. 
 
 Emily. One for my partner. There were two of us. 
 
 Hubert. [Putting envelope on table,] The same old 
 game. 
 
 Emily. I felt like throwing it into her face; but then I 
 thought of you, and held my temper. The inspectors were 
 waiting. 
 
 Hubert. What did you do? 
 
 Emily. I told your wife I'd tend to everything, and got 
 her off. Then I reported for her that she had reconsidered, 
 had nothing on her person, she was ill and didn't know what 
 things were dutiable; and therefore wanted all her stuff to 
 be appraised. 
 
 Hubert. Good ! And then ? 
 
 Emily. Then I tried to 'phone you everywhere, and 
 
398 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 finally I had to take the chance of even meeting — her again^ 
 and come right here to tell you. 
 
 Hubert. You little thoroughbred. 
 
 Emily. Hubert, do nothing until you hear from them. 
 Dispute nothing, but make her stick to the story that I 
 framed up for her, and pay on their appraisal. I hope 
 I've done right. 
 
 Hubert. Right ! I don't know how to thank you. 
 
 Emily. Return this to your wife with my compliments. 
 
 [Points to envelope, 
 
 Hubert. I guess you're all in, Emily. 
 
 Emily. Oh, don't mind about me. 
 
 Hubert. Filthy business, this. [Suddenly anxious,] 
 There'll be no consequences for you? 
 
 Emily. I guess not. 
 
 Hubert. [Walking about,] I don't know how it is. She 
 never learns. She does exactly what she pleases. Experi- 
 ence means nothing to her ; because in some way she always 
 manages to get protected, no matter what she does. She's 
 skated over thin ice all her life — she courts the danger 
 signals; and just when anybody else would fall through, 
 an unknown somebody reaches her a hand out of the uni- 
 verse and lands her safe ! Gad ! and to think that it was you 
 that helped her! 
 
 Emily. I don't think that would appeal to her sense of 
 humor. 
 
 Hubert. Did she bring over much stuff .^ 
 
 Emily. They said about six thousand, off hand. 
 
 Hubert. Six thou . . . Phew! Well, that's her 
 affair. But sit down a moment. [He puts her on settle, 
 then sits at right of the table.] Tell me, how did t/ou get 
 into the Customs office.'* 
 
 Emily. I got tired of the paper. My friend Hildegarde 
 Sanbury suggested the Customs, and helped me get it. 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 399 
 
 Hubert. Oh^ Mrs. Sanbury's a friend of yours. 
 
 Emily. Yes, why? 
 
 Hubert. They were here this morning. 
 
 Emily. Were they.^ Isn't Hildegarde fine.'^ 
 
 Hubert. Tell me about him! 
 
 Emily. You mean Lawrence? 
 
 Hubert. Yes. 
 
 Emily. They say he's a genius, full of all wonderful 
 things, and just waiting for his opportunity. to express them. 
 
 Hubert. Yes, just the type! 
 
 Emily. What type? 
 
 Hubert. Do you know where he and Caroline met? 
 
 Emily. I've no idea; except that they spent some time 
 together in Italy. 
 
 Hubert. What was he doing there ? 
 
 Emily. Studying and making sketches. Hildegarde 
 slaved and saved every cent she could to send him over. 
 
 Hubert. So this is her latest! 
 
 Emily. What do you mean? 
 
 Hubert. I wonder if I can explain it. Caroline has a 
 mania for depredating the next generation. She poses to 
 herself as the heroine of a belated romance. 
 
 Emily. But she knows Lawrence is married; doesn't 
 she? 
 
 Hubert. She prefers them married. Takes all the per- 
 fume and the blossoms, and lets the wife grub at the roots. 
 She likes to be the destiny and let the wife assume the 
 utility. Does he love his wife? 
 
 Emily. Why, of course, devotedly. That's the finest 
 thing about him. 
 
 Hubert. Better yet. She enjoys making a test of her 
 power. 
 
 Emily. [Impulsively,] Hildegarde's the best in the 
 world, Hubert, and . . . 
 
400 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 Hubert. Then I pity her. 
 
 Emily. You don't mean your wife will hurt Hildegarde^ 
 do you ? 
 
 Hubert. [Bitterly,'] She won't bleed; that is, out- 
 wardly. She'll just wake up and find her happiness evapo- 
 rated. 
 
 Emily. You mustn't allow it. She's just a child before 
 a sophisticated person. 
 
 Hubert. [Desperately,'] What can I do? Caroline has 
 done this all her life; and as she operates under the pro- 
 tection of my name, I've had apparently to stand by and 
 sanction it. 
 
 Emily. Can't you stop her? 
 
 Hubert. [Again walking about,] How? You'd respect 
 her if she showed one real emotion. She's physically chaste; 
 but is absolutely unchastened in soul; and yet she feeds on 
 the souls of others. That's how she keeps young. She's 
 a mental Bluebeard, and I'm the hotel clerk for her castle 
 ... I know where all her miserable relics hang . . . 
 What rooms and what days of their lives they've offered her ! 
 
 Emily. Why, this is horrible, Hubert ! 
 
 Hubert. [Continuing.] I'd give my eyes to stop her! 
 If not for the sake of others, for my own sake! She's 
 broken me! I tried to get free for years at the beginning. 
 But she plays so absolutely safe . . . She protects her- 
 self so completely that she is unassailable. 
 
 Emily. Can't he be warned? 
 
 Hubert. Not if she gets him first. Her kind of poison 
 strikes them blind. There's nothing to be done for him. 
 Just you keep out of her way. 
 
 Emily. Don't worry. I will. Well, I must get back to 
 work. [She starts to go again, 
 
 Hubert. My dear, why will you work? Why won't 
 you let me take care of you? 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 401 
 
 Emily. I wish to earn my own living, Hubert. You 
 know that. 
 
 Hubert. Yes. But I want to ask you . . . Why 
 have you avoided me for this long time? 
 
 Emily. Hubert, I didn't want to write it; but it*s over 
 between us. 
 
 Hubert. [After a pause.'l Yes^ I've realized that. 
 
 Emily. [Very tenderly,'] Hubert, I've no reproach to 
 make you ; and I don't want you to reproach me^ or to feel 
 any bitterness. What we gave was a free gift from both 
 — a free gift and no regrets. A break had to come some 
 time, I suppose; and as soon as I met him, I — I realized 
 that it had to come right away. [Looking away from 
 Hubert.] He asked no questions; but that's why you 
 haven't seen or heard from me. Hubert I'm going to 
 marry Michael Krellin. 
 
 Hubert. [After a pause,] Good luck to you. [He 
 takes her hand in both of his.] But I thought you didn't 
 believe in marriage. 
 
 Emily. Neither did he. But I'm afraid we both believe 
 in marriage now. I can't tell you how it happened ; but it's 
 different, Hubert . . . That's all ... I know you'll 
 understand. 
 
 [Hubert nods and releases her hand. She 
 goes toward the hall, 
 
 Hubert. Emily . . . [She stops and turns.] We've 
 been good chums for a long time; and, do you know, you've 
 never allowed me to give you anything? 
 
 Emily. That was our agreement, Hubert. 
 
 Hubert. Yes; but I want you to promise me this. If 
 you should ever get into a blind alley, and need anything, 
 a friend or money, and need it without strings, I want you 
 to think of me. I'd like to feel you'd do that much for 
 the sake of Auld Lang Syne. 
 
402 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act I 
 
 Emily. [Coming to him.] All right. I promise. [Ex- 
 tends her hand,] Good-bye. 
 
 Hubert. [Quietly, as he takes her hand,] Krellin's 
 a very lucky fellow. 
 
 Emily. That's like you, Hubert. 
 
 Hubert. I'll call you a cab. 
 
 Emily, Never mind. Don't come with me, please. I'll 
 run right along, [She turns and says very tenderly:] 
 Good-by. 
 
 Hubert. Good-by. 
 
 [She exits through the hall. After she is off, 
 Hubert stands looking after her until the 
 front door is heard to close. He drops 
 his hands disconsolately and walks me- 
 chanically to the table at cenier. His eyes 
 fall upon the envelope still lying there. 
 He takes it up. His mood changes. He 
 gets a sudden idea. He looks up, throws 
 the envelope down on the table again 
 with an angry gesture, and goes with vehe- 
 ment determination toward the stairs. He 
 pauses at the bottom of the stairs, shakes 
 his head perplexed, and then decides upon 
 a different attack. He calls very pleas- 
 antly: 
 
 Hubert. Ah, Caroline! 
 
 Caroline. [Up stairs,] Yes. 
 
 Hubert. I'd like to see you for a moment. 
 
 Caroline. Are you alone? 
 
 Hubert. [Still pleasantly,] Yes. Oh, yes. 
 
 Caroline. I'll be right down. 
 
 [Hubert walks round the room gatherifig 
 his confident anger with every step. He 
 hears her coming, controls his humor, and 
 
Act I] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 403 
 
 stands with his hands behind him, full of 
 exasperation, as she enters. 
 
 Caroline. Did you settle it? 
 
 Hubert. [Deliberately giving her a chair.J One mo- 
 ment. 
 
 Caroline. Susan is waiting me for luncheon. 
 
 Hubert. [Decidedly,] Very sorry. 
 
 Caroline. [Inquiringly.] Well.'^ 
 
 Hubert. Very sorry^ but I'm afraid I'll need some of 
 your time this afternoon. 
 
 Caroline. [After sitting, looks up demurely.] What 
 for? 
 
 Hubert. [With great distinctness.] The Customs office. 
 
 Caroline. Oh, no. You ventured to criticize me. You 
 asked me to leave it to you. I do. 
 
 Hubert. [Losing control.] About six thousand dollars* 
 duty for you to pay ! 
 
 Caroline. I? Perfectly ridiculous! I settled it. Of 
 course, if you . . . 
 
 Hubert. [Angrily.] You did, eh? 
 
 Caroline. [Laughing.] If you were fool enough to let 
 that woman — 
 
 Hubert. If ** that woman " treated you as you deserve — 
 
 Caroline. I think I treated her very well. 
 
 Hubert. It was only out of consideration for me that 
 she — 
 
 Caroline. Oh, for you! 
 
 Hubert. Yes, for me. If " that woman " didn't hap- 
 pen to be a friend of mine, you might be publicly disgraced 
 by now as well as I ! 
 
 Caroline. [Laughing.] A friend of yours! Why, 
 really, Hubert, I must say you have strange friends — A 
 woman that would use her friendship to extort money . . . 
 
 Hubert. [Enraged.] Listen to me! Your trunks are 
 
404 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 in the hands of the appraisers. YouVe been caught in a 
 ridiculous lie; and she — 
 
 Caroline. [Triumphantly,] She can't say that, be- 
 cause / bribed her! Your friend ! 
 
 Hubert. [Flinging the envelope on the table.] There's 
 your two hundred dollars, and youll have to pay six 
 thousand dollars on your trunks, and be grateful to Miss 
 Madden for having saved you! 
 
 Caroline. To whom? 
 
 Hubert, [With great confidence.'] Miss Emily Madden, 
 the woman you maligned. 
 
 Caroline. [In a moment of rage.] She looked me over! 
 She dared! 
 
 Hubert. [Gloating,] It was Miss Madden. [He walks 
 away from her, turns with supreme elation,] Yes. 
 
 Caroline. [In a peal of laughter.] Then I understand 
 perfectly why she came to you! But I'm not so easy. 
 The matter of the trunks was settled. [Walking to the 
 hall,] Of course, if you feel that you are subject to her 
 extortions, or that perhaps you want to give her a token 
 of your gratitude, that's your affair. [Turning to him,] 
 It would really be indelicate of you to insist that I should 
 pay your mistress! 
 
 Hubert. [Foiled and following her furiously,] You 
 • . . [Chokes,] 
 
 Carolina. [Very pleasantly.] Good morning. Susan 
 is waiting. She exits as the Curtain descends. 
 
 ACT II 
 
 [The stage presents the combined kitchen and living room 
 of the Sanbury flat in the model tenements, New York 
 City. The whole atmosphere betrays great neatness, 
 but equal constriction and narrowness of quarters. At 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 405 
 
 the first glance, the room is apparently all doors. The 
 walls are done in waterproof white. There is a window 
 in the rear wall, a little to the left. This opens on a 
 fire-escape, and gives a view of other tenements in the 
 rear. There is a shade over the window, which is 
 further hung with chintz curtains, that are visibly 
 cheap, but in good taste as far as the design is con- 
 cerned. In front of the window is an upholstered win- 
 dow-seat. To the left of the window is a small serving 
 table, with cruets of vinegar and oil, and a salad-bowl 
 upon it. Below this table hang sundry cooking utensils. 
 Next to the table stands the gas-stove with a coffee-pot 
 upon it. High on the wall above the gas-stove is a 
 gas-meter of the kind commonly in use in the tenements. 
 It is automatic, and releases a supply of gas only when 
 a quarter is dropped into it. At the left of the stove 
 and in the corner of the room is a combination sink and 
 wash-tub of white porcelain ware. The dwellers in 
 the tenements use the wash-tub as an ice-box. At the 
 opening of the act, a four-fold screen hides both the 
 sink and the stove from view. However, above the 
 screen, a towel rack with clean dish towels is visible. 
 In the upper left wall of the room is a door leading to 
 Lawrence's bedroom. Below this, there is a com- 
 bination wall book-case and mirror. The book shelf 
 is jammed with well-used books. Directly underneath 
 the book-case stands a flat table upon which are a 
 typewriter and a telephone. 
 
 In the rear wall of the room, to the right of the 
 window, is the door leading from the hall. To the 
 right of this is the dumb-waiter shaft, with a sliding 
 panel door. In the right wall of the room is the en- 
 trance to HiLDEGARDE^s hcdroom, A little below this 
 is the door leading to the bathroom. 
 
406 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 There is an electric bell above the hall door, another 
 electric bell above the dumb-waiter. Next to the dumb- 
 waiter is a speaking tube, which rejoices in a very 
 shrill whistle. 
 
 Running around the whole room is a plate shelf 
 with colored plates upon it. There are framed pictures 
 of Tolstoy, Ruskin and Prince Kropotkin conspicuously 
 hung upon the walls. 
 
 At the center of the room is a large mission table, 
 ^et with a plate, knife, cup and saucer, napkin and a 
 bowl of fruit. The morning newspaper lies opened. 
 Between the dumb-waiter and the door to Hildegarde^s 
 room is a large mission cupboard. There are five chairs 
 in the room. Three are around the table, and one is 
 placed before the typewriting stand. There is a hat- 
 rack upon the wall next to the hall door. 
 
 It is about eleven-thirty in the morning, some weeks 
 after the preceding act. The blind is up, and the room 
 is very light. 
 
 Off rear a hand-organ is heard playing. Hilde- 
 GARDE is discovered at the typewriter. She works on, 
 disregarding the hum of incoherent tenement life about 
 her. The organ stops. A street vendor is heard 
 hoarsely crying his wares :^ 
 
 Vendor's Voice. [Off.] Apples! Apples! Ten cents 
 a qu-a-art! 
 
 Woman's Voice. [Off.] Hey-hey! Epples! Yas— 
 you ! Noomber seven ! A helfft quart ! 
 
 Vendor's Voice. [Off.] All rights number seven! 
 Woman's Voice. [Off.] I schick de nikkel down. 
 
 [The Vendor's voice ceases. Suddenly the 
 sound of a window crashing is heard quite 
 close. Hildegarde pauses attentively. 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 407 
 
 Lawrence bursts into the room from the 
 left. He appears in a dressing gown, 
 with a ball in his hand. He is shaved, 
 but still has lather on his face, 
 
 Lawrence. Look here! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Was it your window? 
 
 Lawrence. Almost my head. Say, does anybody own 
 those brats? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Goes quicMy to the window, throws it up 
 and calls out:'] Vincent! Joey; Don't run away. I told 
 you, you mustn't play ball in the court. I'll have to tell 
 your mothers. 
 
 Lawrence. [^Giving her the hall, which she puts on a 
 shelf.] A lot of good that'll do. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. It's hard to be severe with them. [Law- 
 rence goes toward the bathroom,] They oughtn't play in 
 the street. Little Jamie Kirk was killed by a car last week. 
 
 Lawrence. There's plenty of them left. [T/ze dumb- 
 waiter whistle gives a piercing scream,] What's loose 
 again? \^He opens the tube, listens and yells down,] No! 
 don't want any apples! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Opening dumb-waiter,] Wait, Lawrence. 
 [She calls down quietly,] Mrs. Pannakin is number seven 
 on the other side. [Shuts dumb-waiter door,] Will you 
 have breakfast now? 
 
 Lawrence. What time is it? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Taking screen away from stove,] About 
 half-past eleven. 
 
 [She tries to light gas-stove, 
 
 Lawrence. We've got to hurry. [Turning.] What's 
 the matter now ? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. The meter. Have you a quarter? 
 
 Lawrence. [Giving her a coin,] No credit there, eh! 
 
 [He goes into bathroom. 
 
408 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 [She gets up on chair and puts coin in the 
 meter, winds it and proceeds to heat the 
 coffee. 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Calling to Aim,] It'll be ready in a 
 moment. You finish dressing. 
 
 [Lawrence enters from the bathroom with a towel, drying 
 
 his face. 
 
 Lawrence. What have you ordered for lunch? 
 HiLDEGARDE. I told Mrs. Panuakiu to take especial 
 pains to-day. 
 
 Lawrence. [Grimly disgusted.] Mrs. Knollys will en- 
 joy one of Mrs. Pannakin's co-operative dinners; where all 
 the last week's vegetables co-operate to make this week's 
 soups. I wonder why they want to come here any- 
 way. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Slowly.] I Can't imagine. 
 Lawrence. [Reproachfully.] You invited them. I 
 tried to head it off. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. They are your friends; and you know I 
 never miss a chance of interesting rich people 'n this phil- 
 anthropy. Go^ dear^ and finish dressing. 
 
 [He exits to his room. 
 [She takes a script from the typewriter, folds 
 and signs it, then addresses it in an en- 
 velope, and stamps it. She hums while she 
 works. Lawrence re-enters carrying his 
 collar, tie, coat and vest. He wrestles 
 with his collar and then throws the other 
 things down. 
 Lawrence. This life is killing me! I'm as nervous as 
 a cat! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Didn't you sleep well.^ 
 
 Lawrence. [Pointing to the typewriter.] Sleep! What 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 409 
 
 time was it when you began banging that instrument of 
 torture ? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I had to get my copy ready for this eve- 
 ning's edition. 
 
 Lawrence. [Continuing to dress,'] What is it.^^ 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. A report of last evening's Labor Meeting 
 for Krellin's column. 
 
 Lawrence. You know^ you'll have to stop this kind of 
 thing. That's if you care anything for me. 
 
 [She gets butter out of improvised ice-box in 
 the wash-tubs. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Cheerfully,] My little writing and my 
 job here are at present our only means of support. 
 
 [She puts butter on table, 
 
 Lawrence. Oh^ don't rub it in. [With a change.] I'm 
 sorry enough to see you slave the way you do; but Krellin 
 and your friends are attacking the very people from whom 
 I'm going to get my living. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Cheerfully,] Yes^ Mrs. Knollys took 
 the trouble to inform me of that some weeks ago. 
 
 Lawrence. Well, they don't like to hear how their 
 money is made. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Thcrc's vcry little danger of their listen- 
 ing to me. 
 
 Lawrence. And how about Mr. Knollys? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Hc and I understand each other com- 
 pletely. 
 
 Lawrence. Yes, no doubt. But this is how it's worked 
 out for me. I've finished the preliminary plans, and should 
 have got the first instalment to begin my work three days 
 ago. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Well? 
 
 Lawrence. [Continuing,] Your articles have driven 
 him down South, to look over that factory of his. 
 
410 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Oh^ I'm glad of that. 
 
 Lawrence. Tm glad you're glad. But I get not a cent 
 till he O.K/s the plans. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Cutting bread for him.] When does he 
 get back? 
 
 Lawrence. He was expected yesterday. [Turning 
 away,] Oh^ I don't want a lot of breakfast. I'm rickety! 
 I'm all in! Just give me some coffee! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Getting coffee from gas-stove,] It's 
 ready now. [Pouring it,] Where do you go to-night? 
 
 Lawrence. Mrs. Millette. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. MrS. Who ? 
 
 Lawrence. Millette^ — what's the difference what her 
 name is ? Mrs. KnoUys says she wants to build a house. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Good. 
 
 Lawrence. I'm invited to dine with her and go to the 
 play to-night to talk things over. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Any prospects? 
 
 Lawrence. [With a tone of justification.] There's a 
 social side to my job. You must see that. I've got to make 
 that solid first. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. YcS. [PaUSC. 
 
 Lawrence. Why? You're not offended that you're not 
 asked^ are you? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Oh, dear no; I'm thinking only of what 
 they'll think of you. 
 
 Lawrence. In what way? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I dou't Want you to be known as the kind 
 of man these woman can invite without his wife. 
 
 Lawrence. And I don't want to be known as the kind 
 of man that always drags his wife about, either. 
 
 [He opens the newspaper. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. It's an affrout to you, not to me. [The 
 bell rings over the hall door. Opening the door.] Oh, 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 411 
 
 thank you. [Takes letters from some one outside,"] Wait^ 
 will you drop this in the mail for me? [She fetches her 
 typewritten article and an orange. As she passes Lawrence 
 she says:] These are for you. [She gives him some letters. 
 Then she returns to the door and gives the letter and the 
 orange to the little girl evidently standing outside,] Here, 
 Annie. Thank you. [She closes the door, 
 
 Lawrence. [Reading a letter which he has opened dur- 
 ing the above business,] From my old firm. [Proudly,] 
 They offer me a raise of ten a week if 111 come back. 
 
 Hildegarde. [Looking through her mail,] Bills, bills, 
 bills. [She sits at her typewriting table, 
 
 Lawrence. They'll have to wait. I've got to. [Show- 
 ing his letter,] How would you answer them? 
 
 Hildegarde. That you must decide yourself. 
 
 Lawrence. [Poinding to the bills humorously,] Say, 
 ain't it the devil how the money goes? 
 
 Hildegarde. [With a smile,] I can manage the neces- 
 sities ; if you'll keep down the luxuries. 
 
 Lawrence. [Looking at a bill,] Seven dollars and 
 fifty cents for flowers. [Looks up at her, 
 
 Hildegarde. To whom did you send them? 
 
 Lawrence. Mrs. Knollys, of course. She needs flowers. 
 Always has them. [With attempted justification,] I eat 
 two meals a day on her; I've got to keep my end up some 
 way. 
 
 Hildegarde. Certainly, by all means. 
 
 Lawrence. [With another letter,] Tailor's bill. One 
 hundred and twenty-five cold plunks. [Boyishly,] That's 
 the swell dress suit, all right. [Looks at her,] Do you 
 know, I'm sometimes tempted to drop in and see my old 
 firm ; not that I'm aching to go back to them, but — 
 
 Hildegarde. You might call on them, and tell them what 
 you're doing. 
 
412 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Lawrence. What do you think? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I'd play the game out for all its worth. 
 It's no use weakening now. 
 
 Lawrence. [Pointing to bills.l What will we do with 
 these ? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Encouragingly,'] We'll meet them with 
 your first instalment. 
 
 [The bell over the dumb-waiter rings loudly, 
 Lawrence. [Going to dumb-waiter.] I'll open. 
 
 [He opens door. The bell continues its ringing. 
 
 Voice. [Below, yelling up,] Sanbury? 
 
 Lawrence. [Shouting down,] Yes. [Roaring.] Take 
 
 your finger off that bell! [Bell stops. 
 
 Vqice. [Cheerily,] Thought you might be a-hangin' 
 
 out the wash ! 
 
 Lawrence. No^ I'm not hangin' out the wash! What 
 do you want.'^ 
 
 Voice. Look out! It's coming up!! 
 
 [Lawrence just ducks back as the dumb- 
 waiter shoots up, 
 HiLDEGARDE. It's the grapc-fruit and salad from the 
 grocer's. [Lawrence takes it off,] Put them in there. 
 
 [He puts them as she indicates inside the wash-tubs, 
 Lawrence. What time is it now.^ 
 HiLDEGARDE. After twelve. You'll have to hurry. 
 Lawrence. [Suddenly,] Say, can't we have the screens 
 up? [Putiing them hastily back before the stove,] And 
 you know, there's nothing very handsome about this view. 
 
 [Jerks down the blind over window rear, 
 HiLDEGARDE. Larric, please don't fuss. 
 
 [He has gone quickly fcr his coat hanging 
 on a peg behind his door. He re-enters 
 struggling into his coat, 
 Lawrence. Say, my room looks like hell! 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 413 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Agnes will clear it up while I'm setting 
 the table. 
 
 Lawrence. [Nervousli/.] Where is she .^ You know she 
 never comes when you want her ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Clearing table quietly,'] She'll he here. 
 
 Lawrence. [Attempting to fix a picture straight on the 
 wall,] Have all your orders come? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Ycs. Plcasc dou't get nervous. 
 
 Lawrence. [Turning nervously,] Well, I'm only try- 
 ing to help you out. I pass the grocer's. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Pausing,] You silly boy. I guess you 
 can't help fussing. 
 
 Lawrence. I like things to be right. [Suddenly,] Are 
 you going to wear that dress.'* 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. What's the matter with my dress .^ 
 
 Lawrence. [Dubiously,] Oh, I suppose it's all right; 
 only I thought your green — and honestly now, your feet 
 aren't as big as that. It's those Consumer's League boots, 
 just like your gloves! You'd wear anything with a Trade 
 Union label on it, wouldn't you } No matter what it looked 
 like ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. They won't see my feet. 
 
 Lawrence. Won't they? [Exploding,] That skirt hikes ! ! 
 . HiLDEGARDE. [With au obvious effort to be patient.] 
 I'll be all right; if you'll only get out before you make 
 me nervous. [A bell rings. He goes toward dumb-waiter 
 again.] [Lifting the blind he has pulled down,] No. 
 That's the door. I guess it's Agnes. 
 
 Lawrence. I hope so. [He opens the hall door and 
 MuRTHA bounds into the room,] Oh, Lord! 
 
 MuRTHA. [Effusively,] Th' top o' the marnin' to you, 
 Mishter Sanbury! [Seeing Hildegarde.] Ah, Sishter! 
 Shure, yer hushband do be lookin' loike a capitalisht to-day. 
 
 [Shakes both her hands. 
 
414 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Lawrence. Where's Agnes? 
 
 MuRTHA. [With feigned surprise,] Ah, Agnes, is it? 
 [Cunningly,'] Shure, she's all roight. She do be havin' th' 
 gran' good loock to-day! 
 
 Lawrence. Where is she? 
 
 MuRTHA. She's got a job-to-day, yis, wid Mishter Curtis, 
 her auld boss. 
 
 Hildegarde. Why didn't you tell me she couldn't come? 
 
 MuRTHA. Oi wouldn't dishappoint ye. Oi know yer 
 goin' to have a shindy; and is it any wonder that Oi'm 
 here before th' wind. 
 
 Hildegarde. [Practically.] Then go right to Mr. 
 Sanbury's room and clear it up. 
 
 MuRTHA. Shure Oi will; whoy wouldn't Oi? 
 
 [She exits left with aged agility, 
 
 Lawrence. Can't you get rid of her? 
 
 Hildegarde. I've got to have somebody. 
 
 Lawrence. Mrs. KnoUys hates the sight of her. [To 
 the ceiling,] Oh, we're going to have a lovely party ! 
 
 Hildegarde. [Nervously,] Then call it off entirely. 
 
 Lawrence. I tried to. But she was determined to come 
 here to-day. 
 
 Hildegarde. [Abruptly.] Then stop complaining! I 
 wish you'd go ! [Seeing the futility of chiding him, she 
 changes to a very reassuring manner,] Now go, dear. You 
 look very handsome. 
 
 [She adjusts his necktie and goes with him 
 toward hall door. He has his hands in 
 his pockets. 
 
 Lawrence. Do I look like ready money? 
 
 Hildegarde. [Laughing.] Yes. 
 
 Lawrence. [Shamefaced.] Well, I haven't got any. 
 Mine's in the gas meter. 
 
 Hildegarde. How much will you need? 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 415 
 
 Lawrence. Tve got to get those dames here^ haven't I? 
 And I might be stuck for a taxicab. You know, such things 
 have happened! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Goitig to cupboard.'] Wait. 
 
 [She brings oui a china bank and shakes it. 
 
 Lawrence. What's that? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. My liucn bank. [Shaking it,] There 
 must be several dollars in it. 
 
 [She breaks it with a knife; and a mass of 
 small coins is exposed. 
 
 Lawrence. [Sweeping up the coins.] I feel like a man 
 that's robbed a nursery. 
 
 [As he puts them uncounted into his pocket, 
 some of them roll on the floor. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. The groccr will be glad to give you 
 bills. 
 
 Lawrence. It 'ud take me an hour to count up this 
 chicken feed. [Suddenly.] There's some on the floor. [As 
 he starts to lean over, his soft hat falls from his head. 
 He steps on it.] Gad!! Sure thing! This is my lucky 
 day ! [He punches his hat savagely. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I'll pick it up. [She does so,] Larrie 
 dear, will you let me say something? And you won't get 
 angry ? 
 
 Lawrence. [Defensively,] Well . . . ? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Going to him,] Dearest, first try to be 
 calm — for your own sake, don't be irritated. It's unbe- 
 coming. 
 
 Lawrence. Oh, I'm all right; but all these little 
 things . . . 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I kuow, dear, it is hard; but for the sake 
 of my pride in you, be careful about showing any impa- 
 tience to me, particularly in front of Mrs. Knollys. I don't 
 care how angry you get when we're alone. I understand. 
 
416 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 She doesn't. And judging from the last time she saw us 
 together^ she might think . . . 
 
 Lawrence. Please don't refer to that again. I thought 
 you had forgotten it. [Contritely.'] I lost my head. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. If you remember it, I shall forget it. 
 [She kisses him.] Now, good-by, dear. 
 Lawrence. Good-by. 
 
 [He exits through the hall door, as Murtha 
 re-enters from his room at the left. 
 Murtha. That's done. 
 HiLDEGARDE. Then you can lay the table. 
 Murtha. Shure Oi will, me dear. 
 
 [She goes quickly to the cupboard for the 
 
 necessary things. 
 [While Murtha is busied at the table, center, 
 HiLDEGARDE gcts the Salad and grape- 
 fruit from wash-tubs. She cleans and 
 prepares them during the following scene. 
 HiLDEGARDE. You know, Mrs. Murtha, it isn't quite 
 honest for you to say that Agnes will go to places, and then 
 you go to them yourself. 
 
 Murtha. [Busying herself at table.] No, ma'm. 
 
 [She crosses herself with a mechanically de- 
 vout expression. 
 HiLDEGARDE. Then why do you do it? 
 Murtha. Whoy wouldn't Oi.^ There's Aggie, th' Lord 
 love her, can hardly keep herself, and Tim's no good at all, 
 and Mary in th' hoshpital, and Joey wid th' haughty lady 
 that he's married and th' twins ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. But aren't you getting a little too old 
 for . . .? 
 
 Murtha. [Interrupting savagely.] There yer sayin' 
 it! And d'ye see, if Oi wuz to tell thim: " It's me, ma'm, 
 that's lookin' fer th' job," Oi'd nivir git it! And a little 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 417 
 
 loi loike that doan't hurrt. [^Wheedling,] Fer Oi'm as 
 shtrong as ivir Oi wuz. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [With a Sigh of futility,'] The knives on 
 the right side. 
 
 MuRTHA. [Very gently,'] Yis, ma*m. 
 
 [Pause. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Have you ever waited on a table? 
 
 MuRTHA. Me! Navr^ ma'm. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Pausiug,] Then perhaps — 
 
 MuRTHA. [Confidently, while Hildegarde works at 
 straightening out the table,] Kh, ye jusht tell xne what 
 to do^ and Oi kin do it. Shure^ Oi'm not wan av thim thick 
 Micks. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Then first of all you must roll down your 
 sleeves. 
 
 MuRTHA. [Obeying like a child,] Yis^ ma*m. Yer a 
 laidy. Oi can't say naw liss than that. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Smiling.] What is a lady? 
 
 MuRTHA. Ha ! A laidy is wan av thim that has all th' 
 beer an' skittles^ an' doan't have to do no worrk. [Laugh- 
 ing.] Shure, Oi alius says moy auld man's th' loocky 
 laidy av our house. Me an' his chilthren does th' worrk fer 
 him; and' he schmokes in th' corner all day long. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. WcU^ I dou't smokc in the corner all day 
 long. 
 
 MuRTHA. Ah^ doan't ye be lishtenin' to me gush! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. You just bring the things from Mrs. 
 Pannakin to me. 
 
 MuRTHA. Yis, ma'm. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. And if there's anything you don't know 
 how to do^ you just ask me quietly, and I'll tell you. 
 
 MuRTHA. Yis^ ma'm. [She pricks up her ears.] What 
 wuz that ! I ! [She makes a dive for the window rear and 
 looks out,] That's Mickey Doolan! Shure it's Doolan!! 
 
418 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act 11 
 
 [She flings open the window. As she does so, a violent 
 quarrel in Irish between a man and woman is heard, 
 MuRTHA yells out:] Mickey ! Mickey ! ! You lave her be ! 
 [Solemnly,] Moy Gawd! He's hit her, th' poor woman, 
 and she wid th' young un comin' ! [She jumps up on the 
 sill,] Mickey! Mickey!! You lave her be!! Fer th' 
 love o' God and th' shame o' man, you let her be ! ! You 
 dhrunken pesht! 
 
 [During the above speech, Hildegarde has 
 tried vainly to hold Murtha back and 
 stop her yelling; but Murtha has got 
 speechless with rage. She tears loose 
 from Hildegarde^ goes through the win- 
 dow and is heard clattering down the 
 fire-escape execrating Doolan. 
 Hildegarde. [Calling.] Mrs. Murtha!! Wait — Mrs. 
 Murtha ! ! ! 
 
 [Murtha has disappeared into the melee. 
 The row is heard suddenly to increase 
 with MuRTHA^s advent. A woman's shrill 
 scream is heard, and than a man's growl. 
 The row increases. Hildegarde, seeing 
 the futility of trying to control things at 
 a distance, decides to follow. She also 
 exits over the fire-escape, and descends. 
 MuRTHA^s high voice is heard above the 
 noise, calling for " Tim." Then some 
 other woman's voices are heard in high 
 excitement calling. A hushed subsidence 
 due to HiLDEGARDE^s appearance follows. 
 Finally an absolute pause of silence. Then 
 a hey is heard turning in the lock of door 
 from the hall. The door opens. Whistling 
 is heard on the steps. The whistling evi- 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 419 
 
 dently is paced to keep time with some one 
 climbing slowly up stairs, Lawrence 
 enters. 
 
 Boys' Voices. [Outside, heard as the door opens.] Give 
 us the ball ! You got it ! 
 
 Lawrence. Go on^ boys^ chase yourselves. [To Caro- 
 line.] Come in. 
 
 [Caroline enters. 
 
 Boys' Voices. [Derisively.] Git a hair-cut! Git a 
 hair-cut! G'wan^ you dude! 
 
 Lawrence. [Closing the door.] This is the living room. 
 Plain living and high thinking. 
 
 Caroline. [Laughing.] I should admit it's rather high. 
 
 Lawrence. [Calling.] Hildegarde! We're here ! [To 
 Caroline.] Sit down^ please. 
 
 Caroline. [Not sitting.] Are you sure that she ex- 
 pected me.'* 
 
 Lawrence. Certainly. She may be in my room. 
 
 [Crosses left and opens his door. 
 
 Caroline. [Crossing.] I want to see where you sleep. 
 
 Lawrence. Behold my couch of dreams. 
 
 Caroline. [Murmuring.] You poor boy! 
 
 Lawrence. [Closing windoxv rear.] I don't care where 
 I sleep, as long as I've a place to work in. 
 
 [He starts to pull down the blind. 
 
 Caroline. What's there? 
 
 Lawrence. [Cheerfully.] Excellent view of a fire- 
 escape and Mrs. Pannakin's kitchen, where our nectar and 
 ambrosia are prepared ; which later you are to be privileged 
 to taste. 
 
 Caroline. [After looking .] Ah! 
 
 Lawrence. [He pulls down the blind. Then he goes 
 toward Hildegarde's room at right, calling.] Hilde- 
 garde ! 
 
420 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Caroline. [Insinuatingly,~\ Do you object to this little 
 chat with me alone? 
 
 Lawrence. Of course not! But I wanted to leave you 
 here with Hildegarde^ while I looked for Miss Ambie. She 
 may have trouble finding us. 
 
 Caroline. I hope so. [He looks at her,'} I have 
 trouble enough in losing her. 
 
 Lawrence. [Laughing.] Do you know^ you some- 
 times perplex me terribly? 
 
 Caroline. [Sitting.'] Do I? [Smiles,] Sit down and 
 let me look at you. [He sits and looks at her inquiringly,] 
 I want to see if I can fit you into this environment. How 
 do you manage it? 
 
 Lawrence. Oh, Caroline, you're so used to luxury, you 
 can't understand how a little plain living rather helps a 
 fellow to dream true. That's why I didn't want you to 
 come down. I was afraid it would discourage you. 
 
 Caroline. [Slowly and with a caressing glance.] It 
 has made many things about you very clear to me. 
 
 Lawrence. There's nothing complex about me. 
 
 Caroline. Yes, if you can do what you have done down 
 here, what will you do, when — ? Oh, it's only because you 
 are you that all this squalor hasn't killed your genius ! 
 
 Lawrence. [Humorously,] Oh, come now, Caroline, 
 it's hard for me not to agree with you when you speak of 
 me as a genius and all that. I tell you frankly I adore 
 it; but I'm really quite an ordinary sort of a chap. I've got 
 enough ambition and enthusiasm to draw cheques on my 
 future. I hope I've learned my job; so if the big things 
 come along, I'll be able to measure up to my opportunities. 
 And — when I'm with you, I feel my luck is with me. 
 
 Caroline. Then my faith in you does really help you, 
 does it? 
 
 Lawrence. How can you ask that? 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 421 
 
 Caroline. Keep your confidence, Lawrence, but remem- 
 ber that patience is a virtue of the underlings. I don't pos- 
 sess that virtue; and you cannot afford to. 
 Lawrence. What's that to do with it.^ 
 Caroline. [Vehemently.'] Oh, I can't bear to see you 
 in circumstances like these! I can't lie to you! It's use- 
 less to disguise it. I hate to see you pulling down the 
 blinds ! I hate anything that ties you here ! The world is 
 full of people that can plod and wait for opportunities. 
 We've got to make them and before it is too late ! I knew 
 that you had wings the first time that I saw you. I hate 
 the idea of a half a loaf, when by the right of the power in 
 you, you are entitled to the whole ! I hate even the patch- 
 work you're doing on my house! [She rises. 
 Lawrence. Don't say that! The work you've given 
 me has enabled me to leave my firm with a free conscience. 
 Caroline. [Smiling,'] W^^^^ have you to do with con- 
 science.'* People have conscience only when they fail, 
 
 Lawrence. [Rising,] By Jove, you have a liberating 
 way of saying things ! 
 
 Caroline. Have I helped to liberate you? 
 Lawrence. I've chucked a lot of litter since I've met 
 you. 
 
 Caroline. That's right. I love to hear you say that. 
 Oh, I want to see you free — free from all the petty scruples 
 that would hinder you! That's my work now. For while 
 you're building houses, I shall be building joxyr career. 
 
 [Lawrence takes her enthusiastically and 
 impulsively into his arms, and hisses her 
 full on the mouth. He looks at her as if 
 hypnotized. She is full of the disguised 
 triumph in her seduction. They pause, 
 Lawrence becomes thoughtful with a dis- 
 * turbing realization of what he has done. 
 
422 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Lawrence. I beg your pardon. 
 
 Caroline. For what? 
 
 Lawrence. Forgive me. I had no right to — 
 
 Caroline. [Interrupting,'] You have a right to every- 
 thing if you only want it enough! [Passionately.] I want 
 you — [Quickly correcting herself,] I want you to succeed; 
 and we shall find a means. [Suddenly,] You must get 
 that studio immediately. 
 
 Lawrence. [Dazed.] What — ? 
 
 Caroline. [In a low voice,] You can't work any longer 
 at my house. [He looks up,] Hubert arrives to-day. 
 
 Lawrence. [Absently,] Good! 
 
 Caroline. A little less enthusiasm, please. 
 
 Lawrence. I mean, then I can get his O.K. on the 
 plans. 
 
 Caroline. You'll get your first instalment to-morrow. 
 YouVe got to draw up plans of an Italian country house for 
 Edwalyn Millette. 
 
 Lawrence. She has decided.^ 
 
 Caroline. She will. She has money; and I can tell her 
 exactly what she thinks she wants. [Humorously.] There 
 I can help you too. You'll need your studio. [Dreamily.] 
 I know exactly how we'll furnish it. I know just where 
 1 shall sit and pour your tea. [The bell rings over the door. 
 They start.] And we won't have bells like that! 
 
 Lawrence. That's Hildegarde. [Turning.] I'll tell 
 her of the studio. 
 
 Caroline. [Quickly.] Not a word. Leave that to me. 
 [He hesitates,] Oh, we drive to Edwalyn's Long Island 
 place this afternoon. I want you to see the grounds before 
 you dine with her to-night. 
 
 Lawrence. Oh, all right. [He opens the door to the 
 Jiall, and discovers Susan Ambie.] Come in. Miss Ambie. 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 423 
 
 Susan. [Entering, her hat awry,'] Oh^ there you are ! 
 [Grieved,] Well^ Carrie^ I must say — 
 
 Caroline. We decided you weren't coming. 
 
 Susan. [Looking at her watch,] I thought I was on 
 time. 
 
 Caroline. Think again, my dear. 
 
 Lawrence. Did you have trouble finding us? 
 
 Susan. [Straightening her hat and speaking to 
 Lawrence.] You oughtn't let those children play ball in 
 the street. Their ball just missed me! 
 
 Caroline. Too bad ! Too bad ! 
 
 Susan. Carrie, I've something I must say to you . . . 
 
 [Looks significantly at Lawrence. 
 
 Lawrence. Excuse me. I'll hunt up Hildegarde. She 
 may be in her office. 
 
 [As soon as Lawrence ea;its Susan betrays a 
 most unconirolled and nervous anxiety. 
 She is nervous almost to the point of in- 
 coherency, 
 
 Caroline. Well, what is it? 
 
 Susan. Carrie, I'm sorry . . . but I haven't slept! 
 I can't take any more responsibility. That's all. 
 
 Caroline. Then don't. 
 
 Susan. [On the raw,] They ask me if I'm blind!! 
 
 Caroline. Well, if you're not, what do you care? 
 
 Susan. [Gushily,] People are talking about you and 
 Lawrence. Of course, I understand — but . . . 
 
 Caroline. [Interrupting,] If you give your time think- 
 ing about what other people say, you'll never have time 
 for anything else. 
 
 Susan. [Impatiently,] But people know that Hubert's 
 been away . . . and they see you and Lawrence to- 
 gether everywhere, and ... 
 
424 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Caroline. There's comfort in that. Just think what 
 they imagine when they don't see us. 
 
 Susan. My dear, you can't stop wicked tongues from 
 wagging. ... Of course, I tried to defend you all I 
 could. . . . People are saying that you've lost your 
 head over this young architect that you have living with you 
 in your house. Everybody's talking — 
 
 Caroline. Everybody has nothing else to do. 
 
 Susan. Where is his wife.^ Perhaps she's heard things 
 and means to be rude! 
 
 Caroline. Rude to me? She couldn't be. 
 
 Susan. You know, Lawrence tried to discourage our 
 coming. What can you and she have in common? 
 
 Caroline. [Meaningly,] Nothing! Lawrence sees that 
 already. When she realizes that we can have nothing in 
 common — not ever her — well, the rest is easy. 
 
 Susan. [Alarmed,] Carrie! You're up to something 
 mad! [Caroline laughs,] I haven't seen you look or act 
 like this, not since . . . Italy! [Suddenly with a cry.] 
 Yes, they're right! It's true!! 
 
 Caroline. [Calmly,] WTiat? 
 
 Susan. You've lost your head about him. 
 
 Caroline. [Recklessly,] Oh, there's no law against a 
 woman losing her head. 
 
 Susan. But his wife ! What do you mean to do ? 
 
 Caroline. I } Nothing. 
 
 Susan. Carrie, come back vrith me. We'll leave our 
 cards; and we'll have done our duty. 
 
 Caroline. Go if you like. 
 
 Susan. [With a nervous whimper.] I won't desert you, 
 Carrie ! 
 
 Caroline. [Rising,] Oh^ then shut up ! 
 
 Susan. Don't be rash, dear, she may know more than 
 you think. 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 425 
 
 Caroline. In big things I do nothing underhand. 
 
 [There is heard a fearful shaking of the window, 
 Susan. What's that ! ! 
 Caroline. Ill see. 
 
 [She goes toward window rear, pulls up the 
 blind. The person outside on the fire- 
 escape flings up the window and scrambles 
 into the room. 
 Susan. [Tearfulli/,] [During Caroline's movement,'^ 
 I don't know what we're doing here anyway ! 
 Caroline. [Seeing Murtha.] The gorilla! 
 Susan. [Frightened.] Carrie^ this is the way out! 
 
 [Murtha has scrambled into the room talk- 
 ing incoherently to herself. She looks 
 rather damaged, and is carrying her 
 apron and purse in her hand. Her hair 
 is tousled and her eye is red. 
 Murtha. [Recognizing Caroline.] Ah^ fer th' love 
 o' God, Mrs. KnowUez, is it you! D'ye see me oye.^ 
 [Pointing to it.'] That's phwat ye git whin ye come inter- 
 ferin' between a hushband and a woife ! Shure^ it wuz her 
 that guv me that. [Laughing.] Hah, there wuz wigs on 
 th' green ! I licked him wance before, and Mrs. Doolan 
 she knows it, moind ye; and whin I wuz trou' wid him, a 
 dog wouldn't ha' lapped his blood ! 
 
 [Caroline and Susan have tried in vain to 
 retreat before Murtha^s stream of hys- 
 terical verbiage. 
 Susan. [Completely appalled.] Yes, that's all very 
 interesting . . . ! [Retreats around table. 
 
 Murtha. Now doan't ye moind me. Shure O'im only 
 talkin' to mesilf, and Oi couldn't foind a bigger fool to talk 
 to. [She opens a purse she still carries in her hand, sees 
 her money,] Ah, that's all roight. 
 
426 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 [She puts purse down on the table, Caroline 
 and Susan are chasseing toward the door, 
 which is suddenly opened and Hildegarde 
 is heard talking to some one at the en- 
 trance, 
 Hildegarde. [Calling in,] Mrs. Murtha, go bathe that 
 eye in cold water. 
 
 Murtha. [Subdued immediately,'] Yis, ma'm. 
 
 [She goes to the sink and does so, 
 Hildegarde. [Continuing to some one outside,] No^ 
 Doolan; if you're sobered up at four o'clock, come to my 
 office. The ejection officer will be there. [She closes the 
 door sharply as she enters, then suddenly sees Caroline 
 and Susan. She continues with complete composure,] Oh! 
 [Shakes hands with Caroline.] I'm sorry I wasn't here 
 to receive you. [Shakes hands with Susan.] I hope you'll 
 forgive me. There's been an unfortunate difficulty with a 
 couple of our tenants. Excuse me! 
 Caroline. Certainly. 
 
 [Hildegarde exits into her room, 
 [Caroline and Susan look at each other 
 while the noise of running water is heard 
 at the sink, where Murtha is bathing her 
 eye, Susan is frightened, Caroline is 
 enjoying her usual parasitic amusement, 
 Susan. What do you think, Carrie? 
 Caroline. The worse it is^ the better I like it. 
 
 [Hildegarde immediately re-enters with a 
 
 small bottle and some lint, which she puts 
 
 down on the table, 
 
 Hildegarde. [To Caroline and Susan.] Won't you 
 
 lay off your wraps in Larrie's room? [Pointing left.] 
 
 [Susan passes and enters the room at left,] [Continues,] 
 
 I'm sure there's more excitement than real injury. 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 427 
 
 [Caroline goes toward room, Hildegarde 
 takes a howl from plate rack and moves to 
 
 MURTHA. 
 
 Caroline. [To Susan whose train is still visible show- 
 ing the smallness of the room.] Susan, go in. 
 
 Susan. [Excitedli/,'] I can't walk through the wall, 
 my dear. 
 
 [The train is however snatched in, and 
 Caroline enters, closing the door behind 
 her, 
 
 Murtha. Oh, me oye — me oye ! 
 
 Hildegarde. [To Murtha.] Now quick, let me look 
 at that eye. 
 
 Murtha. Shure Oi will, me dear ! 
 
 Hildegarde. Bathe it with this stuff. Here, use this too. 
 [Going to table to get the lint pad, she sees Murtha^s 
 purse,] Oh, youVe found your purse. Where was it? 
 
 Murtha. [Guiltily,'] I must ha' dhropped it runnin'' 
 down. 
 
 Hildegarde. You see you were wrong to accuse Mrs.. 
 Doolan. That only made more trouble. 
 
 Murtha. [Cannily,] It wuz th' loocky thing thim 
 Polacks didn't know 'twas loyin' jusht outside their window. 
 [Lawrence enters from the hall door. 
 
 Lawrence. [To Hildegarde.] Where have you been.^ 
 
 Murtha. [Groaning,] Oh, Mother! Me oye . . . 
 me oye. . . . 
 
 [She sits wretchedly at the left. 
 
 Lawrence. What's the matter! 
 
 Murtha. [In a loud regretful tone,] If I had only hit 
 him whin he thripped ! ! 
 
 Hildegarde. There's been trouble with the Doolans. 
 
 Lawrence. In here? 
 
 Hildegarde. No. And everything is all right now. 
 
428 THE UXCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Lawrence. Yes, but where are the ladies? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [^Trying to quiet him hy her toneS\ In 
 your room, laying off their wraps. 
 
 [^During the above, Murtha has been -fight- 
 ing over the battle in pantomime, while 
 bathing her eye, and mumbling to herself. 
 
 Lawrence. Did you get anybody else to help you? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Barely holding her nerves.'\ I've been 
 quelling a riot! 
 
 Lawrence. [Pointing to Murtha.] What are you 
 going to do with her? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Go to Mrs. Panuakin's, and see if she 
 TTon't serve the dinner herself. 
 
 Lawrence. I was just there looking for you! I asked 
 her then. . . . 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Well . . . ? 
 
 Lawrence. [Throwing up his hands and speaking to 
 the ceiling,'] She can't come! She isn't dressed! And 
 dinner's ready ! ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [To MuRTHA.] Go to Mrs. Paunakin's, 
 smooth your hair, borrow an apron and bring in the dinner. 
 
 Murtha. [Rising.] Oh, yis, ma'm. [With a savage 
 gesture,] The durrty A.P.A. ! [She crosses to the hall 
 door muttering,] Oh, Lord, I'm as blind as Doolan's goat! 
 I'll nivir see out o' that oye again. ... To hit me whin 
 Oi wasn't lookin'. . . . [She exits, 
 
 Lawrence. Good Lord! 
 
 [He swings around the room in an ecstasy 
 of exasperation, 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Going to him,] Larrie, no matter what 
 happens, don't be betrayed into any rudeness to me before 
 Mrs. Knollys. 
 
 [The door left opens and Susan enters, 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. The cxcitcmcnt has subsided. Won't you 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 429 
 
 sit here? [She fixes a chair at her right,'\ [Susan sits 
 with her back to the door, Caroline enters,] [Continu- 
 ing,] And^ Mrs. Knollys^ won't you sit there? [She mo- 
 tions Caroline to the chair ai Lawrence^s right. He helps 
 her. She faces the door, Hildegarde faces the audience. 
 Lawrence has his back to the audience. Note: the Ladies 
 have just removed their wraps, Caroline has not taken 
 off her gloves,] Don't mind my jumping up. [She gets 
 bread and butter from the wash-tubs,] How is Mr. 
 Knollys? 
 
 Caroline. Well, thank you, the last I heard. 
 
 Hildegarde. [Puts the bread on table and helps them 
 to butter,] [To Caroline.] Let me help you. We hear 
 the Homestead Mills are going to begin work again. I'm 
 glad. Sugar? 
 
 Caroline. [Waving a '^ no,''] And the percentage on 
 investments lowered again. 
 
 [They all, except Caroline, eat grape-fruit, 
 
 Susan. [Changing the conversation,] Mrs. Sanbury, 
 have you any nerves left? 
 
 Hildegarde. This is by no means a typical day. 
 
 Caroline. No? 
 
 Hildegarde. Many of the workmen living here are idle. 
 Unfortunately, they drink. 
 
 Caroline. If that is how they spend their leisure, why 
 agitate for shorter hours and bigger pay? 
 
 Susan. [Vigorously.] What good bread! 
 
 Hildegarde. Many laboring people drink because they 
 have to work, and — 
 
 Caroline. [Interrupting sarcastically.] Precisely, and 
 they don't like it. I agree with you so far. 
 
 Hildegarde. Perhaps. But oftener they get the habit 
 of drink because they haven't decent food. 
 
 Lawrence. [Rising,] That being the case, ladies, I 
 
430 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 propose we fortify ourselves against the possible vagaries 
 of our co-operative cook. 
 
 [He goes to tubs and takes out bottles, 
 Susan. [Looking,'] Your what? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [To SusAN.] Pcrhaps Larrie has told 
 you, this is a co-operative dining-room. Several of the 
 people living here chip in to pay the rent. 
 
 Lawrence. [To Caroline.] A little Scotch? 
 
 [She refuses it. He helps Susan. 
 
 Caroline. [To Hildegarde.] A sort of socialistic mess. 
 
 Susan. [Incredulously ,] But you're not Socialists, are 
 
 you? [She drops her bread and knife, 
 
 Hildegarde. Not all of us. 
 
 Susan. [Reassured and beginning to eat again,"] Oh^ 
 that's better. 
 
 Hildegarde. But then we've got an Anarchist or two 
 among us. 
 
 Susan. [Anxiously, pausing in a mouthful,] Oh! 
 Hildegarde. [Continuing,] All interested in improv- 
 ing conditions. 
 
 Susan. [Approving charitably,] Ah. 
 
 [She resumes eating, 
 Lawrence. [Rising,] Psh! [Mysteriously,] It's 
 coming! [Susan is apprehensive, as he goes to the hall 
 door and opens it,] I've got a long distance nose! The 
 soup!! [He returns to his chair as Murtha enters 
 
 carrying four soup-bowls on a very pre- 
 sentable tray. She never takes her eyes 
 from Hildegarde. Murtha is very neat 
 and important, Hildegarde motions her 
 to serve her first, Murtha does so, 
 Susan. [Seeing Murtha.] Oh, she's all right again. 
 I'm glad. 
 
 Hildegarde. [To Murtha.] Then serve Mrs. Knollys. 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 431 
 
 Caroline. [Waving a gloved hand.] I never eat soup. 
 [MuRTHA goes io Susan and helps her, then 
 Lawrence. She stands awkwardly for a 
 moment, hut very quietly. 
 HiLDEGARDE. [To MuRTHA.] You Can comc back in a 
 moment and clear off the bowls. 
 MuRTHA. Yis, ma'm. 
 HiLDEGARDE. Lcavc the door ajar. 
 
 [MuRTHA is about to exit, carrying the tray 
 '^iih Caroline's bowl of soup on it, when 
 she is passed in the door by Michael 
 Krellin. Krellin is a Russian by birth, 
 but speaks English with a scrupulous, 
 scholarly exactness, though with a slightly 
 foreign accent. Physically, he is of 
 medium height, lithe and slender in figure, 
 rapid and exact in his movements. His 
 dress is clean but careless. Everything 
 about him betokens a fearless definiteness 
 of mind. He has a shock of curly hair. 
 His face is pale, his eyes are very keen; 
 and when he looks at a person, he is likely 
 to peer a little closer into their faces than 
 the usual man. His speech is fluent and 
 incisive. He is mentally a combination 
 of the political dreamer and the practical 
 meliorist, who has saved his optimism by 
 fighting for the next reform at his hand. 
 His manner is above all things humorous 
 and easy, with a sort of detached im- 
 personal impertinence. He has the assur- 
 ance of the platform orator. 
 MuRTHA. [Meeting him at the door.] Good marnin^ 
 Mishter Krellin. 
 
432 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Krellin. Good morning. Eh? Wait! 
 
 [Stops MuRTHA and peers into the tray. 
 Lawrence. [To Caroline.] There's our Anarchist. 
 
 [HiLDEGARDE rises. 
 Krellin. [Continuing to Murtha.] Here . . . 
 Hello— Hello! I'll take that soup. 
 
 [He has already deftly lifted it from the tray, 
 Murtha. Doan't let yer modesty wrong you. 
 
 [She exits, 
 Krellin. [Joyously,] Hildegarde^ Hildegarde! IVe 
 news for you ! Good news ! 
 
 [He goes immediately to the cupboard, puts 
 doxvn his soup-howl deftly, pulls out a 
 drawer, finds his napkin with a cheap ring 
 on it, picks out a knife, fork and spoon, 
 puts the napkin in his mouth, takes the 
 bowl, with knife, fork and spoon in one 
 hand, then picks up a chair with his re- 
 maining hand and advances toward the 
 table, 
 Hildegarde. [Hesitatingly,] Yes^ Michael . . . 
 Krellin. [During the above business,] Just wait. I'm 
 as hungry as a wolf. All night at the office. 
 Hildegarde. You must be tired^ Michael. 
 Krellin. [His voice is merry, but his body is relaxed.] 
 Not very. [He puts down his chair between Susan^s 
 
 and Hildegarde^s, and places his eating 
 paraphernalia on the table, Susan draws 
 away, as he sits down, Caroline is im- 
 perturbed. Lawrence is annoyed, 
 Krellin [Peering nearsightedly at Susan.] Oh^ 
 you're having a party. I didn't see. [Rising.] Pardon^ 
 I am very near-sighted ; and I have broken my glasses. 
 [About to withdraw,] I'll step in later. 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 433 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Wait, Michacl. [To Caroline and 
 Susan.] Mr. Krellin is one of our friends. 
 
 Krellin. Yes, yes. I only wanted to ask; did you 
 finish your article.^ 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Yes. It's gone. What's the news.^ 
 
 Krellin. You'll have to write a special. Despatches 
 from the South tell of the final settlement by arbitration 
 with the Homestead Mills. Another victory! 
 
 [He shakes Hildegarde's hands enthusiastically. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Splendid, but — [Turns toward Caroline.] 
 
 Krellin. [Continuing,] A ten hour day, and a dollar 
 ninety cents ! 
 
 Lawrence. The Homestead Mills ! those are . . . 
 
 [Turning to Caroline. 
 
 Caroline. Yes, I'm interested. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. My friend is one of the reporters on the 
 *' Echo." He's just had news. May I present him.^ 
 
 Caroline. And which way has the strike been settled? 
 
 Krellin. [Coming toward her,] You will be glad to 
 hear in favor of the shorter hour and the living wage. An- 
 other milestone passed ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Mrs. Kuollys, this is Mr. Krellin. A 
 member of our co-operative club. We don't usually have 
 the pleasure of seeing him till dinner time. 
 
 Krellin. [Has leaned toward Caroline.] Mrs. 
 Knollys . . . Knollys? [Peers at her, then at Hilde- 
 GARDE, then again at Caroline.] I am delighted to find 
 you here. [Laughs softly,"] God is a great dramatist ! 
 
 Caroline. Why? 
 
 Krellin. I've seen you before, Madame; and I've heard 
 of your husband. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [QuicMy,] And this is Miss Ambie. 
 
 Krellin. [Bowing,] Ah, yes . . . Miss Ah . . . 
 
 [He goes toward her. 
 
434 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Susan. [Frightened.^ How do you do ! ... 
 
 [Krellin sits between Hildegarde and 
 Susan. Pause, 
 
 Krellin. [Partially rising with his knife in hand and 
 peering,] Is that the butter? [He takes some and puts 
 it on bread. To Caroline, as he settles back in his chair.] 
 Mrs. Knollys, I put you on your guard. Before you know 
 it^ Hildegarde will persuade you to invest in tenements and 
 make you a five per cent^ philanthropist. 
 
 Lawrence. [Decidedli/,] No^ she won't! She — 
 
 Krellin. [Interrupting,] Wait! She will induce you 
 to put up better dwellings for the poor; so they can live 
 a little more decently on their miserable wages. You will 
 feel charitable towards them^ because they will give you a 
 steady five per cent.; and the workingmen will be made 
 more contented with conditions^ that otherwise they might 
 be encouraged to radically change. 
 
 Susan. [Horrified,] But don't you believe in charity? 
 
 Krellin. [Throwing up his hands.] Ah, I see! An- 
 other sentimentalist. I surrender! 
 
 Susan. I'm no such thing! 
 
 Krellin. [Gracefully looking at Susan and Caroline.] 
 But neither of you is old enough to be the real conservative. 
 
 Caroline. [Smiling,] You're a radical? 
 
 Krellin. I am a social physician, whose prescriptions 
 nobody respects, because I do not believe in wasting time 
 disguising or trying to cure symptoms. Poverty is the real 
 disease. 
 
 Caroline. Other people have a name for your kind of 
 man. 
 
 Krellin. They call us lots of names. Which one? 
 
 Caroline. They call you " muck-rakers." 
 
 Krellin. [Good humoredly.] Oh, that never offends 
 me. To make all beautiful things grow, there must be some 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 435 
 
 one to stir up . . . ah . . . unappetizing things 
 about the roots. We do that. [Pointing to Caroline.] 
 Unfortunately, however, it is the " other " people that wear 
 the flowers. So! [He eats his soup. 
 
 Lawrence. You mustn't take him seriously, Mrs. 
 Knollys. 
 
 Krellin. Never listen to the artists. They must take 
 nothing seriously; else they could find very little beauty 
 in anything. They are spiritual toy-makers and seducers. 
 They gather the flowers and forget the roots. At least 
 don't take them seriously when they speak. Admire them 
 when they do; because they are permitted to do, and don't 
 know how to speak. Listen to us when we speak; because 
 the government will allow us no other liberty. 
 
 [Eats. 
 
 Lawrence. Nonsense, Michael. 
 
 Krellin. [Appealing to Caroline.] You see, that is 
 my great misfortune. My friends never know when I am 
 in earnest. What else is there to eat.^ 
 [At this moment Murtha appears with a tray on which 
 are chops and vegetables. 
 
 Hildegarde. [To Murtha.] Take these things oflf be- 
 fore you serve the chops. 
 
 [Murtha, without a word, puts the tray on 
 the cup-hoard, and deftly removes the 
 empty soup-howls. 
 
 Krellin. [To Hildegarde.] Emmy will be late. 
 
 [Murtha during the next speeches serves chops. 
 
 Caroline. [Resuming.'] Do you take yourself seriously, 
 Mr. Krellin? 
 
 Krellin. [With a quick glance.] That means you 
 don't. But I did once. That's why I left Russia. 
 
 Hildegarde. Mr. Krellin wrote a book for the Radical 
 movement, and the government didn't like it. 
 
4^36 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Caroline. Wise government. 
 
 IHence forward Lawrence and Caroline 
 form a party against Hildegarde and 
 Krellin. 
 
 Krellin. Yes^ my friends^ the enemy^ were making 
 Russia too hot for me; and Siberia has always been too 
 cold; and — 
 
 Caroline. [Interrupting,] So you decided to make 
 trouble over here. 
 
 [Susan has got an eating devil and is des- 
 patching food, 
 
 Krellin. Precisely. 
 
 Caroline. And in that work, do you take other people 
 seriously } 
 
 Krellin. Sometimes. You see^ I am neither an artist 
 [Bowing to Lawrence] nor a sentimentalist [Bowing to 
 Susan]. 
 
 Susan. [Putting down her knife and forhJ] Now he 
 means me again, Carrie ! 
 
 Caroline. [To Krellin.] Then you and I might 
 understand each other. 
 
 Krellin. Ah, — you mustn't ask me to take you seriously, 
 Mrs. KnoUys; that would be too much to ask. 
 
 Caroline. WTiy? 
 
 Krellin. You see, I know you. You're a spoiled Ameri- 
 can woman; which means you take neither our government 
 nor yourself seriously. I don't blame you; neither do I. 
 In other words, we have a sense of humor. And then you 
 are a Saxon woman; which means to a Russian, that you 
 have elevated hypocrisy until it takes rank with a virtue. 
 Otherwise you could never do as you do. [He eats, 
 
 Lawrence. [Growing nervous,] For heaven's sake, 
 stop him ! 
 
 Hildegarde. Please, Michael, eat. 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 437 
 
 Lawrence. [To Caroline.] He's our interminable 
 talker. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Laughing a little nervously and speaking 
 to Caroline.] People say anything they think here. 
 
 Krellin. [In the midst of a mouthful.'] Yes^ when 
 they think! [Then to Susan.] When they think! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. But we try to argue about principles, not 
 persons. 
 
 Caroline. But I'm not interested in principles. 
 
 Krellin. [To Caroline.] Right you are! Only in- 
 volve people in principles, and you keep them harmless. 
 
 Caroline. [To Krellin.] But do go on. You said 
 you saw me once before. 
 
 Krellin. Yes. I was detailed at the dock when you 
 arrived. 
 
 Caroline. [Not so pleasantly.] Oh. 
 
 [Susan puts down her knife and fork again, 
 
 Krellin. [Continuing.] And a dear^ a very dear friend 
 persuaded me to lose fifteen dollars on your account. 
 
 Caroline. That was a very dear friend^ indeed. 
 
 Krellin. Ah, yes, I had a beautiful article written, 
 which for her sake, I was weak enough to drop ... an 
 article about the humor and hypocrisy of the American 
 woman, — with special reference to yourself, Mrs. Knol- 
 lys . . . [Lawrence is fearful, pushes hack his chair, 
 Caroline has waved aside the chop and peas that Murtha 
 has offered her.] [To Murtha.] Bring that to me. I've 
 had no breakfast. [During the next speeches he has the 
 business of taking Caroline's chop, etc] Shall I continue.^ 
 
 Lawrence. [Decidedly.] No ! 
 
 Caroline. By all means. 
 
 Krellin. [To the others.] You see, she already treats 
 me as an artist. I amuse her. 
 
 Caroline. Immensely. 
 
438 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Krellin. That's why I permit myself to speak. Well, 
 to resume: strange to say, I wrote that the people whose 
 fortunes have been made in industries protected by the gov- 
 ernment are always the very ones most eager to evade the 
 customs imposed by that government to protect their in- 
 dustries. 
 
 Susan. [Fearfully,'} Carrie! 
 
 Krellin. [Impatiently.'] Miss Nambie — Miss Pambie 
 — Miss . . . 
 
 Susan. Amhie is my name. 
 
 Krellin. Pardon, quite so. I do not include you; be- 
 cause on that day you personally lost your sense of humor. 
 [To Caroline.] Your money is made in protected tin plate. 
 Your husband's in protected woollen mills. [LaughsJ] 
 You see, you have a sense of humor and a genius for hy- 
 pocrisy. [Seriously,] You don't respect a government that 
 will let your factories work the poor the way they do. 
 Neither do I. And so you refuse to pay the customs to sup- 
 port that government. No more do I ! 
 
 Lawrence. Michael ! 
 
 Krellin. [Continuing unperturbed.] I admire you! 
 Your personal discernment and your sense of humor were 
 almost worth six thousand dollars to you. I admire you 
 personally — fifteen dollars worth; and that's a great deal 
 for a man who is saving up in order to get married. 
 
 Caroline. [Quietly leading him on,] Oh, you still 
 believe in marriage. That's interesting. 
 
 Krellin. You mean, as soon as we are inconsistent we 
 are interesting. [Wisely,] You believe in conventions that 
 you do not observe; I for a time observe conventions in 
 which I do not believe. 
 
 Susan. [Horrified,] Don't you believe in marriage? 
 
 Krellin. [Bowing to her,] Oh, yes, as all the wnmar- 
 ried people do. 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 439 
 
 Susan. I'm sure I don't know what you mean^ but it 
 makes me very uncomfortable. 
 
 Lawrence. [Laughing,] Gag him ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I'll mix the salad. 
 
 [She gets the salad bowl. Murtha helps her, 
 
 Caroline. Then you believe in women too.^ 
 
 Krellin. Boundlessly. And in every capacity of citi- 
 zenship. [Susan pushes back her chair with an exclama- 
 Hon of disgust, Krellin continues to Caroline.] I be- 
 lieve especially in one, the one I'm going to marry. I 
 believe in eugenics and endowed maternity — in everything 
 that makes for a superior humanity. [To Susan.] I be- 
 lieve that by our foolish laws we can sometimes save people 
 from doing what they'd like to do, [To Caroline.] I 
 should like to save people from being what they are, I 
 believe — Oh — I believe that I'm a stupid fool for telling 
 you sincerely all that I do believe in — and — [To Hilde- 
 GARDE.] Don't put too much vinegar in the dressing. 
 
 Susan. [Outraged,] I've listened long enough! 
 
 Caroline. Why^ Susan ! What's broke loose in you .^ 
 
 Susan. I'm bound to protest! 
 
 Krellin. Ah^ then there's hope for you. 
 
 Susan. [Scathingly,] Oh, I'm not clever! but I think 
 your ideas are perfectly ridiculous and detestable — all of 
 them! 
 
 Krellin. Thank you. I would have doubt of them 
 if you thought otherwise. 
 
 Susan. [Continuing,] And as for women as citizens 
 — women voting and doing the work of men . . . Well, 
 it's bad enough now as it is, when they happen to hold office 
 under the government . . . 
 
 Krellin. [Amused,] I remember. You had difficulty. 
 
 Susan. [Unheeding his interruption,] Yes, we had an 
 experience at the customs ! 
 
440 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Caroline. \JV arningly ,'] Susan! 
 
 Susan. {^Impetuously,'] There was a hussy there when 
 we arrived ... Of all the insolence in office . . . 
 Hah! If I had my way . • . 
 
 {Stops breathlessly, 
 Krellin. You didn't have your way. That was the 
 trouble^ wasn't it? 
 
 Susan. Well, I*d like to meet her some time face to face 
 — That's all; when she didn't have her little badge upon 
 her; and without the authority of the government behind 
 her — I'd . . . 
 
 Krellin. Yes — yes. Excuse me. 
 [The door to the hall has opened and Emily Madden ap- 
 pears. Krellin has risen alertly, 
 Susan. [Bewildered.] What's the matter? 
 
 [She continues to talk to Caroline. 
 Krellin. [At the door with Emily.] Ah^ Emmy^ you're 
 late. 
 
 [He starts to bring her down. She resists a 
 little, seeing strangers present. 
 Caroline. [Seeing Emily.] Susan^ you're a fool! 
 Susan. [Seated with her back to the door, doesn't see 
 Emily. She continues to Caroline^ mournfully :] I had 
 no right to drink that whisky. It always makes me silly. 
 [She suddenly turns, following Caroline's glance, and ex- 
 claims, terrified:] There she is!! Don't you see her? 
 [Crumpled,] Oh, Carrie, it's gone to my head!! 
 
 [She makes a mad clutch at her head, 
 Caroline. Keep quiet! 
 
 Lawrence. [To Caroline.] I'm so sorry. [Then 
 savagely to Hildegarde.] Now, you see! . . . 
 
 [He becomes incoherent and swings up rear, 
 sees MuRTHA, stops short and goes to 
 window. 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 441 
 
 Krellin. [Bringing Emily down.] Emily, there is a 
 lady here, who has just expressed a great desire to meet you. 
 
 Emily. [Advancing a step,'] Oh, then, I'd be deligh — 
 [She stops and recoils as she recognizes Caroline. 
 
 Susan, [Waving her hands,] IVe had quite enough! 
 I Ve had quite enough ! ! [She rises as if to go. 
 
 Krellin. [Gallantli/.] Mrs. Knollys, Miss Madden is 
 the reason for my belief in marriage. 
 
 Caroline. [Amused and pausing,] Oh! That is re- 
 markable. 
 
 [She suddenly realizes that a weapon has 
 been placed in her hands; she immedi- 
 ately becomes calm. Emily is in silent 
 desperaiion. 
 
 Krellin. [Proudly.] It was due to her persuasion that 
 the article I wrote about you was never published in the 
 papers. 
 
 Caroline. [To Emily.] I am glad of this opportunity 
 to thank Miss Madden for that, and [Significantly] for 
 many other favors. 
 
 Emily. [Uncertainly.] Oh, I am sure ... I . . . 
 
 Krellin. [To Emily.] I needed you, my dear, to save 
 me from Miss Ambie and defend the government. Miss 
 Ambie agrees with you about the government. [To Susan.] 
 No? 
 
 Susan. [Vehemently.] I don't! 
 
 Krellin. [To Emily.] She does not! Another con- 
 vert! [Gesture of amusement.] While Mrs. Knollys and 
 I maintain the government is ridiculous. [To Caroline.] 
 No? [Suddenly remembering.] I'll get a chair. 
 
 [He looJcs for one, but there are no more. 
 
 Caroline. [To Krellin.] Don't bother, please. Miss 
 Madden can occupy my place. 
 
 Emily. Oh, no! 
 
442 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [To CAROLINE.] Plcasc don't disturb 
 yourself. [To Lawrence.] Larrie^ get a chair from your 
 room. [Lawrence immediately exits left, 
 
 Caroline. It won^t be a new experience for Miss Mad- 
 den. She has already occupied my place before this^ many 
 times ; and for a long time, I have been accustomed to yield 
 to her. 
 
 Krellin. [Perplexed.] Is that so! How? 
 
 Emily. [In terror.] Oh, Michael, why did I come 
 here ! ! 
 
 Krellin. What's the matter, Emmy.^ 
 
 Caroline. [To Emily.] Have no fear^ Miss Madden. 
 Your intended husband believes in women " boundlessly/' 
 and '* in every capacity.'' He has a sense of humor and 
 admires hypocrites. He will be consistent to his views; 
 but I am sure he will allow me to be equally consistent with 
 mine. 
 
 Krellin. Carte blanche! [Seeing Lawrence re-enter 
 with the chair.] Here we are. Now we can listen. 
 
 Caroline. I have no principles, but I have some pre- 
 judices. And either Miss Madden or I must leave the room. 
 
 Susan. Oh, Carrie! 
 
 Krellin. What do you mean! That isn't argument. 
 That is evasion! 
 
 Lawrence. [Quickly.] Emily and Michael, you've said 
 about enough ! Now please go ! 
 
 [He bangs down the chair. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [To Lawrence.] By no means. Mrs. 
 Knollys will be good enough to explain herself. 
 
 Krellin. What is your reason, Mrs. Knollys.^ 
 
 Caroline. [Charmingly.] Since you insist, it is simply 
 because I refuse to sit at the same table with my husband's 
 mistress. 
 
 Krellin. [Dawning.] Ha!! 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 44S 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Simultaneously,'] Oh! 
 
 Krellin. [Fiercely.] That's a lie ! A black, malicious 
 lie!! 
 
 Caroline. Oh, no! 
 
 Krellin. [Continuing.] She doesn't even know your 
 husband ! 
 
 Caroline. [Confidently taunting.] Ask her! 
 
 Krellin. Madame, I am not here to insult her myself; 
 but to defend her against your attempt to do so. 
 
 Caroline. Ask her, and you will learn it was for my 
 husband's sake that your article was suppressed. But he, 
 no doubt, has paid Miss Madden for any loss you may have 
 suffered. Come, Susan. [To Hildegarde.]. IVe had a 
 most delightful luncheon. My wrap, Lawrence. 
 
 [He exits left. 
 
 Krellin. [Quite aggressive.] Mrs. Knollys, of course 
 you cannot go until I have relieved your mind from any 
 misapprehensions you may have concerning your husband. 
 
 Caroline. But unfortunately I seem to affect Miss 
 Madden disagreeably. 
 
 [Lawrence re-enters with wraps. 
 
 MuRTHA. [Suddenly coming up from the rear.] Fer th*^ 
 love o' Gawd, th' poor gurrl's goin' t' faint ! ! 
 
 [She takes Emily in her arms. 
 
 Emily. [Weakly.] Take me home, Michael. . . . 
 Oh ... I 
 
 MuRTHA. Now there, there, there, dearie, doan't ye 
 moind. . . . 
 
 Krellin. [To Murtha.] Yes, take Miss Madden 
 home ! ! 
 
 Emily. No! Not without you, Michael!! 
 
 Susan. [Terrified.] Carrie, Carrie! Come with me f 
 Come home ! ! I'm sorry we ever came ! These awful 
 people!! [Gets into her wrap. 
 
444 THE UNCHASTEXED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Lawrence. Come^ Mrs. KnoUys. [Then to Krellin 
 and Emily.] If they haven't sense enough to go! 
 
 Krellin. [Fiercely to Caroline.] You cannot go! 
 
 Lawrence. [To Krellin.] What do you mean? 
 
 Krellin. I have something to say to Mrs. Knollys ! 
 
 Susan. [As he comes forward,] Carrie^ if you don't 
 come, I . . . [Weeps in fright,] God knows what they 
 will do! 
 
 Hildegarde. [Beeseechingly,'] Michael, go with Emily ! 
 
 Krellin. [Shaking his mane,] Mrs. Knollys has per- 
 mitted herself to utter a filthy, vicious lie! And I — 
 
 Hildegarde. [Going to him.] But this is not the time 
 to— 
 
 Krellin. [In fury,] A filthy lie ! ! 
 
 Lawrence. [To Krellin.] See here, you can't use that 
 kind of language to my friend! 
 
 Krellin. [Savagely to Lawrence.] Your friend! You 
 little lap-dog! I want nothing from you! Just look to 
 yourself ! ! [He flings Lawrence aside, 
 
 Hildegarde. [Beseechingly,] Michael, go with Emily! 
 She needs you. 
 
 [She turns him around, and he sees Emily 
 being helped to the door by Murtha. 
 
 Emily. [As she leaves with Murtha.] Michael. . . . 
 Michael. • . . 
 
 Krellin. [With suppressed vehemence,] Mrs. Knollys, 
 I shall give myself the pleasure of continuing this con- 
 versation in the presence of your husband. 
 
 [He bows and exits, after Murtha and Emily. 
 
 Susan. [Incoherently,] Carrie, here are your things! 
 Here ! Of all the frightful experiences ! [Spinning 
 around,] Where's my glove? You must get out of this!! 
 
 Hildegarde. Mrs. Knollys, / must have a word with 
 you. 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 445 
 
 Susan. [Dizzily,] Now she's going to begin ! Why 
 did we ever . . . ? 
 
 Lawrence. [Angrily.] Hildegarde, don't you think 
 you'd better drop it? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Meaningly,] It isn't only in reference 
 to Miss Madden that I wish to speak. 
 
 Susan. [Hysterically.] I knew it, Carrie ! [To Hilde- 
 GARDE.] But you're wrong! No matter what you think. 
 . . . People have such vile minds ! [Specifically.] I 
 was with Mrs. Knollys all the time, except once when I 
 took sick. . . . Your husband knows it — and so does 
 Mr. Knollys. ... 
 
 Lawrence. What are you talking about? 
 
 Susan. [Continuing.] And if her kindness is to be 
 misinterpreted — then — 
 
 Lawrence. [Angrily.] Say, Miss Ambie, what's on 
 your mind? 
 
 Caroline. [To Lawrence.] Psch! 
 
 Susan. [Collapsing.] Oh, everybody's crazy! 
 
 Lawrence. [Disgusted.] You're right there. [He 
 turns helplessly.] Hildegarde, I hope that. . . . Oh, 
 what's the use! 
 
 Caroline. [Abruptly.] Quite so, Lawrence; get Susan 
 home. 
 
 [Susan has got rapidly to the hall door. 
 
 Lawrence. But, Hildegarde, I — 
 
 Caroline. Please go. I wish to talk with your wife. 
 [Lawrence takes his hat.] Send the motor back for me 
 immediately. [He crosses to the door. There is a look 
 full of crowded meaning between Hildegarde and Caro- 
 line; then Caroline continues to Lawrence.] Oh, and 
 remember, you have engagements for this afternoon. 
 [Lawrence ea^its with Susan. Hildegarde closes the door 
 after him. There is a pause of sizing up between the two 
 
446 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 women,] [Amused,] You're not going to lock me in; I 
 hope. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Gvavely,] No. But after you leave this 
 room, I want you to pass out of our lives forever. 
 
 Caroline. Your life? That's very simple. You have 
 something else to say to me.'* 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. So many things^ — I hardly know where 
 to begin. 
 
 Caroline. Let me help you. We'll eliminate Miss 
 Madden. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. We wiU uot climinajte Miss Madden. We 
 have a different sense of values, you and I ; but we both are 
 married women. Emily is different. She has nothing but 
 her friends, Michael and me. And we together will force 
 you to retract. 
 
 Caroline. Retract the truth! What else? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. And make a full apology to her. 
 
 Caroline. I have never apologized in my life. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Then you have a new experience in store 
 for you. [Pause,] What was your purpose in coming here 
 to-day ? 
 
 Caroline. [With charming frankness.] You know. My 
 interest in your husband. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. And uow, you think you can eliminate me. 
 
 Caroline. Why? Your husband has his own career; 
 and you are sensible. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. It's a daugcrous thing to interfere with 
 other people's lives. 
 
 Caroline. Yes. We discussed that some time ago. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. You told mc then that I might hinder 
 him, — that my very work in the world might be an obstacle. 
 Since then I've left him free. I haven't influenced him — 
 
 Caroline. Oh, don't make virtues of your inabilities. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. You mean ? 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 447 
 
 Caroline. Don't boast of what you couldn't do. You 
 know you couldn't keep him here. Don't say you didn't 
 xvant to. That would be weak. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I don't wish to speak of Lawrence. I wish 
 to speak of you. I am told the world of art needs women 
 of your kind. You have everything — wealth, influence, 
 position. You hold patronage and opportunity in your 
 hands. 
 
 Caroline. [Interrupting.'] Why don't you add: "You 
 hold my husband too " ? In other words, that you regret 
 your bargain; and you want me to send him back to you. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Scomfully,] Oh, no! But don't make 
 the price for your patronage so high, that a inan must 
 sacrifice his self-respect to gain the prize you offer. 
 
 Caroline. [Quietly, after a looh,"] I never dreamed 
 that you'd be jealous; are you.'^ 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Fervently,'] Yes, I am jealous — jealous 
 for him, but not of him! 
 
 Caroline. I've given him the opportunity. He has 
 chosen. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. He hasu't ! 
 
 Caroline. Then why are you so anxious.^ 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Continuing,] To choose, one must be 
 independent. He isn't. He thinks he dare not choose 
 against you. He fears to jeopardize commissions. There's 
 where you make unscrupulous use of your advantages ! 
 
 Carolne. [With a smile,] My dear Mrs. Sanbury, I 
 may be mistaken; but you seem bent on telling me your 
 husband doesn't care for me. Is that what you mean? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Xo. [Suddenly,] AVhat are you trying to 
 make me think? 
 
 Caroline. Think what you like. J make no disguises. 
 But I marvel at you. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. At me ! 
 
4i8 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 Caroline. I thought you weren't a feminine woman. 
 You're interested in so many things beside your husband. 
 I've interested myself in him. If^ in that interest^ you 
 think that he has gone beyond what you expected; why 
 not speak to him? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE, Hc's lost his scuscs ! You'vc blinded him ! 
 
 Caroline. I thought I had opened his eyes. You see. 
 Love isn't blind. The trouble is, it sees too much! 
 [Obliterating her with a glance,^ It sometimes sees things 
 that aren't there at all. It isn't my fault if now he sees 
 things as they are. I open everybody's eyes. That's my 
 profession. [Significantly.^ I've opened yours, I hope. 
 I've opened Mr. Krellin's. [She laughs. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Ycs, and tried wantonly to destroy his 
 faith in Emily, as now you're trying to destroy my faith in 
 Lawrence. 
 
 Caroline. Ah, then you are afraid! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Uncertainly.] Afraid of what! 
 
 Caroline. You fear to lose your husband's love. Of 
 course, you'll struggle. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I ucvcr Struggle for what is mine. 
 
 Caroline. Hum. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Ncrvously,] I'm not afraid of Lawrence, 
 Your insinuations don't affect me — you ... 
 
 Caroline. Indeed. Then why this argument? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Amazcd.] You'd like to make me think 
 my husband is your lover! [She draws a sharp breath. 
 
 Caroline. And if that were the case — What then? 
 
 [Pause. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Oh, uo ! You wouldu't boast of it ! 
 
 Caroline. [Quietly.] I never boast. Only the in- 
 secure do that. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. It's a lie ! It's a lie ! ! It's a lie ! ! ! 
 
 Caroline. Ask him. 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 449 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. You mean you would have me ask my hus- 
 band such a question? 
 
 Caroline. Why not? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. {^Suddenly calm, and seeing through Caro- 
 line.] Because it isn't important enough^ Mrs. Knollys. 
 
 Caroline. You mean^ your husband's fidelity isn't im- 
 portant to you? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Oh^ ycs^ but there's far more at stake. 
 For his sake^ I've stepped aside. I've given you every 
 chance with him; because you may have helped him. 
 ... I don't know. You've taken his time^ his mind^ 
 his work^ his energy. He has amused you, fed your vanity 
 and gratified your sense of power over people. I've been 
 patient. I've left him free to choose. For if a woman 
 like you can take the rest of him from me; he isn't worth 
 my energy to keep. I don't want even a part of him; 
 if anything is withheld — 
 
 Caroline. [With an amused sneer.'] And what have I 
 to do with your ideal of marriage? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I dou't approvc of the way that you make 
 use of the protection of your husband's name! 
 
 Caroline. Then you'd better see my husband. 
 
 [She goes toward the hall door, 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Pcrhaps I shall. 
 
 Caroline. He'll be delighted to discuss Miss Madden. 
 Mr. Krellin also wants to speak with him. He'll welcome 
 you both; I'm sure. [Turning casually.] He's just back 
 from the South. He'll be in splendid humor after all 
 you've done for him in shutting up the mills. Good-by. 
 
 [She exits in smiling good humor, 
 
 [HiLDEGARDE stands by the table and slowly 
 
 sinks into a chair. The hum of tenement 
 
 life becomes audible. A baby is heard 
 
 crying; and every detail that can be de- 
 
450 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 veloped, pointing to the barren squalor 
 of her life is emphasized as in contrast 
 with the elegance of Mrs. Knollys. 
 HiLDEGARDE sits lost lu thought, while the 
 hub'bub swings around her. Suddenly 
 the telephone begins to ring. Hilde- 
 GARDE doesn't notice it at first. The bell 
 continues. Hildegarde seems to come to 
 her senses with a start. She goes to the 
 'phone, takes receiver and listens mechani- 
 cally. 
 Hildegarde. Yes. . . . This is Mrs. Sanbury. . . . 
 Who is this.^ . . . Oh^ Miss Ambie. . . . Yes. . . , 
 Mrs. Knollys has just left. . . . [^Coldly.'] I quite 
 understand. Yes. . . . Good-bye. . . . [Suddenly.] 
 Wait! Hello! [Quietly.] Is Mr. Sanbury still there? 
 [MuRTHA has entered softly from the hall, and goes to 
 clear up the table.] . . . Yes. ... I should like to 
 speak with him. [Pause. She speaks very tenderly.] Is 
 this you^ Larrie? . . . I'm sorry; but it couldn't be 
 helped. . . . She's just left. . . . Yes. . . . Nothing 
 has happened. . . . I'd just like to speak with you; as 
 soon as you can get here. . . . Larrie! . . , What? 
 . . . You can't? . . . [Long breath.] Then I'll wait 
 for you. . . . This evening too . . . ? ... Well, 
 listen^ Larrie, you must come. . . . No. ... I can't 
 speak of it over the 'phone. ... I must see you; and 
 as quickly as possible. . . , But this is important too ! 
 [Pause.] No! I can't wait! . . . Do you understand, 
 Larrie, I won't wait ! ! ! 
 
 [She claps up the receiver and crosses to her 
 room exclaiming hysterically : ^' I won't 
 wait!! I won't wait!! " Murtha goes 
 on quietly clearing up the dishes at the 
 
Act II] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 451 
 
 table, HiLDEGARDE is heard pulling out 
 drawers violently and pushing them back 
 again, Murtha shakes her head sorrow- 
 fully. She has cannily sensed the situa- 
 tion, HiLDEGARDE re-enters, carrying a 
 small satchel, which she places on a chair 
 next to the table. During the following 
 scene she packs it with a dressing gown, 
 tooth bru^h, hair brush and comb, slip- 
 pers, night gown, etc. Several times dur- 
 ing the scene she exits rapidly to her room 
 for these toilet articles, and returns, with- 
 out interrupting the dialogue. 
 Murtha. [As Hildegarde enters carrying her satchel.^ 
 Ye ain't goin' away; are ye? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Jamming things into the grip.'\ Yes 
 . . . yes . . . 
 
 Murtha. [Suddenly. 1 Ah, whereas me head! I saw th' 
 Doolans. They've got a date wid you^ they say. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Going to her room.] I don't want to see 
 them. 
 
 Murtha. [Calling after Hildegarde.] Th' agent says 
 he's goin' to throw him out. 
 HiLDEGARDE. He deserves it. 
 
 Murtha. Ah_, but jisht a word from you. . • . Moy, 
 th' poor woman an' th' fambly. ... 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Entering and continuing her packing.] 
 I can't help them. 
 
 Murtha. Doolan wanted to come here to apologoize; 
 but 01 told him he'd bedther not. He'd be met on th' door- 
 shtep wid a lump av his death ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. You cau tcU them the ejection office will 
 tend to them. 
 
 [She exits again and immediately re-appears. 
 
452 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act II 
 
 MuRTHA. ShurC; it's not you that's talkin'^ dearie; and 
 Oi can't go down there ! Th' avvicer would see me oye, 
 and know th' Doolans done it. ... Oh^ where's that 
 shtuff? They say it's goin' blue on me. . . . An' you 
 wouldn't have thim turned out in th' shtreet. . . . 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Pointing to the shelf above the sink,'] 
 It's over there. You'd better take it with you. 
 
 MuRTHA. Thank ye. [Tenderly coaxing,'] Go on now, 
 you. Go on now, shishter. . . . Take him back and 
 let him shtay. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. After what they've done to you; it seems 
 queer that you ... 
 
 MuRTHA. Shure ye can't be angry wid th' min folks. 
 . . . They're chilthren all av thim. [Piling up dishes,'] 
 Some gits crazy over the booze, and some gits crazy over 
 polyteecks . . . and some gits crazy over wimmin . . . 
 [Picking up all the dishes] and th' resht gits crazy over 
 nothin' at all. [Coaxingly,] Go on now. . . , Give 
 iviry body anither chanct. That's what I alius says. [Sing- 
 ing out,] Ha! Now there's moy Tim — Ha! Oi could ha' 
 left him any toime this forty years fer what he done to me 
 — and what he didn't do, . . . G'wan now^ dearie, give 
 th* man anither chanct. [Hildegarde leaves the grip,] 
 Th' Lord love ye, that's roight . . . and it's th* gran* 
 good heart ye have. [Hildegarde goes toward door of her 
 room, Murtha continues with a wise and tender canni- 
 ness,] And . . . ah . . . ye'U not be needin' these 
 things roight away. . . . [She throws the grip into her 
 room,] You'd bedther shleep here fer to-night. . . . 
 [Hildegarde has exited sobbing brokenly, Murtha re- 
 turns to the work of clearing up the table. She shakes her 
 head and exclaims:] Shure, they're chilthren! Ivery 
 blessed wan of thim — just chilthren. 
 
 [The Curtain descends on the Second Act, 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 453 
 
 ACT III 
 
 [The scene is the same as Act II. It is about eight-thirty 
 of the evening of the same day. The table has been 
 cleared and everything is restored to order. The door 
 of HiLDEGARDE^s rooM is opcn. There are no lights on 
 the stage, but the scene is dimly lit by the glow of lights 
 from the flats in the rear. 
 
 After the rise of the curtain, Krellin enters from 
 the hall door, and goes immediately to the telephone 
 on the typewriting desk.^ 
 
 Krellin. [With the 'phone.^ Hello — give me seven- 
 one-one Plaza — yes, if you please. No, seven-one-one. 
 [Enter Lawrence from the hall, flinging the door bach, 
 Krellin. Say, be quiet, will you.'^ 
 
 Lawrence. [Nervously. 1 Oh, that you, Krellin? 
 Where's Hildegarde.^ 
 
 [He turns on a light over the table. 
 Krellin. Psch! [To 'phone."] Hello, seven-one-one 
 Plaza? Yes. Mr. Krellin of the "New York Echo" 
 would, like to speak with Mr. KnoUys. 
 
 Lawrence. [Startled.] See here, Krellin, you'd better 
 drop it. 
 
 Krellin. [To 'phone.] Then I'll ring up again — yes, 
 later. [As soon as Lawrence has gathered that 
 
 Hubert is out, he makes a gesture of 
 relief and flings into Hildegarde's room. 
 He finds her bag and immediately re- 
 enters carrying it. Krellin, in the in* 
 terim, has hung up the receiver. 
 
454 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 Lawrence. What does this mean? Where is she? 
 
 IHe drops the bag and goes uncertainly 
 toward his room at the left, and opens the 
 door. 
 
 Xrellin. Have you been drinking? 
 
 Lawrence. [^Fiercely. ] That's my business! 
 
 Krellin. H'm! Have you any other? 
 
 Lawrence. [Coming towards him,] I want to know 
 where my wife is ; and I want to know why you're telephon- 
 ing my friends ! 
 
 Krellin. Because I won't let your friends treat my 
 Emmy the way you let them treat your wife. 
 
 Lawrence. Don't you interfere between Hildegarde and 
 me! Because, if you do, by God, I'll — 
 
 Krellin. I don't mix in with you. I have my own 
 Tseore to settle with Mr. KnoUys and his wife. 
 
 Lawrence. [Seriously.] Krellin, I advise you to leave 
 Mr. KnoUys out of it. 
 
 Krellin. Ah, you are afraid, eh? 
 -Lawrence. It isn't me — it's — [He hesitates, 
 
 Krellin. [Violently.] So! You too!! That woman 
 -ias made you believe that Emmy — [He goes toward Law- 
 rence angrily, but stops and laughs.] I don't wonder 
 Mrs. KnoUys thinks aU women are like she is ! 
 
 Lawrence. [Violently.] You — ? 
 
 Krellin. [Quietly.] AU the more am I determined 
 now. 
 
 Lawrence. [At his wits' end.] There'll be an awful 
 mix-up! I don't know what to do! [Sits down blankly. 
 
 Krellin. Don't think that I don't know why you're 
 
 afraid of Mr. KnoUys. It isn't business — it isn't Emmy 
 
 — it's you. [Scathingly.] I am ashamed of you! You'd 
 
 let this lie rest on my Emmy's shoulders, rather than have 
 
 -the truth revealed about yourself. Of course you don't 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 455 
 
 want the truth to come out. But you see, I'm different. 
 I don*t fear the truth. And if your conduct with Mrs. 
 Knollys cannot stand her husband's or your wife's investi- 
 gation, I am sorry. That is all. 
 
 Lawrence. Get that idea out of your head! I don't 
 fear the truth. It's Hildegarde I'm thinking of, and only 
 Hildegarde. 
 
 Krellin. [Scornfully,] You've thought so much of 
 her these last four months, since — 
 
 Lawrence. I have. We're down to rock-bottom, Krel-- 
 lin. We're full of debts — even my life-insurance is gone. 
 I've given up my job. We've pawned everything that we 
 could raise a cent on; and Hildegarde's stood by me. That's 
 why you can't go on and spoil things now, by dragging 
 Mr. Knollys in. [Krellin laughs scornfully,'] I know it 
 looks as if I had neglected Hildegarde; but she under* 
 stands. I've had to hold on to this one chance, tooth and 
 toe-nail. [Desperately.] I won't let anything interfere 
 with it! Not you, nor Hildegarde — nor Emily — nor — 
 
 Krellin. [Interrupting,] Is that so! Well, no matter 
 what it costs to you or anybody else, we make Mrs. Knollys 
 eat those lying words she said about my Emmy. So. 
 
 [Krellin exits through the hall door. 
 [Lawrence stands perplexed for a moment, 
 then goes decidedly to the ^phone and 
 rings up, 
 
 Lawrence. Hello — give me one-four-three-three Plaza 
 — yes — in a hurry, please. [Pause,] Central, they must 
 answer. It's a private wire and they are expecting me to 
 ring them up. [Pause, Then with an exaggerated change 
 to a very polite manner,] Oh, hello — Is that you, Caroline? 
 I've been very busy — yes — all afternoon. Yes, I'm so sorry, 
 but I shan't be able to get back — Nothing's happened 
 to my voice; but — ah — the fact is I've had an accident 
 
456 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 • . . only my ankle — Oh^ nothing serious — I'm sure^ 
 so don't be alarmed. . . . Yes, getting out of the cab. 
 ... I'm telephoning from a drug store. . . . Yes, it 
 is painful; but I'm sure it's only wrenched. • . . Yes, 
 I'll ring up my doctor as soon as I get home. ... I 
 shall be quite alone. . . . Please don't worry. . . . 
 Oh_, I can tend to everything. [Pause.] I've already 
 telephoned to Mrs. Millette. . . . Mercy, no, I wouldn't 
 have a nurse touch me. . . . Yes, I'll telephone in the 
 morning . . . yes, then as soon as he has left, I'll ring 
 you up and tell you what his diagnosis is. . . . Hilde- 
 garde? . . . No, I haven't seen her. . . . Oh, not 
 because of anything that happened here. . . . She's — 
 she left this afternoon to spend the week-end with some 
 friends — yes — somewhere in the country — Westchester. 
 
 • . . No, I shan't send for her. . . . Yes, if there's 
 anything — bat — Oh, thank you so much. . . . Good-by. 
 
 [He rings off. During the last part of the 
 above speech, Hildegarde has quietly 
 entered from the hall door. 
 X-AWRENCE. [Relieved and confused.] Oh — Westches- 
 ter! — I mean, I've just been telephoning. 
 
 Hildegarde. I didn't expect to see you this evening. 
 
 [She goes to her typewriting desk for some letters^ etc. 
 Lawrence. Well, there was something in the sound of 
 your voice over the 'phone that made me nervous; and I 
 lied out of my engagements. As usual, said the first foolish 
 thing that came into my mind. Now I'll have to stick to 
 it, I suppose. 
 
 Hildegarde. Why do you always lie these days? 
 
 Lawrence. I never lie to you. 
 
 Hildegarde. Is that really the truth? 
 
 Lawrence. Why, yes ! 
 
 Hildegarde. Why did you say I was in Westchester? 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 457 
 
 Lawrence. I didn't know where you'd gone to^ and — 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Didn't you say I'd gone to Westchester 
 because you were afraid that Mrs. Knollys would be jealous 
 of your spending an evening alone with me.^ 
 
 Lawrence. What have you got in your head.^ [S/ie 
 looks at him. He continues,^ I had to say something to 
 get out of things. Then I come home and find your bag 
 packed. Where are you going? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I think it best I go away a little while. 
 
 Lawrence. Away.^ Where to.^ 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I havcu't decided. I was going to leave 
 a note for you; but Michael told me you were here; so I — 
 
 Lawrence. [^Bursting.'] Michael! Do you know what 
 he's doing? And just now, of all times! When everything 
 depends on Mr. Knollys? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Ycs, I adviscd him. 
 
 Lawrence. What! [Pause,'] Hildegarde, suppose what 
 Mrs. Knollys said about Emily is true? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Turning sharply,] Larrie ! 
 
 Lawrence. Well, I said, suppose it's true. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. It's uot. And cvcn if it were, she's not the 
 one to make the accusation. 
 
 Lawrence. Why not? [Pause.] What's in your mind? 
 Krellin's been saying things ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Oh, UO. 
 
 Lawrence. I know it. Why, just a moment ago he 
 said that I was afraid to meet Mr. Knollys. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Afraid? Why? 
 
 Lawrence. He thinks that I — 
 
 \^He hesitates. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [In a level tone.] What — ? 
 
 Lawrence. That I've forgotten you. [RecMessly,'\ 
 Oh, I don't care what he thinks, except that I don't want 
 you to get wrong-headed. I thought at least, you'd under* 
 
458 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 stand. There's not a thing I've done that anybody can't 
 question. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. That's ambiguous^ Larrie; but I shan't 
 question you. 
 
 Lawrence. I mean that anybody can't investigate. I've 
 never really lied to you; have I.^ 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. No — not lied exactly — just disguised 
 things to make it easier for mc . . . Oh, yes, Larrie, 
 my clothes, my work^ our home, our life together, your 
 work and all the circumstances and people that have come 
 between us. 
 
 Lawrence. Oh, those things ! I don't mean them. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. What do you mean? 
 
 Lawrence. [Blurting it out,"] I mean Car — Mrs. 
 Knollys. That's what you mean; and that's what Krellin 
 means. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Tremulously J] Yes. [She turns away.'] 
 
 Lawrence. I want to explain everything, right from 
 the beginning — everything. [She moves away. He fol- 
 lows.] I want you to know the whole truth, and nothing 
 hut the truth; and then you can judge for yourself. Oh, 
 J'm not proud of what I've had to do; but there isn't a 
 single thing that you can't know about — or that I'm really 
 ashamed of — I swear! [There is a knock at the hall door. 
 Lawrence, after a gesture of impatience, continues:] If 
 that's Krellin, tell him I want to be alone with you. He 
 can't telephone. He's got to leave Mr. Knollys out of this. 
 I don't want Knollys to get wrong-headed too! 
 
 [He has followed Hildegarde who has moved 
 up to the door. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [At door, to Lawrence.] Pleasc ! 
 
 [She opens the door and discovers Hubert 
 Knollys standing there. 
 
 Hubert. [To Hildegarde.] I couldn't find the bell. 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 459 
 
 Lawrence. [Retreating,'] Oh, Lord! 
 
 Hubert. Mrs. Sanbury, I'm very glad to see you. 
 
 [Extends his hand. She takes it. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. IVc been hoping you'd come. 
 
 [Lawrence is surprised^ 
 
 Hubert. Thank you. 
 
 Lawrence. Yes — we — 
 
 Hubert. [Laconically to Lawrence.] Oh — how are 
 you ? 
 
 Lawrence. [Emharrassed."] Oh, finely . . . been 
 pretty busy since you left; but — 
 
 Hubert. [Abruptly, ] Yes, so I hear. [He turns to 
 HiLDEGARDE and points to a chair,] May I.^ 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Nodding,] Let me take your things. 
 
 [Lawrence takes his hat and coat^ 
 
 Hubert. [Sitting and speaking to Hildegarde.] I've 
 just got back from the South. 
 
 Lawrence. [Effusively,] Yes, we heard you were 
 away. 
 
 Hubert. [Turning quietly.] I was rather of the 
 opinion that you knew I was away. 
 
 Lawrence. Yes, to be sure — of course. Did you have a 
 successful trip of it? 
 
 Hubert. [Ironically.] Have you had time to read the 
 papers? 
 
 Lawrence. I was interested and all that; though I 
 haven't followed the strike very closely. A little out of 
 my line, you know. So if you're going to talk economics, 
 hadn't I better — ? [He starts toward his room. 
 
 Hubert. [Interrupting.] There are some things I wish 
 to discuss with your wife. I'd rather you'd be here. That 
 is, if you don't mind. 
 
 Lawrence. [Vaguely.] By all means — not at all. 
 
 [HiLDEGARDE tums anxiously to Hubert- 
 
460 THE UNXHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 Hubert. [To Hildegarde.] You know^ it was due a 
 little to your suggestion, I went South. 
 
 -Hildegarde. And? 
 
 TIuBERT. We've increased the operative's salaries and 
 killed the child labor. 
 
 Hildegarde. We know about the splendid settlement 
 you forced. 
 
 Hubert. [Grimli/,'] I couldn't have done it by myself. 
 You opened fire on my competitors. That made it easy. 
 It looked like a general lock-out; so I called a committee 
 of the managers^ and we all agreed to meet the strikers' 
 terms. Alone^ I would have made a Quixotic failure. 
 Well, we've yielded. You've kept your word; I've kept 
 mine. Now we'll see what the workers will do with more 
 money and shorter hours. Personally, I think they'll in- 
 vest in more phonographs and liquor; and their children 
 will continue to go barefoot. 
 
 Hildegarde. Perhaps. But the use of time and money 
 must be learned. 
 
 Hubert. They'll have their chance. Now, for the 
 matter that brings me here immediately. [He takes out a 
 letter,"] I received this by messenger this afternoon — from 
 Miss Madden. 
 
 Hildegarde, Yes. 
 
 Hubert. Miss Madden urges me to see you. 
 
 Hildegarde. She told me. 
 
 Hubert. So I am here to do anything I can in the way 
 of reparation. 
 
 Hildegarde. There's only one possible reparation. Your 
 wife must withdraw her statement absolutely. The cir- 
 cumstances are such that — 
 
 Hubert. I know. 
 
 Hildegarde. What can have been her motive? 
 
 Hubert. There is no question of Miss Madden's inno- 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 46l 
 
 cence. She suffers from two misfortunes. Firstly, she is a 
 very dear friend of mine; and secondly, she was of service 
 to my wife. Gratitude makes some natures resentful. I, 
 however, feel a great obligation to Miss Madden for avert- 
 ing a scandal, that my wife's ignorance of the law nearly 
 precipitated. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Mr. Krcllin helped her hush the matter 
 up. But now, unless your wife withdraws her statements, 
 he is determined to publish everything. 
 
 Hubert. So his telegram informed me. But Mr. Krel- 
 lin's threat could have very little weight either with Mrs. 
 Knollys or with me. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Why.'* 
 
 Hubert. You must surely see that after doing all he 
 could to keep the matter from the press, it would be ridicu- 
 lous for Krellin now to make an exposure. His own con- 
 duct couldn't stand investigation. [Pause,~\ Will not my 
 personal apology for Mrs. Knollys to Mr. Krellin and Miss 
 Madden suffice? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Considering the accusation and the way 
 you are involved, I should say not. 
 
 Hubert. Perhaps you're right. [Rises,'] I suggested it 
 merely to show you how really powerless we are. A money 
 damage for defamation is out of the question — 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. QuitC. 
 
 Hubert. Then what do you propose? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [FzVmZ^.] That right here, and before 
 the very people in whose presence Mrs. Knollys made the 
 accusation, she must retract and with full apologies. 
 Nothing less. 
 
 Hubert. [Involuntarily,'] I'd love to see it! 
 
 Lawrence. Hildegarde ! 
 
 Hubert. [To Hildegarde.] Your husband's exclama- 
 tion proves that he and I know my wife much better than 
 
462 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 you do, Mrs. Sanbury. He appreciates her force of wilL 
 [To Lawrence.] Don't you^ sir.^ 
 
 [Lawrence looks on guard and says nothing, 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Is your wifc absolutely indifferent to the 
 social consequences of her own conduct.^ 
 
 Hubert. {^Sitting.'] Ah! Why do you ask? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Bccausc immediately after having accused 
 Emily, she did her best to make me believe my husband had 
 become her lover. 
 
 Hubert. [Attempting to be surprised.'] What!! 
 
 Lawrence. [Bounding out of his skin,] Hildegarde ! ! 
 [To Hubert.] This is outrageous! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. YcS. 
 
 [Lawrence is open mouthed. 
 
 Hubert. [To Hildegarde.] Are you sure you're not 
 mistaken? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Oh, no. On the contrary, she took the 
 greatest pains to impress it on me with all the malicious 
 insolence of triumph she could command. 
 
 Hubert. But — why do you tell me this? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. To ask you to use it as you think best, to 
 help me to force your wife to make just reparation to my 
 friend. 
 
 Lawrence. [Finding his voice,] It's all a damnable 
 lie! A whole-sale rotten — ! 
 
 Hubert. [Interrupting,] Pardon, I should reserve such 
 language until you have a better right to use it. 
 
 Lawrence. Wh-what do you mean? 
 
 Hubert. Remember, sir, the lady you are speaking of 
 is still my wife. 
 
 Lawrence. [Wildly.] I can't help that! I have my 
 wife to consider, Mr. KnoUys, and — 
 
 Hubert. [Scornfully.] Indeed! 
 
 Lawrence. [Continuing.] And with all deference to 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 463 
 
 your wife^ I must repeat that if your wife said those things 
 to my wife, your wife uttered a lie ! ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. So I told her myself. 
 
 Hubert. [Promptly.'] You did that to shield your hus- 
 band. 
 
 Lawrence. {Vehemently.'] And I protest that if your 
 wife — 
 
 Hubert. [Sternly to Lawrence.] Keep quiet! 
 
 Lawrence. [Spinning about,] For God's sake, some 
 one do me the favor to tell me that one of us is blind or 
 deaf or — 
 
 Hubert. [Severely,] Sit down!! 
 
 Lawrence. [Landing into a chair and wailing,] She's 
 old enough to be my mother! 
 
 Hubert. [To Hildegarde.] Did she say anything 
 further? Come! 
 
 Hildegarde. She wantonly taunted me with my failure 
 to hold my husband. When I told her I did not believe 
 her, she even urged me to question him. I refused. Please 
 to observe I have not questioned him. 
 
 Lawrence. [Imploringly,] Oh, why didn't you.^ 
 
 Hubert. [To Hildegarde.] Why did you not question 
 him? 
 
 Hildegarde. Because — simply because I did not believe 
 your wife. 
 
 Lawrence. [Fervently,] Thank God! 
 
 Hubert. But if you do not believe her statements, why 
 repeat them to me ? 
 
 Hildegarde. To serve my friend, I shall deliberately 
 choose to believe your wife; and if you will help me — 
 
 Hubert. [Interjecting,] Rely on that. 
 
 Hildegarde. Then I shall act as if everything she said 
 were absolutely true. 
 
 Lawrence. Oh, Hildegarde! How can you!? 
 
464 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [To HuBERT.] In that way we can turn 
 her arrow against Emily into a boomerang to recoil upon 
 herself. 
 
 Hubert. Hum, Then you will name her as a co-res- 
 pondent? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Genuinely frightened.'] What! You 
 mean divorce my — divorce Larrie.'* 
 
 Hubert. Yes. 
 
 Lawrence. [To Hildegarde.] See here! I'm the 
 one that your damned boomerang is hitting! 
 
 Hubert. [To Hildegarde.] This is unavoidable. 
 
 Lawrence. See here! — 
 
 Hildegarde. [Expostulatingly to Hubert.] But don't 
 you see that I do not believe her. She did it to provoke a 
 jealous quarrel; and if I judge her rightly^ she will with- 
 draw her insults rather than endure disgrace. It won't 
 have to go that far! D-Don't you see that.^ 
 
 Hubert. Thank you for your assurance^ but I must dif- 
 fer with you. 
 
 Lawrence. [To Hubert.] Why? — do you think that 
 I—? 
 
 Hubert. [Calmly.] I think there is an important person 
 that you both have so far overlooked — myself. [To 
 Lawrence.] You have chosen to protect my wife by call- 
 ing her a liar. [To Hildegarde.] You protect your hus- 
 band by calling her a liar, too. It seems my attitude has 
 been neglected. [Hildegarde is appalled. 
 
 Lawrence. [Bravely.] Well — ? 
 
 Hubert. Yes. Here's where you come in. 
 
 Lawrence. [Crumbling,] What do you intend to do? 
 
 Hubert. I choose to believe these statements for my 
 own sake. 
 
 Hildegarde. You can't! You can't!! 
 
 Lawrence. [To Hubert.] You don't mean to say!— 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 465 
 
 [To HiLDEGARDE^ wUdly ,"] Hc believes it! He believes 
 it! 
 
 Hubert. [Quietly,'] I always believe my wife when 
 she affirms, never when she denies. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Stupefied,'] But, Mr. KnoUys, you don't 
 really think that . . . 
 
 Hubert. [Interrupting,] My dear lady, you are too 
 gullible. [To Lawrence.] Now, I want the truth, and 
 I expect it manfully. 
 
 [He approaches Lawrence, who retreats, 
 
 Lawrence. This is perfectly ridiculous ! 
 
 Hubert. [Taking out a note-hook,] Please have the 
 courtesy to remember that it is you who has made us both 
 ridiculous; and don't thrust it down our throats. [Consult- 
 ing his hook,] You spent at least a week with Caroline 
 alone in Italy. 
 
 Lawrence. That isn't true! Susan Ambie . . . 
 
 Hubert. [Promptly,] I have seen Miss Ambie. She 
 did more than confess. She attempted to defend it. 
 
 Lawrence. Miss Ambie is a fool! 
 
 Hubert. Quite so. [Continuing,] Do you admit being 
 alone with Mrs. KnoUys? 
 
 Lawrence. [Pausing,] Why — I — 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Gone white,] Don't deny it, Larrie. 
 
 Hubert. [To Hildegarde.] I heard you say some 
 weeks ago you had letters to that effect. 
 
 Lawrence. [Imploringly ,] Hildegarde ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Ycs. I havc them. 
 
 Hubert. Very good. I trust you to produce them at 
 the proper time. [To Lawrence.] You crossed on the 
 same steamer. 
 
 Lawrence. [Grasping at a straw,] Miss Ambie was 
 with us! 
 
 Hubert. Yes; and since your arrival on October 5th 
 
466 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 you have devoted all your time, practically day and night, 
 to each other. 
 
 Lawrence. [Angrily,] I won't stand here and have 
 you say such things about your wife! 
 
 Hubert. Am I to be the only one who does not say 
 them? 
 
 Lawrence. She simply — 
 
 Hubert. [With feigned anger."] Pray do not explain 
 my wife to me. [Continuing from his note-book.] On 
 October 7th you actually installed yourself under my roof 
 — a most tasteless procedure, which I refused to counte- 
 nance. I went South, You thought, no doubt, that open- 
 ness would disarm suspicion. It doesn't work. As part 
 of that same plan, my wife openly confesses her infatua- 
 tion to your wife, boasts of her power, and then further 
 openly denounces an innocent woman, in order to pro- 
 duce the impression that her own actions are not subject 
 to criticism. Truly, this is the very blindness of infatua- 
 tion. [Laughs.] I admire your brass — but really it won't 
 do. The rest of us are not so blind. I compliment you 
 on your conquest [Ironically], But how long did you 
 imagine I would allow this to continue.^ 
 
 Lawrence. Mr. KnoUys, all that I can say is — 
 
 Hubert. [Scathingly.] At least, sir, have the courage 
 of your actions. [Snapping his book closed, and looking at 
 Hildegarde, who sees she has awakened a Frankenstein,] 
 I have a further list of rendezvous, which I shall not ask 
 you to verify in the presence of your wife ! 
 
 Lawrence. My wife knows everything that can be 
 said about me ! 
 
 Hubert. I doubt it. In any case, your protection until 
 now has been your wife's credulity. We shall see. When 
 my lawyer — 
 
 Lawrence. [Interrupting.] All right. Get your 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 467 
 
 lawyer. Now 111 thank you, Mr. Knollys^ to leave me alone 
 with my wife, who's never doubted me, and has no reason to 
 doubt me now. I have the courage of my actions ! I'll 
 bring the whole thing right into the open — and if you 
 can stand it, I can. 
 
 [r/te two men look each other squarely in the 
 eye. Suddenly the hell rings over the 
 hall door. 
 Hubert. [Turning to Hildegarde.] Is that your bell? 
 [HiLDEGARDE goes directly to the hall door, 
 opens it and discloses Mrs. Knollys. She 
 is magnificently dressed in a long opera 
 cloak over her evening gown. She has 
 also a heavy veil about her head, Caro- 
 line enters swiftly, then stands appalled. 
 Hubert. [Recognizing her.] Ah, Caroline! [Sur- 
 prise of all. Caroline undoes her veil and faces him,] 
 You come most apropos. [Sarcastically.] Did you call 
 to see Mrs. Sanbury ? 
 
 Caroline. [After a pause.] I ... I have called 
 for you. [She comes into the room. 
 
 Hubert. Indeed! How is that.'* 
 
 Caroline. I am on my way to the opera. I assumed 
 that Miss Madden had summoned you. I thought I'd pick 
 you up. 
 
 Hubert. How kind of you. But may I ask why you 
 assumed that I'd be here in Mrs. Sanbury 's apartment.'* 
 
 Caroline. Quite naturally. Mrs. Sanbury is the only 
 other person interested with you, in deceiving Mr. Krellin 
 and whitewashing Miss Madden. 
 
 Hildegarde. Mrs. Knollys, my husband telephoned you 
 that I had gone to Westchester; so you couldn't have ex- 
 pected to see me. [Lawrence is desperate, 
 Hubert. [To Caroline.] Oh, you expected to find 
 
468 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 Mr, Sanbury alone. [After a glance at Lawrence, he 
 turns to HiLDEGARDE.] WcU, then^ Mts. Sanbury^ let us 
 no longer intrude. Will you direct me to Miss Madden ? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Moves to the hall door, then turns.] Mrs. 
 Knollys^ I think it only fair to tell you^ that I have re- 
 peated to Mr. Knollys the whole substance of your con- 
 versation with me this afternoon. 
 
 [Hubert opens the door, Hildegarde exits; 
 
 and he follows, closing the door behind 
 
 him, Lawrence is standing stupefied 
 
 down left. Caroline is at center. Pause. 
 
 Caroline. [In an unsteady voice,'] I think Tm going 
 
 to faint. 
 
 Lawrence. [Putting her into chair at the table, 
 anxiously,] Oh^ don't! For Heaven's sake, don't do that. 
 [She sits,] 111 get you a glass of water. [He goes quickly 
 to the tubs and pours one out of a bottle. Coming to her,] 
 Here, drink this. Is there anything else I can get you.^ 
 [She sips the water,] Shan't I send for some one.^ 
 Caroline. [Ironically,] For whom.'* 
 
 [She drinks the water. 
 Lawrence. You feel better now, don't you.^ Shall I 
 get you some salts? 
 
 [He moves quickly toward Hildegarde's 
 room. 
 Caroline. No. I'll be all right. [Suddenly,] You walk 
 very well. 
 
 Lawrence. [Stopping.] Why, yes, I — Shall I get 
 you home.'* 
 
 Caroline. [Caustically,] No. I have no trouble with 
 my ankle. 
 
 Lawrence. [Suddenly remembering,] Oh, forgive me, 
 Caroline. 
 
 Caroline. [In a rage,] Dont call me Caroline! I 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 46& 
 
 imagined you here alone, in pain, too ill to telephone — T. 
 thought you might be glad to see me. I lost my prudence^ 
 [Lawrence turns away.] How much of what you've said 
 to me for all these months is true ? What did you mean by 
 taking me into your arms to-day and . . . Agh — !! 
 
 [She turns from him, 
 
 Lawrence. [Simply,'] IVe done a great wrong. 
 
 Caroline. [Sarcastically,] And when did you discover 
 that? 
 
 Lawrence. After I kissed you to-day — the way I did.. 
 
 Caroline. That's why you left so suddenly. 
 
 Lawrence. Yes. 
 
 Caroline. And came right back to her? 
 
 Lawrence. I tried to find her, but I couldn't. I was 
 frantic. I looked every place. I really thought that she 
 had left me. [In a low voice,] And I thought that I 
 deserved it. Then I telephoned to you ; and she came in. 
 
 Caroline. The kiss that woke your prudence put mine^ 
 to sleep. How strange! And you were thinking all the 
 time of her! [She laughs hysterically^ 
 
 Lawrence. Why, yes. Always ! My work, my ambi- 
 tion, — even my gratitude to you has been for her sake. 
 
 Caroline. Then I was merely the ladder on which you. 
 proposed to climb and pluck the golden fruit for her! 
 
 Lawrence. I've been a miserable cad! I know what 
 you must think of me! 
 
 Caroline. And what do they think of you? 
 
 Lawrence. Oh, how can I tell you? Your husband in- 
 sists upon putting the worst interpretation upon everything! 
 
 Caroline. You mean? 
 
 Lawrence. I did all I could to make him see that he 
 was wrong in doubting you, [A withering look from Caro- 
 line.] Oh, but what made you tell those outrageous false- 
 hoods about us to Hildegarde!? 
 
170 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 Caroline. [Rising in a cold rage.] The word false- 
 Iiood can only be applied to your attitude to me. I took 
 you for an artist, eager to rise above and to be free from 
 ihc commonness and squalor of your surroundings, and I 
 was willing to help you. But I find you only a little en- 
 trepreneur, afraid of your conscience, and satisfied with 
 your mutton! Well, return to it! [She moves away, then 
 tarns,] I have one more direction to give you. Kindly 
 xefrain from any further defense of me. I wish to speak 
 to my husband. Will you tell him I am waiting.^ 
 
 [Lawrence exits through the hall door, 
 [Caroline pauses in intense thought, then 
 gathers herself together, takes her vanity- 
 box from her opera bag, opens the mirror 
 and scrutinises herself closely. She ad- 
 justs her hair, smooths her eyebrows and 
 puts a little rouge on her lips. She re- 
 gains her absolute composure by a su- 
 preme effort. Hubert enters. He is very 
 self-possessed, 
 MuBERT. You wished to see me? 
 Caroline. [Charmingly,] I have been waiting. 
 Hubert. For what? 
 
 Caroline. If you've quite finished your visit, I thought 
 perhaps you would enjoy an hour at the opera. 
 
 [She gives him her cloak, 
 Hubert. [Taking the cloak,] No, thank you. 
 Caroline. You wish to go right home? 
 Hubert. For the present I have decided to — ah — live at 
 the club. 
 
 Caroline. Very well. Can I drop you there? 
 Hubert. No. [Putting her cloak on a chair,] I shall 
 ineed you here. 
 
 Caroline. Oh, then our meeting was most fortunate. 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 471 
 
 Hubert. Yes. I was wondering how to get you here. 
 
 Caroline. As it is probably the last time I shall ever 
 come^ if there's anything that you would like me to do for 
 you while I am — 
 
 Hubert. [Interrupting her, admiringly,'] CarolinCy 
 you're magnificent! We'd better get right to the point* 
 [Looking at his watch,'] I needn't detain you very long.^ 
 I've told Miss Madden and the others to — ah — come down- 
 stairs in five minutes. 
 
 Caroline. [Acting as if perplexed,] I wonder what 
 she can have to say to me; or [Incredulously] do you want 
 me to meet her again .^ 
 
 Hubert. I am afraid I shall be obliged to insist upon 
 it. I have already satisfied Mr. Krellin. 
 
 Caroline. Dear, dear ! That must have been fatiguing; 
 but how very nice ! I believe he wants to marry her, 
 
 Hubert. Yes. 
 
 Caroline. A very amusing man. Too bad ! But how- 
 am I concerned.'^ 
 
 Hubert. In the presence of all the people before whom 
 you made your accusation against Miss Madden, I should 
 like you to retract it and apologize. 
 
 Caroline. [Very graciously,] My dear Hubert, I con- 
 sider that you've never had any fault to find with me in any 
 of your former affectionate waywardnesses. Of course^ I 
 have regretted them, but my pride has never been involved 
 till now. This adventure is different. You might at least 
 have chosen a woman of your class. I closed my eyes even 
 to this, until the unfortunate woman was forced upon me 
 in a manner I felt obliged to resent. I'm very sorry. I 
 know so little of how these people act. You might have put 
 me on my guard. Now you wish me to apologize to her 
 for having said the truth. [She laughs,] Really, Hubert^ 
 don't you think you ask too much? 
 
472 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 Hubert. I have assured them you would do so. That 
 was the purpose of my visit. 
 
 Caroline. [Still smiling,] Tm very sorry to disappoint 
 the audience and perplex the impresario. [Distinctli/.] 
 You may cut my salary if you like, but I give no per- 
 formance this evening. [Rises, 
 
 Hubert. [Gracefully.] Having heard you once, the 
 audience refuses a substitute. 
 
 Caroline. Then I suggest you reimburse them. 
 
 Hubert. No, that won't do. 
 
 Caroline. Have you tried.'* 
 
 Hubert. I explained that you came here with the best 
 intentions, and that you would fulfil their expectations. 
 
 Caroline. [Merrily,] I couldn't keep my face straight 
 in the tragic parts. 
 
 Hubert. I must really insist that you be serious. 
 
 Caroline. It's no use my trying. 
 
 Hubert. [Looking at his watch,] We're wasting time. 
 
 Caroline. Hubert, you're so good-humored, you almost 
 make me feel that you're in earnest. 
 
 Hubert. I am. 
 
 Caroline. And if I still refuse? 
 
 Hubert. Then you force me to resort to measures that 
 "we both decided were ridiculous. I have waited for this 
 moment for twenty-five long years. For all that time you've 
 held the whip; I've had to canter to your wish. But now, 
 my dear, if you do not retract your statement and protect 
 Miss Madden absolutely, / shall sue for a divorce and 
 name your — latest as a co-respondent. 
 
 Caroline. [Calmly,] You can't. 
 
 Hubert. I have persuaded Mrs. Sanbury to allow me 
 to assume the suit. 
 
 Caroline. [Slowly.] So, you stand with her. 
 
 .Hubert. Precisely. 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 47^ 
 
 Caroline. I compliment you on your associate. 
 
 Hubert. You left me no choice. 
 
 Caroline. Well? 
 
 Hubert. It's been your policy to overlook my tres- 
 passes; but note I have not condoned either in private or 
 in public. That is why I do not wish to appear with you in 
 our box to-night — that is why I left your house, as soon 
 as ever I discovered the — intrigue; and I shall not return- 
 Whatever was lacking in my evidence, Mrs. Sanbury and 
 others have supplied. 
 
 Caroline. Go on. 
 
 Hubert. I should like to settle matters amicably, but 
 really, my dear, it's no longer in my power. If / do not 
 sue for the divorce, Mrs. Sanbury will; and she will name 
 you as a co-respondent. That might be more annoy- 
 ing. 
 
 Caroline. I have done nothing! 
 
 Hubert. You have always told me that our society deals 
 in appearances ; and you have done sufficient here and 
 abroad to create a prima facie case. The burden will rest 
 upon you to prove that we are wrong. 
 
 Caroline. [Snapping her fingers,'] That for your ap- 
 pearances ! 
 
 Hubert. They are far more damning than any yoa 
 may know about me and Miss Madden. Come, you're too 
 much a thoroughbred and too wise a woman not to kno^sr 
 when you are beaten. 
 
 Caroline. [Leaning forward,] Let me understand you. 
 If I give Miss Madden a certificate of virtue, you will with- 
 hold the suit. That is your price, is it? 
 
 Hubert, As far as I'm concerned, yes. I can make no 
 bargain for Mrs. Sanbury. 
 
 Caroline. Then what's the use of my withdrawing any- 
 thins, if she — ? 
 
474 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 Hubert. You will have me with you instead of against 
 jou, 
 
 Caroline. And what of that.'* 
 
 Hubert. If I stand by and make no objection to San- 
 bury *s attentions, who else can? They become immediately 
 innocent, and her proceeding is discouraged; but if I join 
 with her — which I mean to do unless you meet my terms, 
 you become immediately defenseless and every suspicion is 
 justified. \_A movement from Caroline.] Without me, 
 to whom can you appeal for help? To Society? It would 
 rend you and rejoice in it, as you have rended others. You 
 can ill afford to have your name publicly coupled with this 
 young Sanbury's in any dirty proceeding. 
 
 Caroline. [Sharpli/ driving a bargain,'] In other 
 -words, if / protect Miss Madden from the truth, you will 
 protect me from a lie. 
 
 Hubert. Precisely; and we all enter into our usual, 
 polite conspiracy of silence. I advise you to reflect. 
 Caroline. [Rising,'] I shall. I'll think it over. 
 
 [She sits in the chair down left. 
 Hubert. [With his watch,] YouVe just two minutes to 
 decide. 
 
 Caroline. [Ominously,] Hubert, I advise you not to 
 humiliate me before these people. 
 
 Hubert. It's either these few people here, or the grin- 
 ning congregation you will be forced to face alone, in your 
 temple of Convention. [Pause,'] I know what this must 
 mean to you. [Caroline shudders,] YouVe been hard 
 hit to-day. [He goes toward her,] W'ith all your bra- 
 vado, I know you're covering a wound. I believe that you 
 seriously cared about this young man. For the first time in 
 your life you've cared about anything outside of yourself. 
 That's why you forgot yourself and went so wrong. [She 
 looks up at him,] Oh! There's hope in that. I didn't 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 4TS 
 
 think that it was ni you. You made yourself vulnerable fair, 
 him, and the disillusionment has come, and hurt you far 
 more than you will ever confess. [He turns away.'] And 
 then I'd like to spare you for another reason. After all^ 
 you are the mother of my child, and we've negotiated some- 
 thing of a life since we were young together. [Pause^ 
 Caroline. [Rising.'] Send them in! 
 
 \He goes to the hall door, opens it and maJces 
 a gesture to them outside, 
 Hubert. [To Caroline.] They're coming now. 
 Caroline. [A malicious expression crosses her face. 
 It passes. She turns and asks:] Do you want to stay 
 and see me take my medicine? 
 
 Hubert. [Bowing.] 1 know that you will do it grace- 
 fully. 
 
 [Lawrence enters from the hall, Caroline* 
 turns immediately toward the audience,^ 
 Lawrence is very uncomfortable as fie 
 passes Hubert. Lawrence is followed 
 by Krellin and Emily. Krellin is jcn- 
 easily defiant, Emily looks down. Hilde- 
 GARDE is the last to enter. She looks un- 
 certainly at Hubert. Caroline is ihe 
 only one who is completely self-possessed^ 
 HiLDEGARDE closes the door. The others 
 have gathered awkwardly around ihe 
 table, center. Caroline stands in her 
 position down left. There is an awkward 
 pause, Hubert turns to Caroline, wha 
 shrugs her shoulders gaily and turns: 
 away, 
 Hubert. [To all.] Hum — As I explained to you, mj 
 wife so much regretted her unfortunate mistake that she 
 was unwilling to allow the night to pass before she came 
 
476 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 'down personally to rectify it. [To Krellin and Emily.] 
 You have assured me that her personal retraction will be 
 satisfactory. My wife desires to make it. 
 
 [Krellin. [Taking out a paper,'] Mr. KnoUys, I have 
 drawn up a paper for your wife to sign. 
 
 Hubert. But — 
 
 Caroline. Hubert! 
 
 [She passes him and goes to the table, center, 
 
 Xrellin. I think that she will find it accurate. 
 
 [Krellin puts the paper on the table, center, 
 and takes out his fountain pen, which he 
 lays carefully next to it, Caroline sits 
 at the table, takes the paper and reads 
 aloud, 
 
 Caroline. " November twenty-ninth, nineteen-fifteen. 
 T, Mrs. Hubert KnoUys, having permitted myself to make 
 ^ certain disparaging, slanderous and criminal statement 
 [Hubert would interfere. She continues] on this date, 
 concerning the chastity of Miss Emily Madden, — in the 
 presence of Mr. Krellin, Mrs. Sanbury and Mr. Sanbury, 
 do herewith wish to recant it absolutely, and to state over 
 my signature that my statement was groundless. To wit: 
 I said that Miss Madden was improperly intimate with my 
 Lnsband, Mr. Hubert KnoUys. I now declare this state- 
 ment to be absolutely false, mistaken and unwarranted. 
 Signed '* — [She looks up questioningly,] [Krellin 
 points to the bottom of the page.] Here.'* 
 
 Krellin. Please. 
 
 Caroline. [While writing,] In addition, I wish to 
 make my humble apology for any misinterpretation I may 
 Lave made in regard to Miss Madden*s . . . generous 
 services to my husband and to me. At least IVe learned 
 that lies are futile, and that truth crushed to earth will rise 
 again. [She rises, Emily sinks down into a chair 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 477 
 
 at the right. The rest of them shift in 
 
 an embarrassed way, Caroline folds the 
 
 signed retraction, leans toward Krellin 
 
 and asks gently: 
 
 Caroline. Is there anything else? [Pause. 
 
 Lawrence. [Coming forward.] Mrs. Knollys . . . 
 
 [Caroline passes him, disdaining to reply. He then turns 
 
 to Mr. Knollys.] Considering the circumstances, I think 
 
 it better that I resign the contract for remodeling your 
 
 house. 
 
 Hubert. Very well. Then — ah . . . Caroline, if 
 you've quite finished . . . that is . . . 
 
 Caroline. [Taking her cloak, which he holds for her.] 
 Yes. I told Morgan to wait. [With a little shiver.] I'm 
 afraid it's raining. Hubert, will you please see if the 
 motor is at the door.^ 
 
 [Hubert gives her a swift, suspicious look. 
 
 She meets his returning glance with an 
 
 assuring smile. Pause. 
 
 Hubert. Yes, certainly. [He quickly takes his hat and 
 
 coat from the hatrack at the door, then turns.] Good night. 
 
 Good night. 
 
 Krellin. [Picking up the signed paper.] Good night. 
 
 [Hubert exits. 
 [Caroline sweeps around as if to follow 
 Hubert, but pauses a second to look 
 mockingly at Emily, who is still seated 
 at the right, with bowed head, Caro- 
 line's soft laugh is interrupted by Krel- 
 lin, who speaks just as she has got to the 
 door. 
 Krellin. Mrs. Knollys . . . [She turns in the door, 
 with her hand on the knob.] You have signed this paper. 
 [Triumphantly.] But I wish you to know that, for me, this 
 
478 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 was not in the least necessary. I had no belief whatever in 
 your assertions. It was only because they distressed Miss 
 Madden that I exacted this satisfaction. 
 
 Caroline. [Graciousli/.'] Quite so . . . Quite so. 
 It's a pity that I cannot go further and silence all rumors 
 about a little trip on the Chesapeake, Miss Madden made 
 with Mr. KnoUys on his yacht . . . [Looking at Emily.] 
 Or any malicious inuendoes about my husband's too fre- 
 quent visits at odd hours to her apartment in East Thirtieth 
 Street. [A movement from Krellin.] Don't be alarmed! 
 When rumors of this kind come to you, I want you to feel 
 sure that I am always at your service to help you to dis- 
 credit them. [Emily has cowered under Caroline's 
 speech, Krellin starts for the door with 
 an inarticulate cry of rage and surprise. 
 Caroline. [Very graciously. "l Good night. 
 
 [She closes the door behind her. 
 Krellin. Stop! Wait!! 
 
 [Emily has quickly risen, and intercepts him. 
 Emily. Michael ! Please ! 
 Krellin. But Emmy, this is worse!! 
 Emily. You can do nothing more ! 
 Krellin. This time 1*11 . . . ! 
 
 Emily. No, no ! I'm done for ! I've got to give you 
 up ! What she said is true ! ! 
 Krellin. What!.^ 
 Hildegarde. Oh! 
 
 Emily. I couldn't have stood it any longer! I'm glad 
 the truth is out ! ! ... I'm glad . . . 
 
 [Krellin makes over to her, takes her by 
 the shoulders and peers into her face. She 
 sinks under his gaze. He recoils with an 
 almost savage exclamation. 
 Hildegarde. Stop, Michael! 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 479 
 
 Krellin. [Tearing up the retraction,^ Women! 
 Women! [Then, with a bitter cry.] Faith is a virtue only 
 when it is blind; and then it makes a fool of you . . . 
 a fool! 
 
 Emily. No^ Michael^ I'm the fool! I should have 
 trusted you ... I should have told you everything. 
 You would have understood. But how can you forgive me 
 for the lie I've acted! [She goes toward him,] But don't 
 . . . don't lose your faith in other women^ because I've 
 been a fool . . . [She turns sobbing toward the door.] 
 Yes, I'm the fool . . . I'm the fool . . . [She exits, 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Michacl^ go with Emily. 
 
 Krellin. [With infinite pity.] So^ my poor little Emmy. 
 
 Oh, we primitive males ! We create idols, and when the 
 
 truth comes, what do we find } Only pitiful humanity ! 
 
 [He goes to the door and turns with a wry smile,] But 
 
 you see, all of us together, fighting blindly, were not strong 
 
 enough to fight against the truth! [He suddenly breaks 
 
 out into an hysterical laugh,] God is a great humorist! 
 
 ... A great humorist!! [He exits through hall door.] 
 
 [As soon as the door closes on Krellin, 
 
 HiLDEGARDE also breaks out into a bitter 
 
 laugh of disillusionment, 
 
 Lawrence. [Frightened at her laughter,] How can 
 you laugh? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Bccausc I too havc been a fool ! And when 
 one's faith is dead, one needs a sense of humor. [Grimly.] 
 So, she spoke the truth, your friend Mrs. Knollys — the 
 truth about you as well. 
 
 Lawrence. Hildegarde, if she told you that I had ever 
 been unfaithful to you, she lied. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Did shc lie when she said your nature 
 couldn't stand poverty — that you couldn't work in this 
 environment, — that you had to court the rich to get your 
 
480 THE UNXHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 chance to rise^ — that I, with my principles and my work 
 stood in your way ? Did she lie about your c/zaracfer? Oh, 
 no, she showed me the truth. 
 
 Lawrence. Hildegarde, you frighten me ! How can we 
 live together if you believe such things? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Do you think that I could speak like this, 
 if I didn't realize that we can't live together.^ 
 
 Lawrence. [Terrified,] Hildegarde ! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. I scc it now. It*s been a huge mistake, 
 our marrying. I've got to leave you. 
 
 Lawrence. Why — why? 
 
 Hildegarde. You can't live my way any more. You've 
 got another call. I won't live your way. I try not to judge; 
 but I can't approve of what you do. 
 
 Lawrence. Then you really believe all that she said 
 about me ! 
 
 Hildegarde. How little you understand ! 
 
 Lawrence. But she lied — she lied ! ! 
 
 Hildegarde. I know she's neither big enough nor small 
 enough to really give herself; but there's much more at 
 stake than physical fidelity. She's seduced you away from 
 your self, — from every ideal I built my faith in, — from 
 everything that consecrated us. 
 
 Lawrence. But you're my wife; aren't you? 
 
 Hildegarde. You're not the man I married; and this 
 isn't the kind of life together that we contemplated. 
 
 Lawrence. [Agonized,'] But you love me; don't you? 
 
 Hildegarde. How far off that sounds ! 
 
 Lawrence. [Imploringly,] What are you saying!? 
 
 Hildegarde. Larrie, you've become a stranger. Some- 
 thing in me has withered. I believe it's dead. 
 
 Lawrence. No — no, — will you listen? 
 
 Hildegarde. Oh, don't explain. I've had my fill of 
 that. I'm not blaming you. 
 
Act III] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 481 
 
 Lawrence. [Choking.] Listen! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. You*ll Only end by asking for something 
 that I cannot give. I can't help it, Larrie ; but the truth is, 
 we don't need or want each other any longer. 
 
 Lawrence. But I want you! I can't live without you. 
 I'd give up everything I ever hoped to get, to have you 
 happy as you were! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Wc ncvcr used to think about happiness. 
 It just came. 
 
 Lawrence. [With a cry.] I wish I'd never met her! 
 It's all been futile! 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. No. It hasn't been. She's taught us both 
 a great deal. 
 
 Lawrence. What's the good of that, if I've lost you? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Continuing.'] And then I like to think 
 the factory people are a little happier for our knowing Mr. 
 Knollys. 
 
 Lawrence. [Reproachfully and helplessly.] How cruel 
 you are ! What do I care about all those things ? It's only 
 you Hildegarde! [Going to her.] You! You! [Tear- 
 fully.] You're all I want! [Weeping.] If I lose you, 
 what vrill become of me? [Clutching her childishly and 
 accusingly.] I'll just lose myself ! [Shaking her.] Don't 
 you see that I belong to you? Don't you see that!? Don't 
 punish me any more. [Hoarsely shaken with sobs, he falls 
 and clutches her knees.] You can't treat me like this ! I 
 can't stand it! I've been wrong; but don't punish me for 
 what I couldn't help ! 
 
 [Lawrence has delivered this last speech in 
 a torrent of choking tears and with a 
 sobbing incoherent vehemence. 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. Larrie — Larrie. . . . Don't be absurd. 
 [Comforting him.] Don't cry, Larrie, — you foolish, foolish 
 boy! 
 
482 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Act III 
 
 Lawrence. [Still holding her tightly,] And you won't 
 leave me? 
 
 HiLDEGARDE. [Helplesslt/.] How can I? You're such 
 a child. 
 
 [She takes him in her arms. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 
 
 A Comedy 
 
 By 
 
 EDWARD MASSEY 
 
 Edward Massey was born in New York City in 1893. 
 He received his elementary education in New York and 
 Canada. For his college he chose Harvard, where he 
 graduated in 1915. At Harvard he was especially inter- 
 ested in the drama, and associated himself with " The 47 
 Workshop '* with which he acted and for which he wrote 
 both before and since his graduation. 
 
 Plots and Playwrights was written for the English 47 
 course at Harvard and given at '* The Workshop " in 1915. 
 The Washington Square Players acted it about a year later, 
 in March, 1917. It has since been played by several 
 ** little " theatres throughout the country — Providence, Cin- 
 cinnati, Chicago, Kansas City — and in 1918 was revived at 
 one of the large War Camps. 
 
 [Copyright, 1915, by Edward Massey; copyright, 1917, by Little, 
 Brown and Company] 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 (Arranged in order of their appearance) 
 
 Casper Gay 
 
 Maggie 
 
 Joseph Hastings 
 
 Mrs. Hammond 
 
 Tom Burch 
 
 Molly Hammond 
 
 Frank Devoy 
 
 Alice Merriam 
 
 Bessie Dodge 
 
 Edme Jackes 
 
 William Lloyd 
 
 Dick Griffiths 
 
 Sidney Griffiths 
 
 Bob Douglas 
 
 A Waiter and Two Policemen 
 
PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 [The scene is the front of a house on West Eleventh Street, 
 New York City — a three-story building exactly like all 
 the other houses in the block. It is about nine p,m, so 
 the street is dark, and the house does not show up 
 distinctly, A flight of steps leads to the front door 
 and vestibule, and there is a light burning in the hall, 
 for it can be seen through the glass of the door. Off 
 stage a hurdy-gurdy is heard, 
 
 Casper Gay comes unsteadily along the street — a 
 chubby, self-satisfied man. He wears evening clothes, 
 a dark overcoat, white muffler, and a silk hat. He is 
 slightly intoxicated, and looks much worried. He 
 pauses by the steps, surveys the house, comes to a 
 decision, and then mounts the steps. He rings the 
 doorbell, 
 
 Maggie opens the door. She is an Amazonian 
 servant,] 
 
 Casper. [Politely,'] Good evening. 
 
 Maggie. Yes, sir.^ 
 
 Casper. How do you do. 
 
 Maggie. What do you want? 
 
 Casper. Inspiration, my good girl, I'm looking for an 
 inspiration. 
 
 Maggie. A what? 
 
 Casper. An inspiration — comedy, tragedy, romance. 
 
 485 
 
486 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Prologue 
 
 Maggie. Young man, this is a respectable house. 
 
 [She shuts the door. 
 
 Casper. Dear me, how very annoying. [Descending 
 Meps.] What shall I do, what shall I do? [He reaches 
 the foot of the steps and lands in the arms of a young man 
 — Joseph Hastings.] My dear sir, can you give me an 
 inspiration ? 
 
 Hastings. [Amused,"] I'm afraid not. [Tries to pass.] 
 Will you excuse me.^ 
 
 Casper. Oh, you must help me. I'm in great trouble. 
 
 Hastings. Trouble } 
 
 Casper. But it's no use, you wouldn't understand. No- 
 body can appreciate the troubles of an ausher. 
 
 Hastings. Why, are you an author? 
 
 Casper. Am I an ausher? My dear fellow, I wrote 
 '' Sinfully Rich." 
 
 Hastings. Good Heavens ! You're not Casper Gay, the 
 Casper Gay? 
 
 Casper. That's me. 
 
 Hastings. Are you the dollar dramatist, the great Broad- 
 way playwright? 
 
 Casper. Yes, indeed. 
 
 Hastings. Well, this is most interesting. Whatever 
 brings you to this part of West Eleventh Street? 
 
 Casper. Do you write plays? 
 
 Hastings. No — short stories. 
 
 Casper. Then it's all right. I can talk to you. What's 
 your name? 
 
 Hastings. Hastings, Joseph Hastings. 
 
 Casper. Mr. Hastings, I'm walking the streets in sheer 
 desperation. 
 
 Hastings. What's the matter? 
 
 Casper. A manager 'phoned me he must have a play. 
 And I — Casper Gay — must write it — in just one month. 
 
Prologue] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 487 
 
 Hastings. Well ? 
 
 Casper. I can't get started. 
 
 Hastings. What ! 
 
 Casper. I've got nothing to write about. I need some 
 material to start with. 
 
 Hastings. You don't have to search through this city for 
 material. Look about you, man, look about you. 
 
 Casper. [Does so.~\ Nothing. 
 
 Hastings. You're wrong there. Any street in this city 
 can serve you. What's more, take this particular street, 
 and any house in the block will do, 
 
 Casper. They're ugly houses. 
 
 Hastings. Maybe, but you'll find they're chock full of 
 material. 
 
 Casper. I don't believe it. 
 
 Hastings. Look at this one here. It's a lodging house, 
 of course, like all the others. Now I'll bet you there's a 
 play on every floor of that house. 
 
 Casper. Not a real play. 
 
 Hastings. I tell you there is. 
 
 Casper, Nonsense. 
 
 Hastings. But it's true. 
 
 Casper. No, no — you can't get drama that way. 
 
 Hastings. Why not? 
 
 Casper. These people are nobodies. There is no drama 
 in nobodies. 
 
 Hastings. You Times Square dramatist ! It's up to me 
 to show you you're wrong. 
 
 [He runs up the steps and rings belL 
 
 Casper. What's that? 
 
 Hastings. I'm going to prove my theory. 
 
 [Maggie appears. 
 
 Maggie. Well? 
 
 Hastings. I want a room. Can I get one here? 
 
488 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Maggie. Why^ yes. [Sees Casper.] Is it for that 
 swells too? 
 
 Hastings. No^ a single room. It's for myself. 
 
 Maggie. Just a minute till I see the lady of the house. 
 
 [She goes, 
 
 Hastings. Now youll have to admit I'm right. 
 
 Casper. What are you going to do? 
 
 Hastings. Show you there's a drama on every floor of 
 this house. 
 
 Casper. How? 
 
 Hastings. I'll write a play to prove it. [Casper ex- 
 claims.^ Where can I reach you? 
 
 Casper. The Authors' Club, of course. 
 
 Hastings. Good. You'll be hearing from me before 
 long. 
 
 Casper. But you can't write plays. 
 
 Hastings. Why not? 
 
 Casper. You're a short story writer. 
 
 Hastings. Is that so? Just you wait and see. 
 
 [He enters the house, and the stage is dark- 
 ened. The hurdy-gurdy starts playing. 
 Curtain, 
 
 The intermission between the Prologue and Part I should 
 be as brief as possible. 
 
 PART I 
 
 Scene I. The First Floor 
 
 [The room is the first floor front of the house seen in the 
 introduction. The house is an old one, and at one time 
 fulfilled a destiny higher in the social scale. So there 
 is a high ceiling with a heavily decorated gas chande- 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 489 
 
 Her hanging from the center, and the wall paper is 
 dark and faded. The furniture is a combination of 
 cheap new chairs and heavy old pieces — all very hide- 
 ous. The windows are on the left, a door at hack 
 leads to the hall, and there is another door right. 
 
 Bed and wardrobe at back, small table up front on 
 the right, large table and chairs, center,^ 
 
 When the curtain rises it is evening, and the chande- 
 lier is lit. The center table is covered with a white 
 tablecloth and laid for supper — with two places. There 
 is also a small vase of flowers. On the side table there 
 is an alcohol stove, not yet lighted, and other prepara- 
 tions for supper, 
 
 Mrs. Hammond is fussing round the center table. 
 She is a motherly old woman with white hair. Is 
 dressed cheaply, but looks neat. She hums to herself 
 as she fusses away. 
 
 There is a knock on the door. It opens at once, and 
 Maggie appears. She carries a parcel done up in 
 paper, Mrs. Hammond turns round with a little start, 
 
 Maggie. Now what did you jump for? 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. I knew it wasn't her — I know she 
 couldn't get here so soon — I guess it's 'cause I'm all 
 worked up. 
 
 Maggie. You're wrong to get excited like this. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. It ain't often^ Maggie. But my little 
 girl's been away for a long time now. 
 
 Maggie. [Handing her the parcel,] Here's your meat 
 come at last. 
 
 ^ The same set should be used for all the boarding-house scenes. 
 The rooms can be differentiated by changing the pictures and the 
 furniture. This is desirable so that the intermissions between the 
 scenes shall be as brief as possible, and also because the arrange- 
 ment of the rooms would be similar. 
 
490 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Thank you. 
 
 [She crosses to the side table and unwraps 
 the parcel there, 
 
 Maggie. Miss Purcell wants you to be careful with that 
 alcohol stove. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. I won't put this on till Molly comes. 
 IVe some soup to warm first. 
 
 Maggie. Miss Purcell don't like her lodgers to use them 
 things. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. I'll be real careful. But I told Miss 
 Purcell Molly was comin' home to me^ and I wanted to 
 cook supper for her — just as a kind of surprise. 
 
 Maggie. I guess she'll be finding us quiet here^ after 
 traveling around with those show folks. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. I want her to rest for a while. 
 
 Maggie. We had some actresses stay here once. They 
 was working at a theater down on Seventh Avenue. But 
 Miss Purcell didn't like them — they stayed in bed all day. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. You'll be sure and thank her for me, 
 Maggie. 
 
 Maggie. Oh^ Miss Purcell don't mind favorin' you^ 
 ma'am. It's them as don't pay their rent that she's down 
 on. [A knock on door, and Tom Burgh puts his 
 
 head in. He is a plain looking fellow of 
 twenty-eight, but is always smiling and 
 good-natured. He wears the uniform of a 
 street-car conductor. 
 
 Tom. Good evening to ye. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Come in, Tom Burch, and how are 
 you.^ 
 
 Tom. I thought I'd drop in on my way to work. 
 
 Maggie. Don't be you bothering her, Mr. Tom. She's 
 a bit nervous. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Oh, Maggie! 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 491 
 
 Maggie. I'm looking after you^ ma'am^ and I don't want 
 him to talk you to death. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. I'm all rights Maggie. 
 
 Maggie. Well^ when you get tired^ you just call for me^ 
 
 [They laugh and she goes out, 
 
 Tom. Why, what's up? 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. You see, Molly's coming home to-night^ 
 
 Tom. You don't say so. When does she get here? 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Her train gets to the Grand Central 
 at 5.20. What time is it now, Tom? 
 
 Tom. Five minutes to six. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. [Going to window,"] I wonder what 
 could be keeping her. 
 
 Tom. Them trains is always late. Won't you be having 
 the fine time now. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. It seems so wonderful. Oh, Tom, isn't 
 your Ma glad when you go up to see her. 
 
 Tom. Sometimes. But you see there's so many of us. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. It's been awful hard to see her grow- 
 ing up and growing away from me. I often pray that she 
 was little again. [Smiling,] I'm cooking all the things she 
 likes, but I don't know what she'll think of her Ma's cook- 
 ing. 
 
 Tom. Believe me, she ain't had nothing like it. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. It'll be so different when she's here. 
 She'll brighten the place up. 
 
 Tom. Well, I've got to be getting along now. I'll look 
 in and see Molly to-morrow. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Do you have to work on the cars all 
 night ? 
 
 Tom. Yes, indeed. It's a sweet job. They've moved me 
 over to the Banana Line. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Banana Line? 
 
 Tom. That's what they call it. The cars run in bunches^ 
 
492 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 [Maggie opens the door,'] It's all right, Maggie. I'm going 
 of my own accord. \^He goes. 
 
 Maggie. [^Entering,'] Now don't get wrought up. Mis' 
 Hammond, but I think she's come. 
 Mrs. Hammond. What! 
 
 Maggie. There's t, taxi just stopped outside. 
 Mrs. Hammond. A taxi? Molly wouldn't take a taxi. 
 Maggie. Well, I saw a young lady get out. I'm on my 
 way down now. 
 
 \^She goes, 
 [Mrs. Hammond trembles with joy, hurries 
 to the window, and looks out. She ex- 
 claims happily, and taps on the glass. 
 She crosses to side table, lights the stove, 
 and puts on the saucepan of soup. Then 
 she turns towards the door trembling so 
 she can hardly reach it, 
 [Molly opens the door. She is twenty-four; 
 typical in dress and manner of the three- 
 a-day vaudeville actress, 
 Molly. [Running to meet her mother,"] Mother, 
 Mother, my own sweet mother. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. [Tries to speah but cannot. She takes 
 Molly in her arms and hugs her closely. Then she releases 
 her,] Oh, I've been so anxious. Was your train late.^ 
 
 Molly. We were on time, but some friends kept me at 
 the station. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Take off your things and sit down. 
 Supper'll soon be ready. Oh, I got so much to ask you. 
 Did you have your trunk checked.^ 
 
 Molly. I thought I'd better wait till my plans were 
 more certain. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. [Fear in her voice,] You're going to 
 stay home, aren't you.'* 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 493 
 
 Molly. Ill be here a week, anyway. Ill tell you all 
 about it, only wait till I get Frank. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Frank? 
 
 Molly. I left him down in the hall. [Calls,] Oh, 
 Frank, come on up ! 
 
 Frank. All right. What will I do with the bags? 
 
 Molly. Bring them up. [To Mrs. Hammond.] Didn't 
 I ever write you about Frank? 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. No. 
 
 Molly. That's funny. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. You're not — you're not engaged to him. 
 
 Molly. Engaged to that Brooklyn hick! I should say 
 not. 
 
 [Frank Devoy appears, carrying a hat box 
 and two suitcases, a long young man with 
 sleeky hair and other earmarks of the 
 vaudeville profession. 
 
 Molly. For heaven's sake, put those things down and 
 come here. [He does so.] I want you to meet my mother. 
 This is Mr. Devoy. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. I am pleased to meet you. 
 
 Frank. How d'ye do, Madame? This is a great honor. 
 
 Molly. How much was the taxi? 
 
 Frank. Two-fifty. 
 
 Molly. Gee, didn't he soak you! 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. You came in a taxi? 
 
 Frank. We had to — such a fierce rush, you know. 
 
 Molly. Frank met me at the station. I'm here to re- 
 hearse with him. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. I thought you was going to stay home. 
 
 Molly. Now sit down. Mama, and I'll tell you all about 
 it. I didn't have time to write. Can you find a chair, 
 Frank? [Frank balances himself on one of the suitcases.] 
 You got my telegram? 
 
494 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Oh^ yes^ it came yesterday evening. 
 Maggie brought it up to me. 
 
 Molly. I expected to stay home and rest^ but this chance 
 came^ and it's too good to miss, isn't it, Frank? 
 
 Frank. Yes'm. 
 
 Molly. You see, Frank's on Loew time. That's the 
 three-a-day vaudeville, Mama. He does a song and dance 
 act with Margie Norton — she's Mrs. Heely now, but Devoy 
 and Norton's what they call the team. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. You're an actor too, Mr. Devoy? 
 
 Frank. Yes'm. Society acts. 
 
 Molly. And Norton had to quit, didn't she, Frank? 
 
 Frank. Yes, you see her husband — 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. He don't want her to act? 
 
 Frank. He don't mind, but she's going to have her 
 third. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Oh! 
 
 Molly. Of course that lays her off for the season — 
 
 Frank. And she never warned me. 
 
 Molly. No. Frank had booked up a six month's tour 
 — and of course he didn't want to give that up. 
 
 Frank. Why should I? Norton's the rotten half of 
 the team. 
 
 Molly. So he wrote to me, and asked me to take her 
 place. They played Boston last week, and I saw the act. 
 Now I'm to rehearse with Frank, and then I'll be ready 
 to step in. Margie'll hold out this week, won't she ? 
 
 Frank. She's good for a fortnight, but Heely don't 
 take chances. 
 
 Molly. Isn't it great for me. Mama. We're going right 
 out to the Coast. 
 
 Frank. It's a grand little place, 'Frisco is; ever been 
 there, Mrs. Hammond? 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. [Out of the conversation and very 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 495 
 
 uncom fort able, 1 No^ sir^ I ain't gone much outside of 
 New York. 
 
 Frank. Well 'Frisco's got 'em all beat. We'll take you 
 to see Chinatown^ Moll. 
 
 Molly. I bet it's swell. 
 
 Frank. And Chicago. Oh^ that College Inn! 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Do you think you ought to go? It*s 
 an awful long ways. 
 
 Molly. Why^ Mama, it's the chance of my life. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. I guess you know best, dear — 
 
 [She is silent, 
 
 Molly. [Breaks pause,'\ Oh, say — I ain't going to 
 wear a white dress in that last number. 
 
 Frank. Why not — Margie always does. 
 
 Molly. 'Cause I've picked out a swell gown in 
 pink. 
 
 Frank. What do you want to do? Queer the act? 
 
 Molly. How? 
 
 Frank. I wear a green suit — pink and green : say, that'll 
 be grand; that'll make a hit. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. [Trying again.l Haven't you got a 
 white dress, Molly ? 
 
 Molly. [Decidedly,] It's all right. Ma. I'll dress my 
 half of the act in my own way. 
 
 Frank. Say, who the — [He breaks off,] Oh, I beg 
 your pardon. Ma'am. [Then in slight embarrassment,] If 
 we're going to meet Norton and Tad at Churchill's, we've 
 got to hustle. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Ain't you going to stay to supper now? 
 We'd be glad to have you, Mr. Devoy. 
 
 Molly. Sorry, we can't. Ma. I made this date in 
 Boston. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. But it's your first night home. 
 
 Molly. We're awful late now, but I told Frank I had 
 
496 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 to come and see you first. [Hugging her.'] Dear old 
 Momsie. What's the time^ Frank? 
 
 Frank. Six-thirty. Honesty we ought to go. 
 Molly. Go out and hustle up a taxi. You may have 
 to 'phone. 
 
 Frank. You'd better come with me. It'll save time. 
 Molly. All right. 
 Frank. Good night, ma'am. 
 Mrs. Hammond. Good night, sir. 
 
 Frank. I'm charmed to have met you. [He goes, 
 
 Molly. Good-by, dear old Ma. [Kisses her,] It's so 
 good to be home. I'm sorry I got to go out, but I'll be in 
 early — not later than ten or half-past. Good-by. 
 
 [She follows Frank. 
 Mrs. Hammond. Good-bye, my dearest. 
 
 [The door has been left open. Alice Mer- 
 RiAM comes upstairs and passes along the 
 hall. 
 Maggie. [Calls up to her.] Oh, Miss Merriam, Miss 
 Merriam. 
 
 Alice. [Leaning over the balustrade.] Yes, Maggie? 
 Maggie. There's a letter for you in the hall. 
 Alice. [Waving the letter,] I got it, thank you. 
 
 [She goes upstairs. 
 [Mrs. Hammond crosses the room and shuts 
 the door. She goes to side table, takes 
 up a plate, fills it with soup and carries 
 it to the large table. She sits down, and 
 begins her supper. The hurdy-gurdy 
 plays. 
 
 Curtain, 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 497 
 
 Scene II. The Second Floor 
 
 [The second floor front is very much the same as the room 
 below it. The windows are at left, the door at back 
 leads to the hall, and a door to the right to an adjoin- 
 ing room, 
 
 A dresser and chair between the windows; sofa and 
 wardrobe at bach, bed on the right, and round table and 
 chairs at center. 
 
 Alice Merriam enters at once from the hall. She 
 is reading her letter. 
 
 Alice is about twenty-eight; medium-sized, not very 
 good looking. She wears a neat tailor-made suit and 
 shirt-waist. She carries a sketch book. She comes to 
 the center table, lays down the book, and then removes 
 her coat and hat. She brings an alcohol stove from 
 the wardrobe and lights it. Then she returns to her 
 letter. 
 
 Bessie Dodge enters from the right. She is wear- 
 ing a kimono inctead of a dress. She has Forty- 
 Second Street mannerisms and naturally has acquired 
 the very latest style in doing up her hair. She is 
 txventy-five, but wouldn't admit to it. 
 
 Bessie. Who is he? 
 
 Alice. You're all wrongs Bessie. It's from Morrisburg 
 — from my father. 
 
 Bessie. [Disappointed.] Oh! [She sits down and 
 starts to manicure her nails,] Where on earth have you 
 been Alice .^ You're awful late. 
 
 Alice. [Looks at watch,] It's only half-past six. 
 
 Bessie. I suppose you've had your supper. 
 
 Alice. Yes^ I stopped off at Child's. 
 
498 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Bessie. I knew it. And I came straight from the office. 
 
 Alice. I*m sorry. Where's Edme.'* 
 
 Bessie. Not home yet. 
 
 Alice. You can wait for her. 
 
 Bessie. Oh, she'll stop off for her supper too. You 
 girls are bound I'll eat alone. 
 
 Alice. Are you going out to-night.'^ 
 
 Bessie. Yep ! 
 
 Alice. You know, it's disgraceful, Bessie. You've been 
 out every night this week. 
 
 Bessie. Well, why not? I'm working from eight to 
 six. If I had the easy time you do — 
 
 Alice. [Laughs,'\ Easy time! 
 
 Bessie. Sit down and draw the Venus de Milo ad lib 
 — that's not work. Now, I'm kept busy at the office, and 
 when I get away, it's the bright lights for little 
 Bessie. 
 
 Alice. Any one who comes home at 4 a.m. ! 
 
 Bessie. [Sarcastic] Oh, did I disturb you this morn- 
 ing? 
 
 Alice. I heard you. 
 
 Bessie. I tried to be quiet. Edme slept like a rock. 
 
 Alice. Where were you? 
 
 Bessie. I had a swell time — party of fellows from Pitts- 
 burgh — Ella Fisher brought them round. They had a car, 
 and we went way up the Hudson. 
 
 Alice. Were you riding all night? 
 
 Bessie. Oh, no. Went to the Winter Garden first — 
 and Churchill's. 
 
 Alice. I don't see how you're fit for work. 
 
 Bessie. It never annoys me. Nice party ! One of them's 
 coming to take me out again, and I can't remember his j 
 
 name. \ 
 
 Alice. Good gracious ! 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 499 
 
 Bessie. Here's something for you, Alice. Did you ever 
 hear of a Chaste Minerva? 
 
 Alice. A what? 
 
 Bessie. I knew you hadn't. It's a new drink — One of 
 the fellows mixed it for me last night. I wasn't so crazy 
 about the drink, but it's got a classy name, hasn't it ? 
 
 Alice. Very. 
 
 Bessie. And it was a classy party too — they were regu- 
 lar fellows — lots of money — 
 
 Alice. I don't see how you can go on parties like that, 
 Bessie. It's so dreadfully vulgar. 
 
 Bessie. Now don't talk like that to me. There's some 
 of the girls in our office — ** Go out with a fellow — my 
 goodness, the very idea ! " It makes them shudder. Well 
 — I ride off to Shanley's and have a good time. They go 
 down to a dairy lunch and flirt with the cashier so they 
 won't have to pay their check. That sort of thing makes 
 me sick! 
 
 Alice. You'll never see it in my way. 
 
 Bessie. I'm out to have a good time. And voUa, qu'est 
 que c'est — 
 
 Alice. {^Smiles,'] You don't understand. But it's such 
 a wild extravagant way of living — 
 
 Bessie. Extravagant ! Think of all the meals I get for 
 nothing. 
 
 Alice. I don't mean that — 
 
 Bessie. And speaking of food. Will you make me a 
 cup of coffee? I certainly can't last till supper, and I 
 don't want to go out and eat alone. 
 
 Alice. All right, but suppose Maggie catches us — 
 
 Bessie. We should be annoyed by Maggie. 
 
 [Alice goes to wardrobe and brings bach a 
 tin of coffee and a bag of sugar. 
 
 Bessie. \^Sitting by table.'] What did you do to-day? 
 
500 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Alice. I went to the Museum. 
 
 Bessie. My goodness, did you enjoy the antiques? 
 
 Alice. Not to-day. I put all my time in on the Japanese 
 Department. They have some gorgeous screens there. 
 
 Bessie. Well, I wish I had some of your leisure time. 
 You make me and my regular hours look sick. 
 
 Alice. I was sketching — 
 
 Bessie. [Looking at sketch book.l Did you draw these 
 broken up gentlemen.^ 
 
 Alice. No, that's class-work. 
 
 Bessie. They're kind of sick-looking, aren't they.^ Ha- 
 ha-ha. What do you call this one ? Ready for the plunge — 
 
 Alice. Oh, goodness — 
 
 Bessie. This stuff ought to make a hit with the Morris- 
 burg Johns; but [Has an idea] say, Alice, why don't you 
 do magazine covers. 
 
 Alice. I wish I could. 
 
 Bessie. There's a lot of money in it. 
 
 Alice. I know there is, but not for me — 
 
 Bessie. Why not.^ 
 
 Alice. Because I'm a failure, Bessie, I can't do any- 
 thing. I don't know why I ever thought I could draw. 
 
 Bessie. Why, Alice ! 
 
 Alice. Oh, up in Morrisburg, I was all right — but down 
 here. — Well, when I see what the others are doing, and 
 compare it with my work — it's pretty discouraging. 
 
 Bessie. Why your drawings are real good. I like them. 
 
 Alice. And I went away to show them what I could 
 do. I can't go back a failure. 
 
 Bessie. Look out, that's boiling. Gee, I'm sorry. 
 
 Alice. [Laughs.] Thanks. Don't worry, Bessie, I'll 
 peg away this year, and see what comes of it. — Got the 
 coffee in your cup? 
 
 Bessie. Yes, Ma'am. 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 501 
 
 Alice. Steady, then. [Pours the water into cup.] 
 Want some crackers.'* 
 
 Bessie. The coffee'll do. I'm going out to supper. 
 
 Alice. You can make it up then. 
 
 Bessie. I wish I could, but to-day's Friday. 
 
 Alice. Friday.^ 
 
 Bessie. Yes — I'll have to eat lobster. 
 [Maggie knocks on the hall door and immediately enters. 
 
 Maggie. Is Miss Edmy here.'^ I've got a message for 
 her. 
 
 Bessie. She hasn't come in yet. 
 
 [Maggie^s eyes have lighted on the alcohol stove, 
 
 Maggie. Now, Miss Merriam. You know perfectly 
 well that Miss Purcell don't allow them stoves in the house. 
 
 Alice. We're very careful. There! 
 
 [She puts out flame, 
 
 Maggie. You may be careful just so many times, and 
 the next time you'll be caught. 
 
 Bessie. Do you want us to cook over the gas jet.'* 
 
 Maggie. There ain't no call to do your cooking here. 
 
 Bessie. Well, Miss Purcell's got no kick coming. We 
 pay regular. 
 
 Maggie. That may be, Miss, but we have to stand a 
 great deal from our lodgers. Miss Purcell don't like the 
 hours you keep, and she don't like the way you say good 
 night to your young men. 
 
 Bessie. You tell Miss Purcell to mind her own business. 
 
 Maggie. If you've any complaints to make, take them 
 to Miss Purcell yourself. But I should think. Miss Bessie, 
 that you'd like to set a better example — now that Miss 
 Edme has a young gentleman. 
 
 [She flounces out. 
 
 Bessie. You know some day I'll forget I'm a lady. 
 
 Alice. She should know her place better. 
 
502 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Bessie. Well^ she hit me hard^ all right. And so I 
 should set an example to Miss Edme [Mimickingli now 
 that she's got a young gentleman. She's always telling 
 me I'm a bad example for the kid. 
 
 Alice. Poor little Edme. 
 
 Bessie. Edme with a fellow! Ha-ha-ha^ that's funny. 
 
 Alice. But Edme doesn't know a soul. [Bessie sud- 
 denly stops laughing. Alice looks wp.] Does she.^ 
 
 Bessie. Holy St. Michael! Say Alice — Maggie's right. 
 I bet that kid's gone and put one over on us. 
 
 Alice. Edme.^ 
 
 Bessie. Yes^ Edme. Of course she's got a fellow. That's 
 what's been on her mind for the last two weeks. That's 
 why she's been moping round the room. 
 
 Alice. She's been a little paler than usual. 
 
 Bessie. Love-sick^ my dear. 
 
 Alice. But Edme is a child. Oh^ it would be dreadful 
 — Who is he? Where did she meet him.^ 
 
 Bessie. That's just what we've got to find out. 
 
 Alice. I'm so fond of Edme. 
 
 Bessie. No more than I am. I wouldn't see her in 
 trouble for the world. 
 
 [Edme enters right. A pretty little girl of 
 seventeen. She carries a large hat bag, 
 which she keeps behind her back. 
 
 Edme. Hello, Bessie. 
 
 Bessie. When did you get in, you little buzzer? 
 
 Edme. About five minutes ago. Good evening, Alice. 
 
 Alice. Hello, Edme. 
 
 Bessie. What made you so late? 
 
 Edme. I had supper before I came home. 
 
 Bessie. It's way after seven. 
 
 Edme. But I went shopping, too! 
 
 Alice. Shopping? 
 
Part I] 
 Edme 
 
 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 
 
 503 
 
 Wait just one second. 
 
 [She dances over to the bureau, produces a 
 hat from the bag, and puts it on, 
 [Quickli/.~\ Do you think she heard us? 
 No, not a word. 
 
 [Edme dances back again. Her hat is very 
 fetching — but very extreme. 
 Look at the hat! 
 My goodness ! 
 
 Do you like it.^ Do you think it suits me? 
 Oh, it's perfectly darling! Where on earth did 
 you get it? 
 
 Edme. I like it, I think it's lovely. Do you like it, Alice? 
 Isn't it rather too old for you? 
 Oh, no, indeed. You don't like it. 
 Oh, no, I didn't mean that. 
 I think it's adorable. And you're a darling. 
 Where'd you get it? 
 
 A shop on Sixth Avenue — it was in the window. 
 Straymayer's — he's having a sale. 
 That's the place. It was only $2.47. 
 $2.47. I don't believe you. 
 Yes. They're selling out — 
 $2.47 ! Why, it looks like a regular creation, 
 doesn't it, Alice? 
 
 Alice. Yes, I'm afraid it does — 
 
 Edme. [Taking off the hat and looking at it,"] I thought 
 it suited me — just as soon as I saw it. 
 Alice. We want to talk to you. 
 
 Edme. [Putting her hat on the table,"] I can't stay long, 
 I may be going out. 
 
 Bessie. Where are you going? 
 Edme. I don't know. 
 Bessie. Didn't he tell you? 
 
 Alice. 
 Bessie, 
 
 Bessie, 
 Alice. 
 Edme. 
 Bessie. 
 
 Alice. 
 
 Edme. 
 
 Alice. 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 Alice. 
 
 Edme. 
 
 Alice. 
 
 Edme. 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 Edme. 
 
 Bessie. 
 
504 
 
 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Edme. I don't understand. 
 
 Bessie. Oh^ we know all about him, only we want to 
 know his name. [Edme gives her a look of surprise,] 
 Don't look like that. Maggie told us. 
 
 Alice. We want to help you, dear. We're older than 
 you and can advise you. 
 
 Edme. I don't want advice. 
 
 Bessie. Who is he.^ 
 
 Alice. Please tell us, dear. 
 
 Edme. I don't know what you mean. 
 
 Bessie. Come on, tell us the mutt's name. 
 
 Edme. Oh, he's not; he's very nice — 
 
 Bessie. There you are ! These innocents ! 
 
 Alice. And you never told us — 
 
 Bessie. I'm very much hurt. 
 
 [Turns away and pretends to he angry, 
 
 Edme. I'm very sorry, I'm awfully sorry. I would have 
 told you, Bessie, only then everybody would have known. 
 I wanted it to be a secret. Maggie knew, 'cause she saw 
 him bring me home, but I didn't think she'd tell. It was 
 real mean of her. 
 
 Bessie. Come and tell us about him? We don't know 
 a thing. 
 
 Edme. You won't tease me.^ 
 
 Alice. Of course we won't. 
 
 Edme. He — well, he's coming to take me out to-night. 
 
 Bessie. What's his name.'^ 
 
 Edme. Roy — Roy Wetherton; isn't it a nice name? 
 
 Alice. Beautiful ! 
 
 Edme. And he took me to the Strand, and we saw Mar}' 
 Pickford in a lovely picture. Oh, I think she's a darling — 
 
 Bessie. Cut the movies, and tell us about the fellow. 
 How old is he? 
 
 Edme. [Rapturously,] Eighteen. 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 505 
 
 Alice. Babes in the Wood! 
 
 Bessie. That's good. I thought you might have fallen 
 for one of these oily-haired floorwalkers. 
 
 Edme. Bessie! 
 
 Bessie. What does he do? Does he work in your store? 
 
 Edme. Oh, no, his father's a lawyer. 
 
 Bessie. What! 
 
 Edme. And Roy's going to college next year — that is, 
 if he can pass his examinations. 
 
 Alice. What was his name? 
 
 Edme. Roy? 
 
 Alice. Yes. 
 
 Edme. Roy Wetherton. 
 
 Alice. Is his father the Wetherton of Wetherton and 
 Bond? 
 
 Bessie. Do you know him, Alice? 
 
 Alice. I've heard of hirti — a well-known firm. 
 
 Bessie. Rich? 
 
 Alice. Very. An only son. 
 
 Edme. That's Roy. 
 
 Alice. Good gracious, child. 
 
 Bessie. Well, I must hand it to you. Where did you 
 meet him? 
 
 Edme. He came in the store one day to buy candy, and 
 he saw me ; I wasn't serving sodas then, I was only washing 
 the glasses. 
 
 Bessie. Well — 
 
 Edme. After that he came in every day and had a soda, 
 and one day he asked me for a glass of water, and one 
 evening he waited till I came out, and — and I let him 
 take me home. [She is fussed. 
 
 Bessie. Oh, you funny kid! 
 
 Edme. I used to be very lonely, and you go out so 
 much, and Alice is always busy. I wanted to go out, too. 
 
506 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Bessie. Why on earth didn't you tell us? I'd be real 
 glad to hear you'd got some one to take you round, but 
 honestly, hon', I don't think this fellow will do you much 
 good. 
 
 Edme. Roy is awfully nice. I don't know why you say 
 that. 
 
 Alice. Let me talk to her, Bessie. I think I can 
 explain — 
 
 Bessie. Better than I can, anyway. And I want to get 
 my dress on. I don't mind keeping a fellow waiting; still, 
 when he's got a car — [She goes right. 
 
 Alice. Now, dear — 
 
 Edme. I don't want advice. [Gets up. 
 
 Alice. I just want to talk to you. Please sit down. 
 
 Edme. [Settles herself on the bed, pouting,] I knew 
 you'd all scold if I told you. 
 
 Alice. You know, Edme, just as well as I do, that you 
 shouldn't have spoken to that boy. 
 
 Edme. I couldn't help it. He asked me for a drink of 
 water. 
 
 Alice. But you shouldn't have let it go any further.'* 
 
 'Edme. I liked his looks. 
 
 Alice. My dear, it's not respectable; you didn't know 
 the boy. 
 
 Edme. I know him now. 
 
 Alice. And Roy and you move in different circles. 
 
 Edme. Roy doesn't mind that. 
 
 Alice. But, my dear, his parents do. His father is a 
 prominent man — and he wouldn't want his son to go about 
 with a shopgirl. 
 
 Edme. He hasn't told them about me. 
 
 Alice. And do you think it's nice to go out with a 
 boy you can't meet on his own level — who has to slip away 
 from home every time he wishes to see you. Just now it 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 501 
 
 amuses him to take you out, and he will go to some trouble 
 to accomplish it. But by and by the novelty will wear oflf, 
 and what will you do then^ dearest? 
 
 Edme. Roy's going to marry me — as soon as he*s of age. 
 
 Alice. Edme, child^ are you silly enough to believe that? 
 
 Edme. Of course I am; why shouldn't I? 
 
 Alice. Did Roy propose to you? 
 
 Edme. Yes — and I accepted him. 
 
 Alice. I never in my life heard anything so shocking! 
 Don't you realize, dear, that boy can't possibly marry you. 
 
 Edme. Well, anyway, I like to go out and have a good 
 time. 
 
 Alice. Oh, Edme, it's not nice. You know it isn't. 
 
 Edme. I do like him. 
 
 Alice. You shouldn't see him again, Edme. 
 
 Edme. Oh, Alice, I don't think it's wrong. 
 
 Alice. It is, dear, it's very wrong. 
 
 Bessie. [Calls.] Alice, will you help me into this dress, 
 I'm stuck — 
 
 Alice. Just a minute, Bessie. [To Edme.] You must 
 decide now, dear ; are you going to do what is right ? 
 
 Edme. Yes — I suppose so. 
 
 Alice. I have your promise? Really? 
 
 Edme. Yes. 
 
 Alice. That's my brave little girl. [Kisses her.] I 
 knew you'd do it. 
 
 Edme. [Disconsolately,] It's awfully hard. He prom- 
 ised to take me to Shanley's. 
 
 Bessie. [Calls again,] Oh, Alice. 
 
 Alice. All right, Bessie. [Smiling at Edme.] I thought 
 I could depend on you. 
 
 [She goes. Knock on door and Maggie enters. 
 
 Maggie. Miss Edme? 
 
 Edme. Yes, Maggie. 
 
508 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Maggie. I got a message for you. 
 
 Edme. Oh, Maggie, tell me, is he coming, can he get 
 away to-night? 
 
 Maggie. That he can, Miss. 
 
 Edme. [Jumping up and down.] Oh, he*s coming, he's 
 coming. I knew he would — I knew he could get away. 
 Oh, you dear old Maggie. [Hugs her,] I just love you to 
 death. [Suddenly serious.] Oh, Maggie, you don't think 
 it's wrong to go out with him. You don't think I ought to 
 stay home.'* 
 
 Maggie. Well, Miss Edme, if I may make so bold — 
 
 Edme. What is it.^ Please tell me. 
 
 Maggie. I would advise you to ask him right out what 
 his intentions may be ; ask him straight — " Young man, do 
 you mean well by me? " 
 
 Edme. Oh, Maggie, he does ! 
 
 Maggie. Ask him. Miss; pin him down to it. Young 
 men is slippery creatures — 
 [Bessie enters. She has put on her dress but carries her hat. 
 
 Bessie. Any one called for me yet? 
 
 Maggie. No, Miss. [Eyeing stove.] And Miss Purcell 
 says if you're going to cook on them stoves, she'll have to 
 ask you for your rooms. 
 
 Bessie. That's just too sweet of her. Give her my love, 
 Maggie. 
 
 [Maggie glares at her, tries to speak, and departs. 
 
 Bessie. [Puts hat on dresser.] The old crow! 
 
 Edme. Oh, no, I like her. 
 
 Bessie. Come here, hon'; I'm going out, but I want to 
 talk to you first. How do I look? 
 
 Edme. Oh, you're lovely, Bessie — you look kissable. 
 
 Bessie. I tried to — 
 
 Edme. You really shouldn't, Bessie. 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 509 
 
 Bessie. Never mind about me. All I ever do is drink 
 a cocktail or maybe smoke a few cigarettes. And what's 
 wrong with that.^ It pleases a fellow — makes him think 
 you a good sport. I want to talk to you about Roy. YouVe 
 promised Alice you wouldn't see him again. 
 
 Edme. Yes — 
 
 l^She brings a cushion from sofa and sits at 
 Bessie's feet, 
 
 Bessie. Now I was talking to Alice, and I brought her 
 round to my way of looking at it. 
 
 Edme. You think it's all right; I knew you would. 
 
 Bessie. Roy's a rich fellow, and he's willing to spend 
 his money, isn't he } 
 
 Edme. [Surprised,] Why, yes, of course he is. 
 
 Bessie. Then there's no reason why you shouldn't run, 
 round with him and have a good time. Let him take you 
 to shows and dinners and suppers — that's all right — but 
 don't go any further — don't take him seriously. 
 
 Edme. Oh, I see. — But, Bessie — 
 
 Bessie. Can't you do that? 
 
 Edme. Bessie, I love him. 
 
 Bessie. And what does Roy say to that? 
 
 Edme. He wants to marry me. 
 
 Bessie. Oh, I'm so sorry. 
 
 Edme. He means it. I know he does. 
 
 Bessie. The two of you are a pair of babies. Honey, 
 dear, I want you to believe what I'm saying. I'm trying to 
 advise you like your own mother would; it's all right to go 
 out with him so long as you have a good time, but if you 
 kid yourself into lovin' him, then he's going to break your 
 heart. 
 
 Edme. But what will I do? 
 
 Bessie. Alice was right. You mustn't see him again. 
 
510 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Edme. What will he do — what can I say to him. — Oh, 
 Bessie — I can't — I can't. 
 
 Bessie. Now I'll fix it up for you. I'll tell him you've 
 gone away. 
 
 Edme. No, no — don't lie to him — 
 
 Bessie. I won't lie — I'll just string him along. — You 
 must trust me, honey. Because I love you. 
 [She kisses her. Knock on door, and Maggie enters, beaming. 
 Maggie. The young gentleman's here, Miss Edme. 
 Edme. [Dismalli/.'] All right, Maggie. Thank you. 
 
 [Maggie goes back to hall, 
 Bessie. I'll go down, hon'. Let me manage it. 
 Edme. [Crying,] 1 suppose it's the right thing. 
 Bessie. Yes, hon'. You'd better let me do it. 
 Edme. All right. 
 
 Bessie. [Wipes her eyes with her handkerchief, then 
 feels her lips,] Oh, gee, I've got to freshen up first. I 
 can't see him like this. 
 
 l^She goes out right, A man's voice — William 
 Lloyd — calls from upstairs angrily; 
 '^ Maggie, Maggie, is that you? '' 
 Maggie. [Looking up; in hall.] Yes, Mr. Lloyd. 
 Lloyd. Come right up stairs this minute; I want to 
 see you. 
 
 Maggie. [Wearily.] Yes, Mr. Lloyd. 
 
 [Maggie goes upstairs, Edme realizes she 
 
 is alone. She glances at door right. It 
 
 is closed. She rushes to the table, picks 
 
 up her hat and coat, and flies out the 
 
 center door, Alice and Bessie enter. 
 
 Bessie. I'll go right down, Ed, oh, Ed. — Where is she.'* 
 
 Alice. Bessie, that child! [The front door slams.] 
 
 They're going out. 
 
 Bessie. Well, we done our best. [She sits down in front 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 511 
 
 of the dresser and starts to put on her hat,"] It's up to her 
 now. 
 
 [The curtain falls and the hurdy-gurdy is 
 heard once more. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 Scene III. The Third Floor. 
 
 [The third floor front looks exactly like the corresponding 
 rooms on the first and second floors. The furniture is 
 arranged as follows: — small table and armchair left; 
 two beds at hack; wardrobe blocking up door at right; 
 and large table and chairs at right. 
 
 On the small table is a green-shaded lamp — con- 
 nected with a gas jet on the wall between the windows. 
 The light from it shines full upon the armchair, while 
 it leaves the rest of the room in shadow. This lamp is 
 lit when the curtain rises, and is the only light used 
 during the scene. 
 
 Dick Griffiths, a clean looking boy of seventeen, 
 is seated in the armchair. He is studying intently. 
 
 Out in the hall William Lloyd and Maggie can be 
 heard in loud argument. Some of their talk can be 
 distinguished, but Dick continues to work and pays 
 no attention. 
 
 Lloyd. Not another word, Maggie. You had no busi- 
 ness to disturb it. 
 
 Maggie. Miss Purcell gave me them orders. 
 
 Lloyd. It's outrageous ! 
 
 Maggie. You know Miss Purcell don't allow them stoves 
 in the house. 
 
512 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Lloyd. I shall certainly remonstrate — 
 Maggie. She'd be more pleased if you'd pay what's 
 owing on your room. 
 
 Lloyd. That will do^ Maggie. You may go. 
 Maggie. '^Sarcastically.'] Thank you^ sir. 
 
 [^There is quiet. Then comes a rap on the door, 
 Dick. Come right in^ Mr. Lloyd. 
 
 [William Lloyd enters. He is about fifty- 
 five — the remains of a once vigorous and 
 intelligent man — but evidently he has 
 broken down through dissipation. He has 
 not yet lost all his dignity, and carries 
 himself well. But his clothes are shabby. 
 In one hand he holds an alcohol lamp. 
 Lloyd. That woman can be most annoying — 
 Dick. What was wrongs sir.^ 
 
 Lloyd. It is very ridiculous. You see this lamp — well^ 
 while I was out to-day^ Maggie emptied the alcohol out of it. 
 Dick. [Laughing.] Oh, they're death on alcohol stoves. 
 Lloyd. It is a trifle, but it led me to argue with her, 
 and to argue with Maggie is a great mistake. She has me 
 at a disadvantage. Dick, my boy, may you never be lacking 
 in ready money. I little dreamed — but then, things did 
 not go as I expected, and now I am at the mercy of la belle 
 dame sans merci. 
 
 Dick. Maggie means all right. 
 
 Lloyd. I know, but it's downright insulting to empty 
 the thing behind my back. Let it rest, however ; the incident 
 is closed. [He puts the lamp down on large table.] What 
 are you working on to-night, my boy? 
 Dick. It's some Greek reading. 
 Lloyd. For your school.^ 
 Dick. Yes, sir. 
 Lloyd. Let me see. [Takes the booh.] Ah, Xenophon, 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 513 
 
 I don't think I could read him now. Do you find it hard? 
 
 Dick. Not this part. It's all marchings, and the words 
 are easy. 
 
 Lloyd. What other readings have you done? Homer? 
 
 Dick. Oh, I won't get beyond Xenophon this year, but 
 if I go to college — 
 
 Lloyd. Is it decided? Will your brother let you go? 
 
 Dick. I don't know. Sid's pretty set against it. 
 
 Lloyd. That's a pity — it would be a shame to let a 
 chance like that go by. 
 
 Dick. Mr. Harvey's held the scholarship for me, but if 
 I don't take it now, he'll have to give it to some one else. 
 
 Lloyd. Your brother should go to see him. 
 
 Dick. I wish he would. Mr. Harvey wrote and asked 
 him to caU. 
 
 Lloyd. Why, what objections can your brother have? 
 
 Dick. He wants me to go in the hat shop with him — 
 
 Lloyd. But you wouldn't like that, would you? 
 
 Dick. I couldn't bear it, sir. I worked there last sum- 
 mer, and it was bad enough then, when I knew I had this 
 year at school to look forward to. 
 
 Lloyd. You want to learn something more — 
 
 Dick. Oh, yes, indeed; there's so much I want to know. 
 
 Lloyd. Haven't you talked to your brother ? 
 
 Dick. He doesn't understand. 
 
 Lloyd. You should make him — 
 
 Dick. There isn't any one here who understands why 
 I want to go to college, — that is, except you, sir. 
 
 Lloyd. See here, if I drop in later on, will you do me 
 a favor? 
 
 Dick. What's that, sir? 
 
 Lloyd. Let me read the Anabasis with you. I'd like to 
 see what it feels like to work at it again. 
 
 Dick. Oh, sir, I'd love to. Do you really want to.^ 
 
514 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Lloyd. Of course I do. Well^ I'm off now. 
 
 Dick. And you'll be back.^ 
 
 Lloyd. Very shortly; I generally go out for a drop of 
 — well — spirits about this time. It's medicine to an old 
 man like me. But 111 be back. 
 
 Dick. That'll be fine; it'll be great to have some one to 
 work with. 
 
 Lloyd. By the way^ you don't happen to have a quarter, 
 do you, I'm quite out of change. 
 
 Dick. Yes, sir, I think I have. [Producing moneyJ\ 
 Yes. Is that — is that enough, sir? \_Gives him coin, 
 
 Lloyd. Quite, thank you. Sorry to have to trouble you. 
 Well, see you later. 
 
 Dick. Good evening, sir. 
 
 [Lloyd goes, Dick settles hack to his work. 
 His face is radiant. After a moment Sid 
 enters, he is twenty-seven, much coarser- 
 looking than his brother, 
 
 Sid. What did Old Man Lloyd want.^ 
 
 Dick. Nothing. He was talking to me. 
 
 Sid. Met him on the stairs. Going tp get tanked up, I 
 guess. What are you doing .^ 
 
 Dick. Working. 
 
 Sid. Why don't you give it a rest.^ 
 
 Dick. It's for school — on Monday. 
 
 Sid. Well, go ahead. I won't bother you. 
 
 [He takes off his coat, 
 
 Dick. Did you see Mr. Harvey.^ 
 
 Sid. No. 
 
 Dick. He wrote you. 
 
 Sid. I got the letter. He asked me to call and see him. 
 
 Dick. Won't you go.'* 
 
 Sid. I don't want to talk to your school-teacher. What 
 good will it do you to go to college? 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 515 
 
 Dick. I want to learn something. I don't know any- 
 thing now. 
 
 Sid. That's your fault. You've had all the education you 
 need. I didn't even go through High School, and I get 
 along all right. I don't know what put this nonsense into 
 your head. 
 
 Dick. I didn't think of it till I got the scholarship. 
 
 Sid. Two hundred dollars won't see you far. 
 
 Dick. But I'll work in the summer — and there's Dad's 
 money — 
 
 Sid. You can't touch that till you're twenty-one. 
 
 Dick. You can advance some. 
 
 Sid. Well, I won't. Dad didn't leave his money for you 
 to throw away on a college education. It's all very well for 
 a lot of rich fellows, who haven't anything better to do with 
 their time or money, but you've had all the education I can 
 afford to give you. 
 
 Dick. I wish you'd be reasonable. 
 
 Sid. That's just what I am. So I'm going to put you 
 in the hat shop, and keep you there as long as I've got 
 control over you. 
 
 Dick. Don't do that, Sid. 
 
 Sid. Why not? They liked you last summer, and they 
 want you back. 
 
 Dick. But I hate the work — you never get anywhere. 
 
 Sid. If it's good enough for me, it's good enough for 
 you. 
 
 Dick. Sid, all I want you to do now is to go round to see 
 Mr. Harvey. 
 
 Sid. Where's the good? I've made up my mind. 
 
 Dick. He can tell you things so much better than I can. 
 
 Sid. It'll be a waste of time. 
 
 Dick. You might do that for me, Sid. It's not asking 
 much of you. 
 
516 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 Sid. Oh^ I suppose I've got to go^ or you'll never be 
 quiet. Where's my coat? 
 
 DicK'. Gee, that's great of you. You're awful good^ Sid. 
 
 Sid. I'm not as stubborn as you are. 
 
 Dick. Here's your coat. 
 
 Sid. Well, aren't you going to give me the address.^ 
 
 [Knock on door. 
 
 Sid. Come in. 
 
 [Bob Douglas enters — about thirty — short 
 and fat with a chubby moon face. Sporty 
 clothes. He carries a package. 
 
 Bob. Greetings, friends. Surprised you, eh? 
 
 Sid. [Shaking hands."] Well, I'm mighty glad to see you. 
 
 Bob. Thought I'd drop in and spend the evening. 
 
 Sid. Fine. But where's your wife, Bob? 
 
 Bob. Hush, I have no wife. 
 
 Sid. What! 
 
 Bob. Well, I haven't got one to-night, I'm taking the 
 evening off. 
 
 Sid. Where's Jane? 
 
 Bob. Paterson. Her mother's sick again, and Jane's 
 gone to nurse her over the week-end. 
 
 Sid. That's hard lines. 
 
 Bob. Hard lines! I've been married two years, and 
 luck's been against me till now. Boy, it's three months since 
 I've had a decent drink. 
 
 Sid. Sit right down and make yourself comfortable. 
 I'll go round the corner — it won't take a second. 
 
 Bob. Nay, nay; I brought the party along with me. I 
 wasn't taking chances. Behold ! [He unwraps parcel and 
 produces two quart bottles of whisky.] Oh, you beauty! 
 
 [He kisses one. 
 
 Sid. [Laughing.] You don't lose any time ! 
 
 Bob. I'm making it up, boy, making it up. You know 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 517 
 
 Jane may look like a drooping lily^ but she'd do credit 
 to any police force. 
 
 Sid. When did she go? 
 
 Bob. To-night. I saw her to the ferry with tears in my 
 eyes^ then I bought these and came hither. Am I welcome ? 
 
 Sid. You sure are. 
 
 Bob. All right. Let's to business. You'll find me out 
 of practice. How are you? 
 
 Sid. Fit as ever — only I've got to go to work to-morrow. 
 
 Bob. So've I — but Saturday — short and easy. Got any 
 glasses ? 
 
 Sid. Surely — Dick, where are the glasses? My kid 
 brother. You know Bob Douglas, Dick? 
 
 Dick. How do you do? 
 
 Bob. I think I met you before. Is this the student? 
 
 Sid. Yep. 
 
 Bob. [Pointing to book,"] What are you reading, son? 
 
 Dick. Greek. 
 
 Bob. That let's me out. I never was any hand at learn- 
 ing. [He takes out a pocket corkscrew and com- 
 mences to open a bottle. 
 
 Sid. Get the glasses, Dick, 
 
 [Dick goes to the wardrobe and brings two 
 small glasses to the table. 
 
 Bob. I wish I could have learnt in my time. 
 
 Sid. I was put to work when I was twelve and it did me 
 no harm. Now the young gentleman here wants to go to 
 college. 
 
 Bob. What! 
 
 Sid. Get a prize or something. 
 
 Dick. A scholarship. 
 
 Bob. Good for you, kid. [Filling the glasses."] You 
 take it straight. 
 
 Sid. Sure. 
 
518 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 J3oB. When? 
 
 Sid. Fill it up. 
 
 Bob. That's the right spirit — I like to see that. [FUU 
 iiis own glass up.] Will you join us^ kid? 
 
 Dick, No, thank you. 
 
 [He has retired to the armchair and is pre- 
 paring to read there. 
 
 *SiD. No. He don't drink. 
 
 Bob. Well — Over the hot sands — 
 
 SiD, Here's to you. 
 
 [They drink. 
 
 Bob. Ah, that's the stufiF. 
 
 .SiD. Mighty fine. 
 
 Dick. Oh, Sid. 
 
 SiD. Well? 
 
 Dick. You said you'd go to see Mr. Harvey? You could 
 be back soon. 
 
 Sid. Say, what's wrong with you? 
 
 IBoB. What's the matter? 
 
 Sid, It's this kid and his college — 
 
 /Bob. Why don't you let him go? 
 
 vSiD. He's too stuck on himself now. No, sir, he's going 
 Inlhe shop. 
 
 Dick. I don't want to go in the shop. 
 
 SiD. It's not what you want. 
 
 Bob. Be easy on the kid, Sid. Here, have another drink. 
 
 Sid. Thanks. [Bob fills up the glasses.] [To Dick.] 
 And you'd better keep your mouth shut. 
 
 Bob. Come on — Over the hot sands — 
 
 Sid. Here's to you. [They drink.] Where'd you pick 
 Tip that? 
 
 Bob, Down at Coney last summer — a dame taught it to 
 me — left Jane sitting on the beach — and fell in with the 
 cutest little skirt. Nita — some name, eh? Nita Delorme. 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 513^ 
 
 Gave me her telephone number. Guess 111 call her up 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Sid. Jane may come home. 
 
 Bob. Say^ don't even suggest it. How's your kid brother 
 with the skirts. These quiet fellows are always devils with 
 the women. 
 
 SiD. Not Dick. He does nothing but study. 
 
 Bob. Hand over your glass. [He fills the two glasses 
 up.] You know — even if I'm not in condition — I can drink 
 you under. 
 
 Sid. You'll have to travel far. 
 
 Bob. Oh^ you think us fat fellows can't stand anything^, 
 but I'll show you. Over the hot sands — 
 
 Sid. Here's to you. 
 
 Bob. Yes, Nita taught me that — cute Nita. Ah^ I was a. 
 happy man that day. [He laughs,'] Jane sat on the beach 
 till the tide came in* — 
 
 Sid. [To Dick.] Put away that book. Can't you be 
 polite? [Dick looks at him, surprised,] I don't want yea: 
 reading when there's company. Put it up, d'you hear me? 
 
 [Dick shuts hooh^ 
 
 Bob. That's right, come over here and be sociable; 
 don't you want a drink? 
 
 Dick. No, thank you. 
 
 Sid. Stubborn as a mule. Here leave him be and fill 
 up my glass. 
 
 Bob. Just a minute, and I'm with you. [Finishes hi^ 
 glass,] There. [Fills the glasses^ 
 
 Sid. He'll stay home with me — I want to keep an eye on 
 him. 
 
 Bob. Oh, hang it all, man, if he wants to go to college — 
 let him go — a little college can do nobody any harm. 
 
 Sid. No, no, I'll knock that nonsense out of him. 
 
 Bob. I wish Jane would go to college. I'd pay all her- 
 
520 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 expenses — there and back. Come on now, we'll drink to 
 Jane — lovely Jane — and may she ever be — Over the hot 
 sands — 
 
 [Sid murmurs and they drink. Knock on door. 
 
 Bob. Holy Saints — it's Jane ! 
 
 Sid. [Irritably,'} No, no. Come in. 
 
 [William Lloyd enters — slightly flushed, 
 
 Lloyd. Oh, I beg your pardon — hope I don't disturb — 
 [Dick rises to go to him, but Bob gets there first. 
 
 Bob. How d'ye do, sir — I'm glad to meet you; how d'ye 
 do — I didn't get the name. 
 
 Lloyd. Lloyd. 
 
 Bob. Have a drink, Mr. Lloyd, have a drink. Open up 
 the other bottle, Sid. Insist on the other bottle for Mr. 
 Lloyd. Get another glass, Sid — 
 
 Lloyd. Really, I shouldn't — 
 
 Bob. Oh, you must — I insist upon it — so does Sid — we 
 all do — just a minute. 
 
 [He opens the second bottle, 
 
 Sid. [Brings glass to table."] Stick around, Lloyd. 
 
 Lloyd. Well, I promised Dick — but we can read again — 
 some other night, eh ? 
 
 Dick. [Blankly.] Certainly, sir. 
 
 Lloyd. [Turns away relieved.] This is very — very 
 nice indeed. Just one, gentlemen — I've already had my 
 usual allowance. 
 
 Bob. Glasses, please. [Filling the glasses.] There you 
 are, sir. Come on, Sid. Well — [He pauses.] Over the 
 hot sands — 
 
 [They drink, Lloyd saying '* Your health, gentlemen," 
 
 Lloyd. Ah, that's medicine to me, Mr. — eh — what is the 
 name? 
 
 Bob. You can be real friendly and call me Bob. 
 
 Lloyd. Quite so, sir. Why, Dick, you're not working? 
 
Part I] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 521 
 
 Dick. [Rather white,] IVe laid off for the evening. 
 
 [Throughout the scene Dick is sitting in the 
 armchair. The light falls on him; the 
 others are in shadow. 
 
 Lloyd. That's right — You know " All work and no 
 play makes Jack a dull boy." [Bob fills his glass,"] Oh^ 
 thank you, sir. 
 
 Bob. Ready, Sid. 
 
 Sid. [Staring moodily at floor, looks up,] Thanks. 
 
 [Bob fills Sid's glass, 
 
 Lloyd. Your brother is so anxious to go to college. I 
 hope you will give your consent. 
 
 Sid. No, I won't, Dick and his high-toned notions don't 
 suit me. I'm going to show him who's head of this family. 
 
 Bob. [Gesticulating,] Don't you agree with me that 
 if the kid wants to go to college, let him go to college. 
 
 Lloyd. [Becoming garrulous.] The higher education is 
 indeed an accomplishment. 
 
 Bob. We're all against you, Sid. 
 
 [Lloyd and Bob bow elaborately to Sid. 
 
 Sid. He's not going to college. I'll see to that. 
 
 Bob. Now, if I was real clever, wouldn't you send me 
 to college? 
 
 Lloyd. And deprive us of your company, sir. 
 
 [They drink. 
 
 Bob. Sid, if you'll send the kid to college, I'll let Jane 
 go and keep house for him. 
 
 Lloyd. Education, my dear sir, is a very great attain- 
 ment. The lower orders lack it — if a certain domestic in 
 this establishment were only imbued with the first princi- 
 ples of education — I once made a speech on the subject 
 of education — May I quote from it to you? 
 
 Bob. Go ahead, old scout — quote it to me — and I'll 
 quote it to Jane. 
 
022 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part I 
 
 XiOYD. The Greeks are^- 
 
 [He continues to mumble, 
 Bob. Come on, Sid. Another drink. I*m ahead of 
 you — 
 
 Sid, Just a moment. 
 
 Bob, Not another. You're a quitter. Well drink with- 
 out jou. 
 
 XrLOYD. Hear, hear. 
 
 [They drink. 
 Sid. [Shouting.] I'll be damned if he goes. [To Dick.] 
 Come here, come here. Do you hear me.^ [Dick approaches 
 — very white.] Now, listen to me — if I hear you mention 
 college again — whether I'm drunk or sober, I'll beat your 
 iead off — D'ye get me.^ [Dick stands wide-eyed. Sid 
 taxings round.] Now give me a drink. 
 
 [He fills his glass, then sits down and stares 
 at the floor. Dick returns to the arm- 
 chair. He sits there, nervous and twitch- 
 ing. 
 I/LOYD. Education is a funny thing — but Greek, ah, 
 Jioble, inspiring Greek. 
 
 [Bob starts to sing a Broadway Hawaiian ditty. 
 Xloyd. I admire the Greeks and their customs. 
 
 [Bob continues the song. 
 
 Xloyd. [Commences to recite the Iliad; after several 
 
 Unas he cries:] Shades of Maggie, Shades of Purcell — [He 
 
 raises the bottles and pours whisky over the alcohol lamp.] 
 
 Where are you? 
 
 [Dick trembles from head to foot — the Greek 
 book is in his hands — he takes it and tears 
 it in two. He stares straight before him. 
 At this moment there is a sharp rap on 
 the door. Bob stops short on a high note, 
 Sid looks up, Lloyd is silenced. 
 
Part II] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 52S 
 
 Maggie. [Off stage.] Miss Purcell says you've got to 
 keep quiet — You're making too much noise. 
 
 [But they pay no attention. And with art 
 increasing force, the hubbub proceeds^ 
 At this point ttie curtain falls. 
 
 The hurdy-gurdy starts in. The cur- 
 tain rises again, and it is once more the 
 street in front of the lodging house. Bob 
 appears on the steps in a very intoxicated 
 condition. He disappears up the street — 
 singing his Hawaiian ditty. 
 
 Hastings follows him from the house^ 
 He watches Bob out of sight. Then he 
 sits down on the steps, chuckles to him- 
 self, pulls out a little notebook, and pro- 
 ceeds to take notes. 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 PART II 
 
 \_A restaurant. A table and chairs at one side of the stage 
 (An elderly, stooping waiter, with white hair, ushers 
 in Joseph Hastings. Hastings is wearing a dinner 
 jacket, etc.^] 
 
 Waiter. A table^ sir? 
 
 Hastings. I'm expecting Mr. Gay, He *phoned you to 
 reserve a table. 
 
 Waiter. Oh^ yes^ sir. For Mr. Gay, the playwright; 
 right here, sir, this is the table. Mr. Gay is seldom pune- 
 tual, if you'll pardon me, sir. 
 
 Hastings. You know him, then.^ 
 
524 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part II 
 
 Waiter. Yes^ sir, I have quite a theatrical acquaintance, 
 sir. 
 
 [Casper Gay enters. He is in evening dress. 
 
 Waiter. Here is Mr. Gay now. 
 
 Hastings. Oh, I'm so glad to see you. 
 
 Casper. How do you do. Sorry if I'm late. 
 
 Hastings. You're not. 
 
 Waiter. Good evening, sir. 
 
 Casper. How are you. [To Hastings.] I thought I 
 should never get here. 
 
 [They sit at table. 
 
 W^aiter. What will you have, sir. 
 
 Casper. Something to drink now. W'e'U dine later. 
 
 Waiter. Very good, sir. 
 
 Hastings. A Manhattan for me. 
 
 Casper. To honor Mr. Hastings, I think I shall try a 
 Chaste Minerva. 
 
 Waiter. Yes, sir. [He goes. 
 
 Hastings. Did you read my manuscript. 
 
 Casper. Yes, indeed. Thank you so much. 
 
 Hastings. And what do you think. 
 
 Casper. [Looking oracular.] I can see there's a play 
 in it. 
 
 Hastings. I thought I could convince you. Now you'll 
 admit I was right. 
 
 Casper. Oh, I suppose so; but, my dear chap, that sort 
 of thing won't go on Broadway. 
 
 Hastings. What? 
 
 Casper. It's, it's not playwriting. 
 
 Hastings. Why not.'^ 
 
 Casper. Why! Because no manager will touch it. 
 
 Hastings. Can you tell me what's wrong. 
 
 Casper. For one thing, there's so little connection be- 
 tween the scenes. 
 
Part II] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 525 
 
 Hastings. Why should there be. I'm showing you 
 there's a play on every floor of the house. 
 
 Casper. Oh^ you've got a play on every floor — and a lot 
 of exposition too. 
 
 \T}ie waiter brings the drinks and serves 
 them. He remains an interested listener 
 through the rest of the scene, 
 
 Hastings. Surely you like my people. They're real 
 enough. 
 
 Casper. Yes, they are interesting. Of course you intend 
 to write another scene and tie the whole thing up. 
 
 Hastings. Certainly not, my play is finished. 
 
 Casper. Oh, you can't break off like that. Take that 
 second little tragedy. I want to know what happens to 
 Edme. 
 
 Hastings. That second play is a comedy. 
 
 Casper. A comedy ! Heavens ! It's a good thing you 
 let me read this. I think I can be of some help to you. 
 
 Hastings. Thank you, so much. Have you anything 
 else to suggest.^ 
 
 Casper. Some of your jokes — well — " The cars run in 
 bunches '* — that's pretty bad. 
 
 Hastings. Yes, I'm afraid it is. 
 
 Casper. Now I'm interested in your play, or rather your 
 episodes from life. I can see possibilities in them. 
 
 Hastings. So. 
 
 Casper. I could take your material and write it up — 
 write it up so it would go in any New York theater. 
 
 Hastings. The great American drama.'* 
 
 Casper. I can turn it into a big Broadway success. 
 
 Hastings. That sounds interesting. How would you go 
 about it.^ 
 
 Casper. To begin with — look at Miss Purcell. For three 
 acts you've talked about a character who doesn't appear 
 
526 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part II 
 
 on the stage. Why not make your old Mother the land^ 
 lady? 
 
 Hastings. All right. 
 
 Casper. Now your play is laid on W^est Eleventh Street 
 — a New York play — therefore somebody is wanted by the 
 police. Who will it be.^ Dick. No^ he's the juvenile. 
 Hastings. Frank? 
 
 Casper, No^ indeed; Frank's a villain's name. I have 
 it — Sid Griffiths. Sid is wanted by the police. Wliat crime 
 has he committed? Murder. That's too brutal. Robbery, 
 that's it. 
 
 Hastings. Good. 
 
 Casper. And the police suspect him. But they need 
 
 some proof. Who will they turn to? His sweetheart.'^ 
 
 They won't learn much from her. His old pal — of course. 
 
 There we have our starting point. There's where our play 
 
 begins. [The stage is darkened, and the restaurant 
 
 scene gives place to the lodging house 
 
 much as it appeared in the other scenes, 
 
 with the door to hall at back, a door at 
 
 right and windows at left. But the room 
 
 is now a drab sort of sitting room, and 
 
 electricity has replaced gas. There is 
 
 remarkable atmosphere about it. Gold 
 
 framed enlargements will give exactly the 
 
 right effect, 
 
 Frank Devoy is pacing up and down 
 before the windows. He is obviously ex- 
 pecting somebody. The hall door opens, 
 and Tom Burch enters. He now wears^ 
 the uniform of a police inspector, Frank 
 turns eagerly, and starts back. 
 Tom. Evenings Frank. Didn't expect me^ did you? 
 Frank. No^ not exactly. 
 
Part II] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 527 
 
 Tom. I thought I'd drop in, and pay you a visit. 
 
 Frank. Won't some other time do.^ I'm going out now. 
 
 [He starts to go. 
 
 Tom. [Blocking the way,] Don't be in such a hurry. 
 
 Frank. What's your game.^ You got nothing on me. 
 
 Tom. Look here^ Frank, what do you know about this 
 Lloyd necklace ? 
 
 Frank. Nothing. 
 
 Tom. You can't bluff me. You know who did the job. 
 
 Frank. No, I don't. Honest to God. 
 
 Tom. Now listen to me. I want the name of the man 
 who glommed the Lloyd mansion last night. I'll give you 
 half an hour to get it to me. 
 
 Frank. Say, what do you think I am? 
 
 Tom. Now don't forget I got two or three little things 
 against you — enough to send you up the river for four or 
 five vears. 
 
 Frank. But see here — even if I do find out who it is I 
 can't go to headquarters. 
 
 Tom. You can find me in the square — and I won't wait 
 more than half an hour, remember that. 
 
 [He goes, Frank mutters an oath. He starts 
 to light a cigarette with trembling fingers, 
 throws it away, Edme enters, 
 
 Edme. [Running to him,] Frank! [He pushes her 
 away,] What's the matter? I'm sorry if I was late. 
 
 Frank. It's not that. I'm in the devil of a scrape. 
 
 Edme. WTiat is it? Oh, tell me, dear. 
 
 Frank. Naw, you wouldn't understand. 
 
 Edme. Oh, Frank, you should tell me. If you love me 
 as much as you say you do, then you ought to trust me. 
 
 Frank. I can't tell you now. I've got to clear out of 
 this. 
 
 Edme. W^hat do you mean? 
 
528 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part II 
 
 Frank. I'm going West. 
 
 Edme. But; Frank; you aren't going to leave me? 
 
 Frank. I got to — unless you come with me. 
 
 Edme. Oh^ I couldn't. 
 
 Frank. Why not ? 
 
 Edme. It wouldn't be right. We're not married. 
 
 Frank. That don't matter. We can get married as 
 soon as we reach Chicago. 
 
 Edme. But it isn't right — even then — 
 
 Frank. You see you don't trust me. 
 
 Edme. Oh^ I do^ Frank. 
 
 Frank. You're going to let me go away alone. 
 
 Edme. Oh^ no. 
 
 Frank. And maybe you'll never see me again. How'd 
 you like that? 
 
 Edme. It would be terrible. I couldn't stand it. 
 
 Frank. Then you'll come? 
 
 Edme. Yes, yes^ I'll come — of course I will. 
 
 Frank. That's much better. Can you get ready in 
 fifteen minutes? I'll have to go out and get the tickets. 
 
 Edme. Yes, yes. 
 
 Frank. If you're going to back out; now's the time to 
 do it. 
 
 Edme. I'm not; Frank. 
 
 Frank. Good. 
 
 \^He kisses her quickly and starts to door, 
 Dick Griffiths enters right, Frank 
 turns hack. 
 
 Frank. Where will I meet you? 
 
 Edme. I'll wait for you here. 
 
 Frank. All right. We got to get away to-night. 
 
 \^He goes, 
 
 Edme. \^Sees Dick.] Oh, Dick; were you in your room? 
 
 Dick. Yes, I've been reading Xenophon. 
 
Part II] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 529 
 
 Edme. Did you — could you hear us talking? 
 
 Dick. No^ you can't hear a thing in there. [He comes 
 over to her.'] Edme, it's none of my business, I know, but 
 I wish you wouldn't go round with him — with Frank so 
 much. 
 
 Edme. Why not? 
 
 Dick. I don't think he's quite your sort. — I don't think 
 he's good enough for you. 
 
 Edme. Oh, Dick, he's much too good. If you knew him, 
 you wouldn't say that. 
 
 Dick. I don't know — 
 
 Edme. And I may as well tell you, Dick, that we're 
 going to be married. 
 
 Dick. Oh, no! 
 
 Edme. Yes, isn't that wonderful? 
 
 Dick. I'm sorry I spoke now, I didn't know things were 
 like that. [He takes her hand.] I hope you'll be very 
 happy. 
 
 Edme. Thank you, Dick. 
 
 Dick. Gee, but he's a lucky fellow. You tell him that 
 from me. 
 
 [Bessie enters. 
 
 Bessie. Hello, kiddies. [To Dick.] Where's your 
 brother ? 
 
 Dick. I haven't seen him to-day. 
 
 Bessie. I'm worried about him. You been studying hard 
 as ever? 
 
 Dick. Yes, and I'd better get back on the job, or I'll 
 never get to college. 
 
 [He goes out right, 
 
 Bessie. That boy thinks the world of you, dear. You 
 ought to be nicer to him. 
 
 Edme. Oh, he's always working, and he never goes out 
 anywhere. I don't like that. 
 
530 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part II 
 
 Bessie. He may be a bit quiet — but I know a real fellow 
 when I see one^ and you won't find a better kid anywhere^ 
 
 Edme. I'm not so sure. 
 [Mrs. Hammond enters. She carries a newspaper. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Good evening, Miss Dodge. How are 
 you, Edme.^ 
 
 Edme. Very well, thank you. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. You look so pretty to-night. My little 
 girl was pretty too. I must show you her picture some day. 
 Would you like to see it.^ 
 
 Edme. Oh, yes, Mrs. Hammond. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. You remind me of her at times. There^ 
 there, I'm a silly old woman to talk about the past. Run 
 along, dear. [Edme goes, and she turns to Bessie.] I feel 
 so sorry for that little girl with nobody to protect her. 
 
 Bessie. Poor little kiddie. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. And when we see so much wickedness 
 in the world. Did you read to-night's paper? 
 
 Bessie. No. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. It's simply terrible. No one is safe. 
 Some men broke into the Lloyd mansion on Fifth Avenue. 
 
 Bessie. What ! 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Yes, and stole the famous diamond 
 necklace. It's worth a fortune, they say. Here's a picture 
 of it. \^She shows her the paper. 
 
 Bessie. [Anxiously,'] Did they catch the man? Does 
 it say? 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. No, but the police have a clue. 
 
 [A long whistle is heard outside. 
 
 Bessie. [Starts.^ Oh ! 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Why, what's the matter, dear? 
 
 Bessie. Nothing, nothing at all. When did it happen? 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Last night, I believe. Mr. Lloyd's 
 niece from Morrisburg was visiting him. It was she who 
 
Part II] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 531 
 
 discovered the thief. [Maggie opens the door. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Yes^ Maggie.'^ 
 
 Maggie. There's a person to see Miss Dodge. 
 
 Bessie. Tell him to come up, please. 
 
 Maggie. Yes, miss. And, ma'am, could I see you for a 
 few minutes.'* 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Certainly, Maggie. Will you excuse 
 me. Miss Dodge. 
 
 Bessie. Of course. 
 
 [Mrs. Hammond and Maggie go out, Bessie 
 hurries to window. Bob Douglas enters 
 — the pessimistic comedy crook. 
 
 Bob. Hey, Bess. 
 
 Bessie, Good Lord, you scared me. What is it.^ 
 
 Bob. There's the devil to pay — 
 
 Bessie. For heaven's sake, tell me — 
 
 Bob. Sid's outside. 
 
 Bessie. I got his signal. Go on. 
 
 Bob. The police are after him. 
 
 Bessie. Bob, it's not that Lloyd robbery.'^ 
 
 Bob. Yes. 
 
 Bessie. Oh, my God ! 
 
 Bob. [^Ruefully,'] We'll all get ten years if he's caught. 
 
 Bessie. [Bitterly,'] What a fool thing — 
 
 Bob. He wants you to flash the lights, if he can come in. 
 
 Bessie. Is he out in the street alone? [Bob nods,] 
 Oh, the poor kid. [She flashes the lights.] There — -. 
 
 Bob. I hope he ain't found there. Sing Sing's too far 
 from the bright lights to suit me. 
 
 Bessie. What made him do it. Bob ? 
 
 Bob. You better ask him that. They saw him get away. 
 He's been followed close ever since — 
 
 [The door is thrown back, Sid Griffiths 
 enters, pale, agitated. 
 
532 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part II 
 
 Sid. They're after me, Bess; they're after me. 
 
 Bessie. Oh_, Sid, Sid, why did you do it.^ You promised 
 me you'd go straight. 
 
 Sid. It looked like a sure thing. 
 
 Bessie. Oh^ Sid ! 
 
 Sid. Now listen, girl, I want you to get the straight of 
 this. Frank Devoy's in it too. He gave me a plan of the 
 house — 
 
 Bessie. \Ye\U 
 
 Sid. I was to get the necklace and hand it over to him. 
 He promised me five thousand. That was for us to start on. 
 
 Bessie. Oh, Sid, I'd rather start honest. 
 
 Sid. Well, it's done now. 
 
 Bessie. And you got the rocks, you got the rocks. 
 
 Sid. Yes, but they saw me. 
 
 Bessie. And the rocks, where are they.^ 
 
 Sid. I've got them on me. 
 
 Bessie. Good God. Oh, Sid, it's going to break my 
 heart. 
 
 Sid. If I could only get the necklace to Frank. They 
 won't suspect him — 
 
 Bessie. Where is he? 
 
 Sid. I was to meet him at the old shack. Here's where 
 you come in. Bob. 
 
 Bob. I'm ready. What is it? 
 
 Sid. Tell Frank to come over here at once. Tell him 
 if they find the necklace here, it'll mean the big house for 
 all of us. 
 
 Bob. I get yru. 
 
 Sid. Now, hustle. 
 
 Bob. I'll take a jitney. 
 
 [He goes. 
 
 Bessie. If you get out of this, you'll go straight — for 
 my sake. 
 
Part II] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 5SS 
 
 Sid. God help me — I will. 
 
 [He embraces her passionately, 
 Bessie. You'd better stay in your room till he comes. 
 I'll keep watch down-stairs and let you know. 
 
 Sid. All right. Not a word of this to Dick, mind. 
 Bessie. Of course not. 
 
 [She goes. Sid takes out the necklace and 
 \ looks at it. Then he puts it back, crosses 
 
 to door right, and goes out. 
 
 After a minute the hall door opens, and 
 Edme enters with a traveling bag. She 
 is very nervous. She puts the bag on the 
 table. Mrs. Hammond comes in. 
 Mrs. Hammond. Why, Edme, where are you going? 
 Edme. I — I — nowhere — 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. But you've got your hat and coat on. 
 And your bag here — What does it mean.^ Are you going 
 away? 
 
 Edme. Yes, I am, Mrs. Hammond. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. But where to? [Edme does not 
 answer.] Cant you tell me? Surely it's nothing to be 
 ashamed of. 
 
 Edme. I'm going away with Mr. Devoy. 
 Mrs. Hammond. What! 
 Edme. We're going out W'est. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. But, Edme— you— you can't go with 
 him alone — 
 
 Edme. He's going to marry me as soon as we get to 
 
 Chicago. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Chicago ! ! Oh, you poor little girl. 
 
 Edme. He promised me he would. I wouldn't go till 
 he'd promised me. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. My dear, you mustn't run away like 
 that. You don't know what you're doing. 
 
524i PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part II 
 
 Edme. YeSy 1 do. Frank wouldn't deceive me. 
 Mrs. Hammond. You don't know the world, dear. 
 Edme. I wasn't going to do anything wrong. 
 Mrs. Hammond. Of course not, dear. Now, I want you 
 to sit down, and listen while I tell you a story. Please — 
 it won't take long. [Edme sits at her feet.] I had a 
 daughter once. She was a beautiful little girl, and I called 
 her Molly. Well, Molly grew up, and she got restless at 
 home. I guess I was too quiet for her. Anyway, she left 
 me and went on the stage. Then I didn't hear from her for 
 a long time — and I worried and one evening — it was in this 
 very room — Maggie was trying to comfort me — 
 
 [J loud whistle is heard off the stage. The 
 lights go out. They come on again, 
 slowly, until the stage is in half-light. 
 Mrs. Hammond is still sitting by the 
 center table. Maggie is standing beside 
 her. 
 Maggie. You do wrong to get excited like this. 
 Mrs. Hammond. I can't help it, Maggie, I haven't heard 
 from Molly in over a month. 
 
 Maggie. There, there. It'll be all right. You're tired 
 out with this worrying. Come and lie down for a while. 
 Mrs. Hammond. [Rising.] I know I'm foolish, but I 
 can't help feeling that something must have happened. 
 
 [They go out right. Molly enters from hall. 
 She is deathly pale. She staggers to the 
 center table. Maggie re-enters. 
 Maggie. Miss Molly. 
 Molly. [Starting.] Oh, my God! 
 Maggie. Glory be, you've come back to us. 
 Molly. My mother, where is she.'^ 
 Maggie. Lying down in there. Wait till I tell her. 
 Molly. No, no, you mustn't do that. I'm going right 
 
Part II] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 535 
 
 away. [She sees writing materials on the table. 1 Wait. 
 [She scribbles a note.] I want you to give her this. 
 
 [She turns to go. 
 
 Maggie. Oh^ wait^ Miss Molly. You're in some trouble, 
 I can see that — What is it, tell me what's wrong .^ 
 
 Molly. It's nothing — no one can help me. 
 
 Maggie. Oh, tell me, honey. 
 
 Molly. No, no. 
 
 Maggie. You must tell me. You must tell your Maggie. 
 
 Molly. Oh, Maggie, I'm going to become — 
 
 [She breaks down. 
 
 Maggie. Not that, honey, not that. 
 
 Molly. Yes, yes. 
 
 Maggie. Oh, Miss Molly. 
 
 Molly. I trusted him. I thought he'd marry me, but 
 he lied to me, he tricked me. 
 
 Maggie. My poor little girl! 
 
 Molly. I can't face my mother. It would kill her. 
 
 [Mrs. Hammond calls " Maggie, Maggie." 
 
 Maggie. It's your mother, she's waked up. You mustn't 
 go. Wait and see her, Miss Molly. 
 
 Molly. No, no. Give her my letter. It will explain 
 everything. Oh, Maggie, I can't see her. 
 
 Maggie. Then, Miss Molly, take this. [She gives her a 
 necklace that is on the table.] It's your mother's necklace. 
 She got it when she was married, and I know she'd want 
 you to have it. 
 
 Molly. God bless you. [She goes. 
 
 [Mrs. Hammond enters. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Why, Maggie, who were you talking 
 to? I thought I heard voices. 
 
 Maggie. There wasn't anybody. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. You have a letter. It's for me — it's 
 from Molly — give it to me. 
 
:538 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part II 
 
 Maggie. No^ ma'am, no. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Give it to me, Maggie, there's some- 
 thing wrong; give it to me. [She takes letter. 
 
 Maggie. Don't read it, ma'am. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. [Reads.] ** I have gone away. You 
 will never see me again." [She breaks off.] Oh, Molly, 
 my little girl, my little girl. 
 
 [The whistle sounds again. The lights go 
 out. They come on again slowly. Mrs. 
 Hammond is talking to Edme. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. I never, never heard of her again. 
 And that was sixteen years ago. It was terrible, terrible. 
 I thought I should die. 
 
 Edme. [Crying.] Oh, I'm so sorry. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. And you know how I've watched over 
 you, ever since you came to stay here. It would break my 
 heart if anything should happen to you. 
 
 Edme. Don't cry, Mrs. Hammond. I couldn't go now. 
 Not after what you've just told me. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. If he is an honorable man, he will 
 wait and marry you here. 
 
 Edme. Yes, yes, I know he will. I'm going up-stairs 
 now to unpack my things. 
 
 [Bessie enters, followed by Bob. 
 
 Edme. [Drawing back.] Oh, I can't talk to any one. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. [Taking her in her arms.] It's all 
 right, dear. You must excuse us ; this little girl isn't feeling 
 very well. 
 
 Bob. Poor kid, what's the matter? 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. She'll be all right. Just leave here to 
 me. [She goes out with Edme. 
 
 Bob. Gee, I'm glad they didn't stay. Get Sid. 
 
 Bessie. [Going to door right.] Sid, Sid, — come here. 
 
Part II] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 537 
 
 [Sid enters from right. 
 
 Sid. Did you get Frank? 
 
 Bob. He's coming right along — but look here — 
 
 Sid. Where was he.'* 
 
 Bessie. Tell him, Bob. 
 
 Bob. I passed Frank in the Square. He was talking 
 to Inspector Burch. 
 
 SiD. My God, no. 
 
 Bob. He's trying to double-cross you. 
 
 Sid. Where is he.^ 
 
 Bob. He's here by now. I kept just ahead of him. 
 
 Bessie. [At door.] Frank's on the stairs. 
 
 Bob. What're you going to do.^ 
 
 Sid. Leave that to me. I don't want you to mix up in 
 this. 
 
 [Frank Devoy enters. 
 
 Frank. Evening, everybody. [There is a silence.] Well^ 
 what's wrong? 
 
 Sid. [To Bessie.] I want you to go down-stairs and 
 keep watch by the front door. Take Bob with you. 
 
 Bob. Oh, say — 
 
 Sid. Do what I say. This is my affair. 
 
 Bessie. Come along, Bob. 
 
 Bob. Oh, gee, I wanted to see the excitement. 
 
 [They go. 
 
 Sid. Now take these rocks. Quick. 
 
 Frank. You bungled the job, and you want me to take 
 the consequences. 
 
 Sid. We went pals on this. 
 
 Frank. The jewels are no good now. They're marked 
 everywhere. 
 
 Sid. Well, they're after me hard. I've got to get rid 
 of them. 
 
 Frank. Oh, is that it? 
 
538 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part II 
 
 Sid. I don't want your money. I'm sorry I messed up 
 with you at all. But take this. [He hands him diamonds,] 
 
 Frank. Oh, I don't mind. [Takes necklace and lays 
 it on table,] As a favor to you. 
 
 Sid. Now look here^ you rat^ what were you talking to 
 Inspector Burch about .^ 
 
 Frank. I wasn% Sid; who told you that? 
 
 Sid. Don't lie. Bob saw you. 
 
 Frank. He stopped me, honest he did. 
 
 Sid. Ill have to let it go at that, I suppose. But I 
 don't trust you, and I'm glad to be through with you. And 
 get this — if you ever try to double-cross me, Frank, I'll 
 kill you. 
 
 Frank. Don't you try to threaten me. 
 
 Sid. I mean what I say. 
 
 Frank. I'm not afraid of you. [He draws a revolver,] 
 Now you keep away, or I'll shoot. [He points gun at Sid.] 
 
 Sid. Put that down, you fool. D'you hear me, put it 
 down. [He walks straight up to Frank and takes 
 
 the gun out of his hand. 
 
 Frank. For God's sake, don't hurt me. I didn't mean it. 
 
 Sid. [Throws gun on table with great contempt,] You 
 dirty coward! Now I'm coming back in five minutes, and 
 I don't want to find you here. [He goes out right, 
 
 Frank. Damn you. 
 
 [He puts necklace in his pocket. Enter Edme. 
 
 Frank. Aren't you ready ? We've got to get away quick. 
 
 Edme. I'm not going, Frank. 
 
 Frank. What's that? 
 
 Edme. It isn't right. You shouldn't ask me to. 
 
 Frank. Don't be a fool. I've no time to waste. 
 
 Edme. No, Frank — it's no use. 
 
 Frank. Come along now. 
 
 Edme. I can't I tell you, I can't. 
 
Part II] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 539 
 
 Frank. Listen to me, girl, I love you. Tm crazy for 
 
 you. Do you think I'll let you turn back now. No, sir, 
 
 you've got to come with me. [He crosses over to her. 
 
 Edme. Don't you touch me. [Frank laughs at her,] 
 
 If you come near me, I'll scream. 
 
 Frank. We'll soon stop that. [He catches hold of her, 
 and tries to cover her mouth with his hand, Edme breaks 
 azcay from him. He follows her, and she switches off the 
 lights,'] Here, where are you? [No answer.] Come, on: 
 you can't play tricks with me. Speak up. [Xo answer,] 
 Well, we'll soon find out. [He flashes a pocket flashlight. 
 It falls on Edme.] Oh, there you are, you little fool. [He 
 advances toward her. She screams.] Be quiet, d'you hear 
 me! [The flashlight falls on the revolver on table. 
 
 Edme gives a cry and seizes it, 
 Frank. [Putting off flash,] Put that down, put that 
 down. 
 
 Edme. [Rushes to lights and switches them on.] Now 
 you keep away, or I'll shoot. 
 
 Frank. Cut out this foolishness. 
 
 Edme. I mean it. 
 
 Frank. I've stood enough from you. 
 
 [He starts towards her. She shoots, 
 Frank. You little vixen. 
 
 [He falls, Edme screams. The hall door is 
 opened. Mrs. Hammond and Maggie 
 enter. 
 Mrs. Hammond. What has happened? What's the 
 matter ? 
 
 [Bessie enters. 
 Bessie. Sid, where are you, Sid, Sid — 
 
 [Sid enters from right. Bob appears in hall 
 doorway, Dick follows Sid. He crosses 
 to Edme. 
 
540 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part II 
 
 Sid. [Examining Frank.] Dead! I've got to make a 
 get-away. 
 
 Bessie. Try the hall. Quick! 
 
 [Sid goes out by the hall door, Edme is 
 standing by table, holding revolver, 
 
 Dick. Edme^ what have you done.^ Edme — 
 
 Edme. [Hysterically,] Oh^ I've killed him^ I've killed 
 him! 
 
 Maggie. What is it? What is it? 
 
 Edme. I couldn't help it. I had to. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Edme ! 
 
 Edme. It's true — I swear it's true. Oh^ what shall I 
 do — I've killed him. 
 
 [She tears at her collar; it comes undone and 
 reevals a necklace underneath, 
 
 Maggie. Oh, my God, where did you get that necklace? 
 
 Edme. I couldn't help it — it was to save myself. 
 
 Maggie. That necklace — where did you get it? 
 
 Edme. It was my mother's — it was my mother's neck- 
 lace. 
 
 Maggie. Mrs. Hammond — it's yours — it's the one I gave 
 Miss Molly! 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. Great heaven, child — who was your 
 mother ? 
 
 Edme. I never knew her. She died when I was born. 
 
 Maggie. It's Miss Molly's child — it's her little girl. 
 Oh, God be praised. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond. [Embracing her,] My child, my 
 child, is this how I've found vou! 
 
 Sid. [Rushes back,] The police — they're out front! 
 
 Bessie. We'll stand together, Sid, we'll stand together. 
 [Tom Burch, William Lloyd — now a dignified old gentle- 
 man — and two policemen enter, 
 
 Tom. Now, then, what's the row here? [He sees the 
 
Part II] PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 541 
 
 body.] My God! [To a policeman,] Watch that door. 
 [To the other.] You get over there. [He points to door 
 right.] Now, then, who's done this? 
 
 Edme. I have. 
 
 Tom. You murdered this man? 
 
 Edme. Yes. 
 
 Tom. Put the bracelets on her, Ned. 
 
 Edme. Oh, no, not that, not that. 
 
 Sid. Leave her be. She did it in self-defense. 
 
 Tom. Oh, there you are, Sid. Where's Bessie? 
 
 Bessie. Here I am. 
 
 Tom. Glad to see you. Why, hello, Bob. So you're 
 here too. 
 
 Bob. [Dismally.] Hello. 
 
 Tom. Who's going to explain? 
 
 Edme. I shot him; I had to. 
 
 Tom. That don't go. 
 
 Bessie. What's wrong? 
 
 Tom. [Wheeling.] Sid Griffiths, you shot Frank. 
 
 Sid. What! 
 
 Tom. You shot him because he double-crossed you. 
 
 Sid. It's a lie. 
 
 Tom. Where's the necklace? 
 
 Sid. How should I know? 
 
 Tom. You're mixed up in this. 
 
 Sid. No, sir, — not this time. 
 
 Tom. We'll see. Where's the necklace ? 
 
 Bessie. Most likely he's got it himself. 
 
 [Pointing to Frank. 
 
 Tom. Well, I'll look and see. [Finds necklace.] Good 
 God ! Is this your necklace, Mr. Lloyd ? 
 
 Lloyd. Why, yes. Of course it is. 
 
 Tom. Which of you put it there? 
 
 Sid. I never saw it before. 
 
542 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part II 
 
 Bessie. Nor I. 
 
 Tom. It'll be hard to prove that. Now, then, you'd 
 better confess. You shot him for revenge, didn't you? 
 
 Dick. But, sir, he couldn't have. 
 
 Tom. Why not? 
 
 Dick. He was in that room with me. 
 
 Tom. Can you swear to that? 
 
 Dick. Yes, sir. [Sensation. 
 
 Bessie. The girl tells you she did it. 
 
 Edme. I had to. 
 
 Tom. It'll be up to you to prove that. 
 
 Edme. I will, I will. 
 
 Tom. Then I guess I can't hold you on that charge, 
 Sid. [General sighs of relief, 
 
 Edme. Oh, Dick, can you ever forgive me? 
 
 Dick. Of course I can. 
 
 [He takes her in his arms, 
 
 Sid. Is that all you want? 
 
 Tom. Just a minute. Mr. Lloyd, is this the man you 
 saw in your study? 
 
 Lloyd. I* can't say, Mr. Inspector. It was my niece 
 who discovered him. 
 
 Tom. Quite so. Where can we reach her? 
 
 Lloyd. I sent her a telegram — I thought you might 
 need her. [Enter Alice. 
 
 Alice. Oh, Uncle, I received your telegram. What is 
 it? Have you found the thief? 
 
 Tom. Miss Merriam, would you know the man who 
 broke into your uncle's house if you saw him again? 
 
 Alice. Oh, yes, I saw him plainly. 
 
 Tom. Good. 
 
 Alice. [Discovering Sid.] Oh, my God. There he is ! 
 That's the man. 
 
 Tom. Aha! Thank you very much, Miss Merriam. 
 
Part IIj PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS 543 
 
 [With Triumph.] Well, I'll hold you for the robbery, Sid, 
 and I guess youll get ten years for it. 
 
 Bessie. We were going to go straight if we got out of 
 this — we were going to the country. Oh, Mr. Lloyd, don't 
 let them take Sid — we were going to get married. 
 Lloyd. He's a thief. 
 
 Bessie. It was that man [Points to Frank] got him to 
 do the job, and that's the truth, so help me heaven. And 
 he did it for my sake. He thought I wanted the money. 
 [Edme produces a handkerchief and weeps.] But I didn't. 
 I wanted to go straight and live honest. [Mrs. Hammond 
 and Dick are crying.] If he goes up the river now^ it'll 
 be all up with us, we won't be able to start in again, we'll 
 be too old. [Bob and Maggie weep, 
 
 Lloyd. You sound as if you meant it. 
 Bessie. I do, I do. Give us our chance, Mr. Lloyd, give 
 us our chance. 
 
 [She breaks down; sobs loudly. The police- 
 men have turned away. Their shoulders 
 heave. Everybody is weeping. 
 
 [Tense pause. 
 Lloyd. [Very quietly.] Don't cry, my girl, I'm going 
 to withdraw the charge. 
 
 [Every one exclaims with joy. The stage is 
 
 suddenly darkened. The lights come on 
 
 again, and the scene is the restaurant once 
 
 more. 
 
 Hastings. [In horror.] Stop, stop. It's unbelievable. 
 
 I refuse to hear another word. 
 
 Casper. My dear man, that play will run a year on 
 Broadway. 
 
 Hastings. My God, no! Impossible!! 
 Casper. Do you mean to say — 
 
 [They rise angrily. The waiter intervenes. 
 
544 PLOTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS [Part II 
 
 Waiter. [Quickly.] Gentlemen, gentlemen, I can't 
 stand by and see you misunderstand each other in this 
 way. You are both unfair. You, sir, have written a good 
 play, and so have you. But if you compromise, gentlemen, 
 taking a little from your play, and a little from yours, sir, 
 you will have a better play — a play that is both artistic 
 and popular. 
 
 Casper. How do you know so much about the drama? 
 
 Waiter. IVe had experience sir. 
 
 Casper. Experience! Who are you? 
 
 Hastings. Wait a bit. I've seen him somewhere before. 
 
 Waiter. Very possibly, sir. I used to work for Mr. 
 Shaw, sir. 
 
 [He goes. 
 
 Casper. And, by Jove, he's right. That's it: you and I 
 must collaborate. 
 
 Hastings. Collaborate ! My dear sir, even your public 
 won't stand for that. [He turns to the audience,] Will 
 you? 
 
 Quick Curtain. 
 
 (The End.) 
 
 X57 
 
^*\ 
 
 ^ -or ^ • 
 
 
 
 °o 
 
 
 
 
 "^^ ' 
 
 •^^ ««"»♦ *<> 
 
 
 
 H^xv 
 
 V^. -*^""^«' .C,"^^^, o 
 
 
 ^* ^^^ <>*■ - 
 
 • *S » " * , "^ ^ o-^Mii^'* il-V ■'ft • K » • * 
 
 
 <^. 
 
 ^ • • A •!* <> • * /> Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 
 ^-^^< *^^m^r^. ^^ r'^'^^^ PreservationTechnologies 
 
 . v* » Q^^*^'^^ A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
 
 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
 
 ^ ^y^ Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 
 
 ^^ % 
 
 
 ^o 
 
 1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
 Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 
 (724)779-2111 
 
 • * r r. • 
 

 -1°^ 
 
 
 
 
 c°\< 
 
 
 ^^ ^i» o 
 
 ^°^ 
 
 - .^^^^» ♦ <iy rit, • ©lis ♦ «? V. ovJSsVJ^*