Chapter III: Part 3

Ah, yes. It will be all right. Nothing matters in time: it’s only the moments that hurt.

WALLACE

(_After a pause_)

Then you won’t tell my real age, or interfere?

HILDA

I respect your right to decide your own life.

WALLACE

(_Joyed_)

Mother!

HILDA

I respect your dedication; your willingness to sacrifice for your beliefs. Why, Wallace, it would be a crime for me to stand in your way--even with my mother’s love. (_He kisses her._) Do it all as cleanly as you can. I’ll hope and pray that you’ll come back to me. (_Half breaking down and taking him in her arms._) Oh, my boy; my boy. Let me hold you. You’ll never know how hard it is for a mother.

WALLACE

(_Gently_)

But other mothers send their boys.

HILDA

Most of them believe in what their sons are fighting for. Mothers have _got_ to believe in it; or else how could they stand the thought of bayonets stuck into the bodies they brought forth in their own blood? (_There is a pause till she controls herself._) I’ll help you get your things together.

WALLACE

And father?

HILDA

He will be angry.

WALLACE

But you will make him understand?

HILDA

I’ll try. Yet you must be patient with him if he doesn’t understand. Don’t ever forget his long fight against all kinds of Prussianism when you hear him reviled by those who have always hated his radicalism and who, now, under the guise of patriotism, are trying to render him useless for further attacks on them after the war. He’s been persecuted so by them--even back in the days when our press was praising Germany and our distinguished citizens were dining at the Emperor’s table. Don’t forget all this, my boy. These days are hard for him--and me--harder perhaps than for you who go out to die in glory and praise. There are no flags for us, no music that stirs, no applause; but we too suffer in silence for what we believe. And it is only the strongest who can survive.--Now call your father.

WALLACE

(_Goes to door_)

Dad! (_He leaves door open and turns to his mother._) I’ll be getting my things together. (_There is a pause._ WHITE _enters_.) Dad, mother has something to ask you. (_He looks from father to mother._) Thanks, little mother.

(_He kisses her and goes out taking the valise. His father
and mother stand facing each other._)

HILDA

Wallace has volunteered. (_He looks at her keenly._) He has lied about his age. He wants us to let him go.

WHITE

Volunteered?

HILDA

Yes; he leaves to-night.

WHITE

(_After a pause_)

And what have _you_ told him?

HILDA

That he must go.

WHITE

You can say that?

HILDA

It is the way he sees it.

WHITE

(_Going to her sympathetically_)

Hilda.

HILDA

(_Looking up at him tenderly_)

Oh, Will, do you remember when he was born? (_He soothes her._) And all we nursed him through afterwards; and all we taught him; all we tried to show him about war. (_With a shrug of her shoulders._) None of it has mattered.

WHITE

War is stronger than all that.

HILDA

So we mustn’t blame him. You won’t blame him?

WHITE

He fears I will?

HILDA

He has always feared you a little though he loves you deeply. You mustn’t oppose him, dear. You won’t?

WHITE

(_Wearily_)

Is there any use opposing anybody or anything these days?

HILDA

We must wait till the storm passes.

WHITE

That’s never been my way.

HILDA

No. You’ve fought all your life. But now we must sit silent together and wait; wait for our boy to come back. Will, think of it; we are going to have a boy “over there,” too.

WHITE

Hilda, hasn’t it ever struck you that we may have been all wrong? (_She looks at him, as she holds his hand._) What could these frail hands do? How could we poor little King Canutes halt this tide that has swept over the world? Isn’t it better, after all, that men should fight themselves out; bring such desolation upon themselves that they will be forced to see the futility of war? May it not become so terrible that men--the workers, I mean--will throw down their worn-out weapons of their own accord? Won’t permanent peace come through bitter experience rather than talk--talk--talk?

HILDA

(_Touching the torn pages of his speech and smiling_)

Here is your answer to your own question.

WHITE

Oh, that was all theory. We’re in now. You say yourself we can’t oppose it. Isn’t it better if we try to direct the current to our own ends rather than sink by trying to swim against it?

HILDA

Oh, yes; it would be easier for one who _could_ compromise.

WHITE

But haven’t we radicals been too intolerant of compromise?

HILDA

That has been _your_ strength. And it is your strength I’m relying on now that Wallace.... Shall I call him?

WHITE

(_Significantly_)

No; wait.

HILDA

(_Apprehensive at his turn_)

Oh, yes. Before he came you said there was something...? (_The phone rings. They both look at it._) That’s for you.

WHITE

(_Not moving_)

Yes.

HILDA

(_Hardly believing his attitude_)

Is--is it private?

WHITE

No. Perhaps it will be easier this way. (_He hesitates, then goes to phone as she stands expectant._) Yes. Yes. Long Distance? Washington? (_Her lips repeat the word._) Yes. This is William White. Hello. Yes. Is this the Secretary speaking? Oh, I appreciate the honor of having you confirm it personally. Senator Bough is chairman? At _his_ request? Ah, yes; war makes strange bedfellows. Yes. The passport and credentials? Oh, I’ll be ready. Yes. Good-bye.

(_He hangs up the receiver and looks at her._)

HILDA

You, too!

WHITE

I’ve been trying to tell you these last weeks; but I couldn’t somehow.

HILDA

You were ashamed?

WHITE

No, dear; only I knew it would hurt you.

HILDA

I’m not thinking of myself but of you. You are going to be part of this war?

WHITE

I’m going to do what I can to help finish it.

HILDA

By compromising with the beliefs of a lifetime?

WHITE

No, dear; not that. I’ve accepted the appointment on this commission because I’m going to accept facts.

HILDA

Have the facts of war changed or is it you?

WHITE

Neither has changed; but I’m going to act differently. I’m going to be part of it. Yes. I’m going to help direct the current.

HILDA

I can’t believe what I am hearing. Is it you, William White, speaking? You who, for twenty years, have stood against _all_ war!

WHITE

Yes.

HILDA

And now when the test comes you are going to lend yourself to it! You of all men!

WHITE

Hilda, dear; I didn’t expect you to accept it easily; but I think I can make you see if you will let me.

HILDA

(_Poignantly_)

If I will _let_ you! Why, Will, I must understand; I must.

WHITE

Perhaps it will be difficult at first--with your standards.

HILDA

But my standards were yours, Will. You gave them to me. You taught me. You took a young girl who loved you. You showed her the truth, and she followed you and has followed you gladly through hard years of struggle and poverty because of those ideals. And now you talk of _my_ standards! Will, don’t you see, I _must_ understand?

WHITE

Dear, standards are relative things; they differ with circumstance.

HILDA

Have your ideals only been old clothes you change to suit the weather?

WHITE

It’s the end we must keep in mind. _I_ haven’t changed or compromised one bit in that. I’m working in changed conditions, that’s all; working with all my heart to do away with all war.

HILDA

By fighting one?

WHITE

(_With eloquence_)

Yes. Because it is necessary. I’ve come to see we can’t argue war out of the world with words. We’ve got to beat it out of the world. It can’t be done with our hands lifted up in prayer; it can only be done with iron hands crushing it down. War is the mood of the world. Well, I’m going to fight in my fashion. And when it is over I’m going to keep on fighting; for the next war will be greater than this. It will be economic revolution. It will be the war of capital and labor. And I mean to be ready.

HILDA

(_Listening incredulously_)

And to get ready you are willing to link arms now with Senator Bough--a man you once called the lackey of Wall Street--a man who has always opposed every democratic principle....

WHITE

Yes. Don’t you see the Government is beginning to realize they can’t do without us? Don’t you see my appointment is an acknowledgment of the rising tide of radicalism in the world? Don’t you see, with the prestige that will come to me from this appointment, I will have greater power after the war; power to bring about the realization of all our dreams; power to demand--even at the Peace table itself, perhaps--that all wars must end?

HILDA

Do you actually believe you will have any power with your _own_ people when you have compromised them for a temporary expediency?

WHITE

(_With a gesture_)

The leader must be wiser than the people who follow.

HILDA

So, contempt for your people is the first thing your new power has brought you! (_He makes a gesture of denial._) You feel you are above them--not of them. Do you believe for a moment that Senator Bough has anything but contempt for you, too?

WHITE

(_Confidently_)

He needs me.

HILDA

Needs you? Don’t you understand why he had you appointed on that committee? He wanted to get you out of the way.

WHITE

Isn’t that an acknowledgment of my power?

HILDA

Yes. You’re a great asset _now_. You’re a “reformed” radical. Why, Will, he’ll use you in the capitals of Europe to advertise his liberalism; just as the prohibitionist exhibits a reformed drunkard.

WHITE

And I tell you, Hilda, after the war I shall be stronger than he is, stronger than any of them.

HILDA

No man is strong unless he does what he feels is right. No, no, Will; you’ve convicted yourself with your own eloquence. You’ve wanted to do this for some reason. But it isn’t the one you’ve told me. No; no.

WHITE

(_Angrily_)

You doubt my sincerity?

HILDA

No; only the way you have read yourself.

WHITE

Well, if you think I’ve tried to make it easy for myself you are mistaken. Is it easy to pull out of the rut and habit of years? Easy to know my friends will jeer and say I’ve sold out? Easy to have _you_ misunderstand? (_Goes to her._) Hilda, I’m doing this for their good. I’m doing it--just as Wallace is--because I feel it’s right.

HILDA

No; you shouldn’t say that. You are not doing this for the same reason Wallace is. He believes in this war. He has accepted it all simply without a question. If you had seen the look in his eyes, you would have known he was a dedicated spirit; there was no shadow, no doubt; it was pure flame. But you! You believe differently! You can’t hush the mind that for twenty years has thought no war ever could henceforth be justified. You can’t give yourself to this war without tricking yourself with phrases. You see power in it and profit for yourself. (_He protests._) That’s your own confession. You are only doing what is expedient--not what is right. Oh, Will, don’t compare your motives with those of our son. I sent him forth, without a word of protest, because he wishes to die for his own ideals: you are killing your own ideals for the ideals of others! (_She turns away._) Oh, Will, that’s what hurts. If you were only like him, I--I could stand it.

WHITE

(_Quietly, after a pause_)

I can’t be angry at you--even when you say such things. You’ve been too much a part of my life, and work, and I love you, Hilda. You know that, don’t you, dear? (_He sits beside her and takes her hand._) I knew it would be difficult to make you understand. Only once have I lacked courage and that was when I felt myself being drawn into this and they offered me the appointment. For then I saw I must tell you. You know I never have wanted to cause you pain. But when you asked me to let Wallace go, I thought you would understand my going, too.--Oh, perhaps our motives are different; he is young: war has caught his imagination; but, I, too, see a duty, a way to accomplish my ideals.

HILDA

Let’s leave ideals out of this now. It’s like bitter enemies praying to the same God as they kill each other.

WHITE

Yes. War is full of ironies. I see that: Wallace can’t. It’s so full of mixed motives, good and bad. Yes. I’ll grant all that. Only America has gone in. The whole tide was against us, dear. It is sweeping over the world: a brown tide of khaki sweeping everything before it. All my life I’ve fought against the current. (_Wearily_) And now that I’ve gone in, too, my arms seem less tired. Yes; and except for the pain I’ve caused you, I’ve never in all my life felt so--so happy.

(_Then she understands. She slowly turns to him, with
tenderness in her eyes._)

HILDA

Oh, now, Will, I do understand. Now I see the real reason for what you’ve done.

WHITE

(_Defensively_)

I’ve given the real reason.

HILDA

(_Her heart going out to him_)

You poor tired man. My dear one. Forgive me, if I made it difficult for you; if I said cruel words. I ought to have guessed; ought to have seen what life has done to you. (_He looks up, not understanding her words._) Those hands of yours first dug a living out of the ground. Then they built houses and grew strong because you were a workman--a man of the people. You saw injustice and all your life you fought against those who had the power to inflict it: the press; the comfortable respectables, like my brother; and even those of your own group who opposed you--you fought them all. And they look at you as an outsider, an alien in your own country. Oh, Will, I know how hard it has been for you to be always on the defensive, against the majority. It is hard to live alone away from the herd. It does tire one to the bone and make one envious of the comfort and security they find by being together.

WHITE

Yes ... but....

HILDA

Now the war comes and with it a chance to get back; to be part of the majority; to be welcomed with open arms by those who have fought you; to go back with honor and praise. And, yes, to have the warmth and comfort of the crowd. That’s the real reason you’re going in. You’re tired and worn out with the fight. I know. I understand now.

WHITE

(_Earnestly_)

If I thought it was that, I’d kill myself.

HILDA

There’s been enough killing already. I have to understand it somehow to accept it at all.

(_He stares at her, wondering at her words. She smiles.
He goes to a chair and sits down, gazing before him. The
music of “Over There” is now heard outside in the street,
approaching nearer and nearer. It is a military band._
WALLACE _excitedly rushes in dressed in khaki_.)

WALLACE

Mother, mother. The boys are coming down the street. (_Sees father._) Dad! Mother has told you?

HILDA

(_Calmly_)

Yes; I’ve told him.

WALLACE

And you’re going to let me go, Dad?

HILDA

Yes.

WALLACE

Oh, thanks, Dad. (_Grasping his hand._) I knew mother would make you see. (_Music nearer._) Listen! Isn’t that a great tune? Lifts you up on your feet and carries you over there. Gee, it just gets into a fellow and makes him want to run for his gun and charge over the top. (_He goes to balcony._) Look! They’re nearing here; all ready to sail with the morning tide. They’ve got their helmets on. You can’t see the end of them coming down the avenue. Oh, thank God, I’m going to be one of them soon. Thank God! I’m going to fight for Uncle Sam and the Stars and Stripes. (_Calls off._) Hurrah! (_To them._) Oh, I wish I had a flag. Why haven’t we got a flag here--Hurrah!!

(_As he goes out on the balcony the music plays louder._
HILDA _has gone to_ WHITE _during this, and stands behind
him, with her arms down his arms, as he sits there, gazing
before him_.)

HILDA

(_Fervently_)

Oh, Will, if I could only feel it as he does!!

(_The music begins to trail off as_ WHITE _tenderly takes
hold of her hands_.)

[CURTAIN]

[C] Copyright by George Middleton. See back of title page.

AMONG THE LIONS

THE PEOPLE

PATRICIA TENNER, _a popular “star.”_
MRS. EMILY FROWDE, “_a lion-hunter_.”
MISS EVA STANNARD, _about whom there has been talk_.
THE BROWN ONE, }
THE BLUE ONE, } _as they appear to Patricia_.
THE GREEN ONE, }
M. MAVOSKY, _an artist “who’s all the rage.”_
GEORGE SILVERTON, _a musician; an old friend of Patricia_.
OTHER GUESTS.

SCENE

_Drawing-room at Mrs. Frowde’s during a small reception given to Patricia Tenner. A late afternoon._

AMONG THE LIONS[D]

_An elaborate drawing-room is disclosed, with bare high-paneled walls, relieved only by attractive candle-clusters and a stretch of tapestry. At back is an alcove effect in which a piano is seen, with the usual decorations of a music-room suggested beyond. There are two openings which lead to the hallways and street doors without. Opposite these is a stone-built fireplace with a smoldering log blaze and attractive “British Soldier” andirons. By this rests a deep chair which tones with the other furnishings. A tea-table, resplendent with silver, stands obliquely in the center, with lighted candles. Appropriate ferns and flowers rest in likely places._

GEORGE SILVERTON _is playing a Chopin étude in the music-room; about the opening are grouped_ PATRICIA TENNER, MRS. FROWDE, THE BROWN ONE, THE GREEN ONE, THE BLUE ONE _and others. They are listening, duly impressed by the touch of an expert._

MAVOSKY, _the artist, is standing off alone by the tea-table complacently munching a macaroon and eyeing_ PATRICIA.

MAVOSKY _is about forty, tall, with large eyes and a pointed beard. There is a slight Russian accent in his speech and his manners have the studied spontaneity of a professional foreigner exploiting a new field. As he continues to watch_ PATRICIA _with a cynical smile, she leaves the group unobserved by the others and moves towards the low, deep chair near the fireplace_.

PATRICIA _has the large features of a stage-beauty, which enhance her appearance before the footlights. Her hair is parted and coiled low on her neck. She is elegantly gowned, and carries a long, elaborate scarf which is hung across her back and held by each arm. She uses this continually to increase her instinctive plasticity. As she turns there is a serious expression upon her face, as though, for once she had been her true self._

PATRICIA

(_Almost inaudibly_)

George Silverton. Poor George!

(_She seems to feel_ MAVOSKY’S _eyes; but again mistress
of herself, turns, and smiles invitingly. Then she drapes
herself artistically in the chair._ MAVOSKY _comes with
the plate of macaroons, which she declines with a pretty
gesture. He replaces them on the table, and, seeing no one
is watching, returns to her, speaking softly as the music
continues._)

MAVOSKY

_Quel charme!_

PATRICIA

The gown or the pose?

MAVOSKY

Mademoiselle Tenner, in _your_ profession they are inseparable.

PATRICIA

We actresses belong only to each moment we act. It is _your_ profession which fastens us as we should be in the memory of others.

MAVOSKY

Perhaps that is why my portraits please.

PATRICIA

(_Bantering charmingly_)

And you only take celebrities, Monsieur Mavosky.

MAVOSKY

I wish to go to posterity on the hem of their garments.

PATRICIA

(_Smiling_)

Some day I may wear a gown that pleases you, eh?

(_He starts to answer, but the music stops and the others
applaud in perfect taste. He offers his hand in parting, as
she seems to invite it._)

MAVOSKY

_Au revoir._

PATRICIA

(_With a fascinating smile_)

_Déjà?_

(_He bows far over her hand and their eyes meet with
interest. As he turns away, while the others come into the
room_, PATRICIA _gives a secret smile of satisfaction,
as though she had obtained her intention. Then she sighs
wearily, bored, as she glances at the others._

MRS. FROWDE, _the hostess is about fifty, looking forty;
rather large and as self-contained as possible in her
loose black tea-gown. She is a nervous woman with an
apparent seriousness in her social undertakings. Her eyes
are continually criticizing and her hands correcting. She
has a gracious voice, and towards_ PATRICIA, _at least, a
possessive protectiveness_.

THE BROWN ONE _has a good profile from her chin up, but
otherwise, in spite of lacing, is stout. Her tan gown makes
up in elegance what it lacks in outline._

_The clinging gown of_ THE BLUE ONE _accentuates the languid
manner she affects. There is a satisfied, set smile upon her
aquiline face and her voice maintains a gentle, persistent
tremolo._

THE GREEN ONE _is younger than the others and in general
indefiniteness of bearing and appearance merely suggests
money. Her olive-trimmed gown is very simple, but is caught
by a conspicuous jade belt._

_These, with the other guests who gradually depart, suggest
the atmosphere of a conventional tea._)

OMNES

(_Enthusiastically to Silverton_)

How delightful! How wonderful!

(GEORGE SILVERTON _is medium-sized, in the late thirties,
with a fine, sensitive face and short-cropped hair. He is
retiring in manner and seems ill at ease in the present
company. Towards_ PATRICIA, _however, this disappears and it
is evident he has known her well_.)

THE BROWN ONE

(_Shrugging her shoulders, and splashing each sentence with jerky gestures throughout._)

He has such a _je-ne-sais-quoi_. Don’t you think?

THE BLUE ONE

(_In a shocked tone_)

I’d hardly put it that way.

SILVERTON

(_To_ THE BROWN ONE)

You compliment me.

MRS. FROWDE

Didn’t Pachmann play that at the Philharmonic Friday?

THE GREEN ONE

How should I know?

MRS. FROWDE

I wish they’d announce what they play as an encore so I can recognize it.

THE BROWN ONE

We need a Chopin in this country. Do you compose, Mr. Silverton?

THE BLUE ONE

(_Who has come down to_ PATRICIA)

It must be splendid to be a real artist, Miss Tenner, instead of just having money. _We_ have to be so careful.

(PATRICIA _smiles and nods understandingly throughout_.
SILVERTON, _apparently ill at ease, comes beside_ PATRICIA
_as_ MAVOSKY _is speaking to_ MRS. FROWDE _and the others at
the table_.)

Oh, Mr. Silverton, your playing made me so--so--(_at a loss for words_) don’t you know?

SILVERTON

(_Stiffly_)

Music is the only mental adventure in good and evil which some of us ever have.

THE BLUE ONE

How clever of you! I wonder if that’s why I adore Tristan? You will come to my next Thursday and play for me? _I_ need adventure. (_She laughs, tremulously_) I’ll have some people there if I may tell them _you_ are coming.

SILVERTON

(_Hiding his displeasure_)

Charmed.

THE BLUE ONE

(_To_ PATRICIA)

You have a beastly rehearsal then, haven’t you? So sorry.

(PATRICIA _smiles as though regretful, and the three continue
talking_.)

MRS. FROWDE

(_By the table, shaking_ MAVOSKY’S _hand_)

Must you go?

MAVOSKY

Only till luncheon Tuesday.

MRS. FROWDE

(_Aside to him_)

It was good of you to meet her.

MAVOSKY

(_Looking across to_ PATRICIA)

Miss Tenner is a poem in pose.

THE BROWN ONE

(_Who has been manœuvering to be in his line of departure,
as_ MRS. FROWDE _turns to give_ THE GREEN ONE _a cup of tea_.)

M. Mavosky, I’ve heard if you wait at Port Said you’ll sooner or later meet everyone you know. Here, at Mrs. Frowde’s, one only meets those one wishes, _n’est-ce pas_?

MAVOSKY

(_Gallantly_)

You American women!

THE BROWN ONE

I’ll bring my husband to see your portraits. May I?

MAVOSKY

(_Bowing_)

_You_ speak for his taste.

THE BROWN ONE

(_Pleased_)

He actually threatens to have one of me, and wishes the very best that can possibly be painted.

(_They exchange pleasantries, and as_ MAVOSKY _passes out he
glances towards_ PATRICIA, _who has been watching him, while_
SILVERTON _has engaged_ THE BLUE ONE, _who by now has joined_
THE GREEN ONE _and_ THE BROWN ONE _and_ MRS. FROWDE _at the
table. They laugh as_ SILVERTON _and_ PATRICIA _find a chance
to snatch a few words unheard_.)

SILVERTON

(_Referring to_ THE BLUE ONE)

Who is she that I must pay for my tea by playing for her Thursday?

PATRICIA

(_Flippantly_)

Her name begins with T. Her husband owns _The Star_. It’s been good to me. I call her The Blue One; I no longer remember names. People are color to me. See the stout one--like an overfed question mark? She seems brown all through. Have you heard her talk? With her (_imitating and shrugging shoulders_) “je-ne-sais-quois”? No one who is fat should speak French. And The Green One--ugh!--with the jade life-belt!

SILVERTON

(_Seriously_)

Pat, why do you still come to these stupid affairs?

PATRICIA

There are still things _I_ may want, too.

SILVERTON

Mavosky?

PATRICIA

A portrait by him in my new rôle. Yes. Mrs. Frowde knew him. _Voilà._

SILVERTON

I see: that’s how you still get things.

PATRICIA

Mrs. Frowde is the greatest “lion-hunter” in captivity. She is happy to-day; she’s caught three of us: a star, a painter, and a promising musician. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? (_He nods._) You’ve finally decided to follow the advice I gave you when we first came East----

SILVERTON

Yes: how different it was then----

PATRICIA

(_Reminiscently_)

Yes--how different!

MRS. FROWDE

(_Gently restraining_ THE BROWN ONE, _who has started
towards_ PATRICIA _and_ SILVERTON)

I’ve heard they had quite a romance once.

THE BROWN ONE

How romantic! I wish my husband played a piano. (_They talk._)

PATRICIA

(_Quietly to_ SILVERTON)

Funny, George, while you were playing I was thinking of when I hadn’t a job and you were copying for a living. Your music actually made me want to throw off all my insincerities here just for once and see what would happen.

SILVERTON

They’d be shocked----

PATRICIA

And I’d be chilly.

SILVERTON

But _I_ couldn’t be of any use to you--_then_.

PATRICIA

No; my “art” wasn’t big enough to succeed by itself alone. I had to play the game--get influence--(_He protests._) Oh, I know myself, George; I was cruel to you and all the others. Some day, just to square myself in my own eyes, I’ll tell people like these here about my life and how I have always used them to get what I wanted.

SILVERTON

(_Surprised_)

What is the matter, Pat? You’re not yourself.

PATRICIA

(_Smiling_)

I’m having a rush of sincerity to my lips.

SILVERTON

(_Looking over toward the others_)

I wonder what _they_ would say if it slipped out?

PATRICIA

Perhaps they’d say it was “temperament.” I’ve affected it so much I actually believe I’ve got it.

MRS. FROWDE

(_Laughing with others_)

Mavosky is _so_ clever; he said in America passion was only sentiment waving a red flag!

THE GREEN ONE

He told me art had no morals and I understood him. He’s so subtle.

SILVERTON

(_To_ PATRICIA)

If I could but make phrases.

PATRICIA

(_Rising, wearily_)

I don’t have to; I smile them.

MRS. FROWDE

(_Coming down anxiously_)

Surely, you’re not going yet, Patricia?

THE GREEN ONE

(_To_ THE BROWN ONE)

She calls her Patricia!

MRS. FROWDE

(_Offering_ PATRICIA _a cup_)

I’ve fixed it the way you like it--no lemon.

PATRICIA

(_Declining_)

You are so thoughtful, dear Emily.

THE GREEN ONE

(_To_ THE BROWN ONE)

Emily!

THE BLUE ONE

(_Coming to_ PATRICIA)

I’m just dying to see your Rosalind.

PATRICIA

(_Beautifully covering with an air of sincerity her mockery which_
SILVERTON _alone detects_)

You may before you do.

THE GREEN ONE

(_In surprise_)

But the papers say----

PATRICIA

You mustn’t believe all you see _there_. My press agent has imagination.

THE BLUE ONE

(_Cozily to the others_)

Isn’t it splendid to be taken into her confidence.

(PATRICIA _darts a humorous glance at_ SILVERTON.)

THE BROWN ONE

I should think you’d be tired going out so much.

PATRICIA

Mrs. Frowde’s friends are always interesting and proper--a rare combination. (_Smiling._) Her idea of a tragedy would be a social mishap--that way.

MRS. FROWDE

(_Protectively_)

I warn her against overtaxing herself--and with that trying part to play every night.

PATRICIA

Whenever it gets trying to me I think of the audience.

MRS. FROWDE

(_As the others laugh_)

I always said one must have a sense of humor off the stage to play the parts you do.

PATRICIA

I get my inspiration from my friends; a cup of tea, and brilliant conversation before the horrid time to go and “make up.”

THE GREEN ONE

Doesn’t all the make-up hurt the complexion?

PATRICIA

(_Sweetly_)

I always use cold cream first--don’t you?

(_An abrupt halt in the laughter comes as_ MISS EVA STANNARD
_enters and pauses momentarily in the doorway_.

MISS STANNARD _is about twenty-nine, tall, vibrant and almost
imperious in bearing. Her forehead is high, her eyes keen and
her mouth thin and tense. She is gowned in gray._

PATRICIA _is immediately interested in her and in the
constrained attitude of the others_.

MISS STANNARD _slowly comes to_ MRS. FROWDE, _bowing
graciously, as she passes, to the others, who return it
with sickly smiles, exchanging secret looks of surprise and
indignation_. MRS. FROWDE _in her obvious embarrassment,
instead of offering her hand, proffers the tea-cup, which_
MISS STANNARD _smilingly declines_. THE BLUE ONE, _with rare
presence of mind, coughs, and the others all laugh nervously,
as though to cover the silence which has ensued_.

PATRICIA _slowly sits again, with_ SILVERTON _standing by her
chair, intensely interested and curious_.)

MISS STANNARD

(_Sweetly_)

I had no idea, Mrs. Frowde, you were receiving formally to-day.

MRS. FROWDE

(_Constrained throughout_)

I only sent out a few special cards to meet Miss Tenner. But now that you’ve come, let me present you to her. Miss Stannard.

PATRICIA

(_More cordial than ever_)

Miss _Eva_ Stannard? (_Miss Stannard nods._) Oh; I’m indeed glad to meet you.

MISS STANNARD

(_Formally and a bit puzzled_)

Thanks.

MRS. FROWDE

You know the others?

MISS STANNARD

(_Cordially_)

Oh, yes----

(_The others laugh a little nervously, nod mechanically, with
ill-concealed rudeness._)

MRS. FROWDE

(_Nervously_)

_Do_ have another cup of tea. (_Pause._) What lovely weather we are having! (_They all agree._) I almost hate to go to Florida this winter; but it saves fuel.

(MISS STANNARD _declines again and_ SILVERTON _takes the cup
from_ MRS. FROWDE _to the table, returning to_ PATRICIA.
_There is another embarrassing silence in which they all look
at one another. Finally_ THE BROWN ONE _comes to say good-bye
to_ MRS. FROWDE, _whose discomfort increases throughout_.)

Must you really go so soon?

THE BROWN ONE

(_Pointedly_)

Yes; I--I had expected to stay longer, but I’ve just remembered a most important engagement.

THE BLUE ONE

Can’t I drop you on the way? My car’s waiting.

MRS. FROWDE

(_Distressed_)

Must you, too? But Mr. Silverton has promised to play again.

SILVERTON

(_Significantly_)

An improvisation--prompted by the occasion.

THE BLUE ONE

I’m to hear it Thursday--remember.

(_As_ THE BLUE ONE _and_ THE BROWN ONE _say good-bye to_ MISS
STANNARD, THE GREEN ONE _goes to_ MRS. FROWDE. MISS STANNARD
_being left alone, shows her struggle at self-control and
sits in a chair unasked_. THE BROWN ONE _and_ THE BLUE ONE
_with heads together go out the upper opening_.)

THE GREEN ONE

It’s getting late. I’ve had such a pleasant afternoon. You won’t forget bridge next Monday?

(MRS. FROWDE _responds limply and as_ THE GREEN ONE _turns_,
MISS STANNARD _rises and halts her with a look_.)

MISS STANNARD

Good afternoon.

MRS. FROWDE

Must you?

THE GREEN ONE

Yes, I’m going to Cartier’s for the prizes. (_To_ PATRICIA) Good afternoon. (_After a moment’s hesitation._) Good afternoon, Miss Stannard.

(THE GREEN ONE _goes out as_ MISS STANNARD _eyes_ MRS. FROWDE
_in silence while_ PATRICIA _and_ SILVERTON _speak unheard_.)

PATRICIA

Leave me here alone, George: _this_ is real. I’ve heard about her.

SILVERTON

What are you going to do?

PATRICIA

The cats! There’s something inside me wants to speak. Run along. I’m feeling that rush of sincerity I spoke of.

SILVERTON

Mrs. Frowde, I leave only because--(_as_ MISS STANNARD _catches his eye_) Miss Stannard, I’m sorry they did not wait for that improvisation. But I’m afraid they wouldn’t have understood the _motif_.

(SILVERTON _goes out_. PATRICIA _leans forward watching the
two, as_ MRS. FROWDE _faces_ MISS STANNARD. _There is an
embarrassing pause._)

MRS. FROWDE

Really, I don’t know what to say. I hardly thought you would come--under the circumstances.

MISS STANNARD

(_Fencing carefully throughout_)

I’m dreadfully sorry. I did not know it was a select affair. I thought you were always at home to your friends.

MRS. FROWDE

(_Pointedly_)

Friends--yes.

MISS STANNARD

(_Sweetly_)

Then _I’m_ forgiven?

MRS. FROWDE

I think you must have seen my friends did not remain after you arrived.

MISS STANNARD

I’m very sorry; but it is they you should criticize for being so frightfully inconsiderate of you. (_With a sudden firmness_) And now Mrs. Frowde, don’t you think you owe me an explanation?

MRS. FROWDE

(_Controlling herself with difficulty_)

I feel a strong desire to give it, only I hardly think you would like me to speak before----

MISS STANNARD

(_Sarcastically_)

Strangers? The resentment was shown before Miss Tenner, why not the explanation?

PATRICIA

(_Appealing with the usual success to their intimacy._)

Emily, dear, you forget you have already spoken to me of Miss Stannard. (MISS STANNARD _stiffens_.)

MRS. FROWDE

Wouldn’t it be better if I simply asked you not to call again?

MISS STANNARD

(_With a note of challenge_)

I must insist that you tell me frankly the reason.

MRS. FROWDE

You insist?

MISS STANNARD

Yes.

MRS. FROWDE

(_Bluntly_)

There has been too much talk about you. Surely you must have realized your name is on every tongue. You know the world: women can’t do what you have done. You must have been mad--and with a married man at that!

(PATRICIA _eyes her keenly_. MISS STANNARD _tosses her
head defiantly; but as_ MRS. FROWDE _eyes her piercingly
she seems to lose all her control, begins to tremble,
totters, clutching the back of a chair and finally sinks
with an hysterical sob upon the sofa, burying her face in
her hands. Her vanity-case rattles to the floor._ PATRICIA
_rises instinctively to go to her but sits again as_ MRS.
FROWDE _motions her back and approaches_ MISS STANNARD _less
harshly_.)

I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this. Only one must protect one’s self--one’s friends. I couldn’t have you come here. (_Slowly_) Oh, well, I’m sure you will see one must draw the line somewhere.

PATRICIA

(_Impressively_)

Yes, Emily, one must draw the line somewhere. Why didn’t you begin with me?

(MRS. FROWDE _sits in astonishment as_ PATRICIA _leans
forward. There is a long pause till_ MISS STANNARD _looks up
slowly in wonder and curiosity_.)

I really don’t see why you discriminate.

MRS. FROWDE

But----

PATRICIA

If you and your friends are so shocked by Miss Stannard’s presence, why should you tolerate me? No one gives us stage people the right to privacy. Everybody makes it their business to retail our lives. We’re public property; so surely you and your friends have heard my story, too. Now, really, haven’t you?

MRS. FROWDE

(_Confused_)

Yes, but--my dear....

PATRICIA

And what have you heard about me? Let’s see if it is correct. My name? It isn’t my own. My real one wouldn’t look well on the advertising. Besides, my father hadn’t given me any reason to be proud of it. My mother may have been a good soul if I had ever really known her. I’ve always thought I was an unwanted child: I hate children so myself. But mother couldn’t have been the sort who’d drink with ease out of your frail tea-cups, and I’ll warrant no amount of coaching would have kept the veneer from peeling when she spoke. I grew up somehow among “beer and skittles,” as Trilby would say; didn’t know what pictures and teas and things were till I came East. And do you know _how_ I came? _He_ seemed so handsome, too, in those days.

MRS. FROWDE

(_Moving uneasily as she sees a grim smile come to_ MISS
STANNARD)

But, dear, you were young and----

PATRICIA

Oh, I knew better; but I was bored--bored out there and I wanted a chance to live. We didn’t get along very well--he and I; partly my fault. He couldn’t be happy with a woman who also had a spark of creation tucked away in her soul. Then, besides, I had made up my mind I’d do something because I had to keep alive. I turned to the stage--most of us poor fools do. But I happened to have a way with me and a pair of shoulders that were proud of my face. (_Sarcastically_.) The critics called it personality. (_Quickly_) I wonder if you also know I lived in a five-dollar-a-week boarding-house with circus acrobats on the floor above, a sad soprano in a closet next to mine and a smell of cooking all over so I wouldn’t be lonely? (_Almost unconsciously her voice at times betrays an unexpected commonness._) How I hated it! How I wanted these feathers and gilt! And every time I made up my face in that two-by-four part I had, I determined to succeed somehow--_anyhow_. I deserve every bit of success I’ve got, for I worked hard getting the burrs out of my speech and some grammar into it. (MRS. FROWDE _moves uncomfortably again_.) That’s the truth. People suspected I had a brain and I had; but I wasn’t wasting it on books--I was studying the hearts and souls of the sort of people I needed to get along. (_With increasing relish at the effect of her revelations._) And I saw to succeed in my life I had to grow hard inside and soft out. So I affected my husky voice and my sad smile; sadness gave me a touch of mystery and encouraged curiosity. I knew I’d have to keep my face smooth, too; so I stopped feeling for others and thought only of myself. Suffering isn’t good for the complexion. But I helped everybody in convenient ways, because I knew I could make them help me in greater. And as I began to get along I went out more to teas and the like so I could meet the people I could use.

MRS. FROWDE

But, my dear....

PATRICIA

Oh, I’m not ungrateful for their kindness, but I owe them nothing, for I repaid them, by letting them do things for me. Yes, it flattered them to have me about and to say they knew me “intimately.” I was a good asset to their affairs because I was a success. Then I picked up a lot of cant phrases about art and the like, so I could prattle; and I even signed articles which somebody else wrote lamenting the decline of the stage, when I knew in my heart I was glad things were as they were because I could make more money with a dramatized novel or a tailor-made part than in my much advertised and never intended appearance in Shakespeare. (_Acting as with apparent conviction._) And back of this, life was calling me. So I did other things to get along. My eyes were open and so it seems were those of the world. It envied me my freedom because I was a success. All of us don’t do it, but I did and it wasn’t always for love. (MISS STANNARD’S _quick breath halts her for a moment; then she adds dramatically_) Yes, Mrs. Frowde, if you’re going to draw the line somewhere at your teas, why don’t you begin with me?

MRS. FROWDE

(_Floundering_)

But--but you forget, dear, you--you are a great creative artist.

PATRICIA

No, I don’t. Everybody’s tolerance of my whims, my moods, my morals would never let me forget it. But what has that to do with the right and wrong of it? That’s what you are wondering, Miss Stannard. (MISS STANNARD _gazes at her_.) I don’t ask any less charity for myself because my “temperament” has made me live my life my own way; though I don’t need charity now I’m on top. (_Surging along effectively._) But why shouldn’t you and your friends extend that same charity to the rest of the sinners? (PATRICIA _does not detect_ MISS STANNARD’S _change of manner so intent is she in her own words_.) You give it to me because I am a creative artist. Everybody has a bit of the artist in them. Some of us use it to make bread; others use it to make trouble. All the nice sinners of the world have the creative spirit, too. Sin is the creating of the actual out of the imagined. It’s falling over the fence in a desire to see what is on the other side. (_Consciously shaping her words and manner to a climax._) But the more so are the sins one does for love. Love is the most creative of all impulses. If you forgive me because I’m an artist, as you say; if you can ask _me_ to sit beside your lily-faced daughters and stubby-chinned sons; if you can kiss my lips--I, who have openly violated all your standards--why do you turn against this woman, who has done what she has for the noblest of motives--love--the love of a man?

MISS STANNARD

(_She has risen tensely and speaks with a biting bitterness_)

I suppose you meant very well, Miss Tenner; you said it just as though it were a scene in some play--with the proper emphasis and pause and nice phrases. But believe me, Mrs. Frowde is right: we can’t judge people by the same standards. (_Contemptuously_) There _is_ a difference between you and me. _I_ feel it myself. When I need forgiveness I shall only want it of my own class. (_Scornfully_) The tolerance of yours means nothing to me. (_Very quietly_) I am sorry, Mrs. Frowde. I’ll not call again till he and I are married. Then, of course, it will be all right. Good-bye.

(MISS STANNARD _goes out quickly leaving_ PATRICIA _dumb at
her mis-reading of the situation_.

MRS. FROWDE, _who has been too confused throughout to speak,
now vents her anger on_ MISS STANNARD.)

MRS. FROWDE

The brazen hussy! You see what she is--to insult you so after your splendid defense of her!

PATRICIA

(_Slowly_)

She was right.

MRS. FROWDE

Not at all. She doesn’t understand the difference with a lady of temperament.

PATRICIA

Temperament--oh, yes. (_She smiles sarcastically and then looks surprised at_ MRS. FROWDE.) And you are not angry with me?

MRS. FROWDE

(_Affectionately_)

At _you_, my dear friend? Indeed not. I know you didn’t mean _me_. And besides I would have understood you if you had.

PATRICIA

(_Eyeing her with undetected cynicism_)

Yes, yes. You would have understood.

MRS. FROWDE

(_Impulsively_)

Won’t you stay and have a bite to eat with me--all alone? I can drive you to the theater.

PATRICIA

I have an interview.

MRS. FROWDE

(_As they walk to the door_)

Too bad they misquote so.

PATRICIA

Yes, isn’t it? I’ve had such a dear afternoon.

MRS. FROWDE

(_Embracing her affectionately_)

And you’ll come to lunch Tuesday?

PATRICIA

(_As though wishing to escape_)

No ... I....

MRS. FROWDE

(_Solicitously_)

But Mavosky will be here and he’s taken quite fancy to you. Thinks you’d make a splendid study.

PATRICIA

(_Recalling_)

Mavosky! Oh, yes. I thought you said Wednesday; that’s matinée day. Tuesday is all right.

MRS. FROWDE

Say at two?

PATRICIA

I may be a moment late.

MRS. FROWDE

We’ll wait for you. (_As they are walking out_) I hope you’ll forget what _she_ said.

PATRICIA

Oh, Miss Stannard hasn’t any temperament. And it does make a difference, doesn’t it?

(_They go out leaving the room empty, with the candles on the
table winking in their sockets._)

[CURTAIN]

[D] Copyright by George Middleton. See back of title page.

THE REASON

THE PEOPLE

LOCKSLEY RANDOLPH, _a retired merchant_.
PAULA, _his daughter_.
TOM SABINE, _his secretary_.
MARY SABINE, _his secretary’s wife_.

SCENE

_Sitting-room at the Randolph home in a suburb of the city; an early winter night._

THE REASON[E]

_A handsomely furnished sitting-room, the general entrance of which from the floor below is at the right. Beyond this a broad window is seen as the moonlight faintly filters through the trees outside. Directly opposite, some smoldering logs betray a fireplace, near which is another door opening into_ PAULA’S _apartments. Large double doors in the center open into a hallway leading to library. A telephone is on a large writing-table, upon which a light, with a luxurious shade suspended above, casts a strong yellow glow. The furnishings show signs of tasteless wealth and are devoid of any feminine touch._

SABINE _and_ RANDOLPH _are bending over some documents_.

SABINE _is about thirty-three, clean-shaven with shrewd eyes and a conspicuously insinuating smile. The manner with which he feels for his words and his studied coolness suggest a deep and significant interest in the developments._

RANDOLPH _is fifty, well-preserved and possessing the assurance of permanent prosperity: he is apparently without illusions as the lines about his slightly protruding eyes and thick lips indicate a dissipated life_.

_Though the two men are obviously considerate, there is concealed an instinctive mistrust. They are silent a long while until_ RANDOLPH _looks up from the papers_.

SABINE

Anything else?

RANDOLPH

How long will those compilations take?

SABINE

Same as the others.

RANDOLPH

A month each, eh? You’ve done ... let’s see....

SABINE

I’ve been your secretary for three months.

RANDOLPH

And you’ve been at these every evening--ever since I took you in.

SABINE

I wouldn’t put it that way.

RANDOLPH

You are sure you can still find all you need in my own library here?

SABINE

All I need--behind the closed doors.

RANDOLPH

(_Casually_)

I shall see that my orders not to disturb you are continued.

SABINE

I’ve noticed you never even come yourself.

RANDOLPH

I like to think of young genius being left alone.

SABINE

(_Mock seriously_)

And out of harm’s way?

RANDOLPH

Exactly--at night. (_Half to himself._) Another month will about finish it.

SABINE

(_Significantly_)

Mr. Randolph, you are paying rather high for----

RANDOLPH

(_Eyeing him quickly_)

For what?

SABINE

(_Turning the pages casually_)

Unremunerative work.

RANDOLPH

One never pays too high for what one wants.

SABINE

Not at the time.

(_They look at each other_: SABINE _slowly gathers the papers
together and glances towards_ RANDOLPH _who is coolly staring
before him. There is a quiet pause. Then_ SABINE _opens the
library door and casually steps back_.)

Your daughter. (_Calmly to_ PAULA) Your father is here, Miss Randolph.

(PAULA _enters with a book in hand. She is twenty-three
and charming, with a sweet innocent air which suggests a
hedged-in life. She is dressed in a simple tea-gown and her
manner throughout is calm and unsophisticated._)

PAULA

Good evening, Mr. Sabine.

RANDOLPH

Where have you been, Paula?

PAULA

Getting a book.

RANDOLPH

You mustn’t read so much.

SABINE

Anything further, Mr. Randolph, before you go out?

RANDOLPH

No. But--but I don’t remember mentioning that I was going out.

SABINE

I thought you did. Good evening.

PAULA

(_Good-naturedly_)

Is Mrs. Sabine well?

SABINE

Not exactly.

RANDOLPH

Indeed?

SABINE

(_Smiling_)

My wife seems upset about something.

RANDOLPH

(_Casually_)

Why, she seemed well when she was here last, didn’t she, Paula?

PAULA

Yes, and so happy.

RANDOLPH

What’s the trouble?

SABINE

I’m not quite sure--_yet_.

RANDOLPH

Perhaps she needs a change.

SABINE

I’ll tell her you asked after her, Mr. Randolph.

RANDOLPH

Certainly. Do. But it was _Miss_ Randolph who inquired.

SABINE

I thought it was you. (_He smiles._) The air in the library has affected me. (_He smiles._) Good evening.

(_He leaves the room, slowly closing the door. There is a
pause as_ PAULA _looks curiously before her, while_ RANDOLPH,
_somewhat puzzled, goes up to door and sees that_ SABINE _has
gone into the library beyond_.)

PAULA

I hope it’s nothing serious.

RANDOLPH

What?

PAULA

Mrs. Sabine.

RANDOLPH

Nothing, of course.

PAULA

Hasn’t she told _you_?

RANDOLPH

Me?

PAULA

You’re such good friends.

RANDOLPH

My dear, women with attractive husbands never confide in outsiders.

PAULA

(_Innocently_)

Don’t they?

RANDOLPH

(_Laughing_)

You know so little of life. (PAULA _sighs in agreement_.) And I wish you to keep your sweetness until you are married.

PAULA

Doesn’t one need it then?

RANDOLPH

You’ll understand when the time comes, child.

PAULA

(_Enigmatically_)

And one mustn’t before!

RANDOLPH

Children don’t realize how they unconsciously hold parents to higher things: it’s because of you, for instance, more than anything else since your dear mother died, that I’ve tried to keep _my_ life an example.

PAULA

I’ve always had it before me, father. (_Coming closer._) I’m deeply grateful for showing me what I, too, should be.

RANDOLPH

Yes, yes. (_Patting her._) Now, dear, run along to bed: your eyes are tired.

PAULA

(_Glancing at book_)

I’m fond of reading.

RANDOLPH

(_Humoring her throughout_)

What do you like best?

PAULA

(_Cheerfully_)

Adventure.

RANDOLPH

With real heroes?

PAULA

(_Referring to book_)

I love those who keep cool in times of danger.

RANDOLPH

You’re only a child, after all, eh? (_He pats her tenderly as she notices him glancing at his watch._)

PAULA

(_Casually_)

You _are_ going out?

RANDOLPH

Yes: some business.

PAULA

Will you be late?

RANDOLPH

Do I disturb you?

PAULA

I can generally hear the machine from my room, before you turn up the path.

RANDOLPH

It’s easy nowadays to go fast in the dark.

PAULA

You will always toot the horn? (_Reprovingly_) Think of the danger to others.

RANDOLPH

Foolish girl! There’s no danger about here.

PAULA

No; of course not. (_Goes to him._) Good night.

RANDOLPH

Dear, dear girl. (_Looking at her._) It’s good to have such a daughter.

PAULA

And such a father. (_They kiss; the telephone rings._) Oh, let me. (_She goes to phone._) Good evening, Mrs. Sabine. (RANDOLPH _starts a bit, unnoticed_.) I thought you were ill. Mr. Sabine was telling father. I believe he’s in the library. Father will take the message: he’s here. Do take care of yourself: just think what Mr. Sabine would do if you were ill. Good night.

(_She hands receiver to father, who half pauses, thinking she
will leave the room; but she lingers over her book._)

RANDOLPH

Good evening. (_Half pointedly_) Yes, my daughter is here. Anything I can do? Do you want my advice? Oh, whatever is wisest. Of course I’ll tell Mr. Sabine. I hope it’s nothing serious. (_He hangs up receiver, concealing from_ PAULA _his displeasure_.)

PAULA

She seemed excited.

RANDOLPH

Woman’s nerves.

PAULA

Funny I never have them.

RANDOLPH

You’re not married.

PAULA

You’re going to see her?

RANDOLPH

She’s on her way here.

PAULA

Here? Then you will tell Mr. Sabine she’s coming?

RANDOLPH

Yes. But you’re tired, dear.

PAULA

I’ll feel better with my things off. Good night. (_She pauses at her door._) Father; she and Mr. Sabine are happily married, aren’t they?

RANDOLPH

Of course, of course.

PAULA

I’m glad to hear so.

RANDOLPH

Why?

PAULA

(_Glancing at him_)

Then it couldn’t be about _that_.

(_She closes the door softly._ RANDOLPH _looks after her
puzzled, then walks up and down alone very much irritated.
He takes out his check book, glancing through the stubs
cynically. Then he throws it back into the table drawer.
Finally he picks up the phone, obviously switching it._)

RANDOLPH

Is that you, Sabine? You’ve found what you want? You won’t need me any more? Well, stick close to it. I just wished to see. Good night. (_He switches it off again and impatiently waits._) Is that you, Brooks? Tell Toder to have the car ready. I may need it later. No, the closed car--it’s chilly. Oh, by the way, (_trying to be casual_), in case _I_ should be out, Mr. Sabine is expecting Mrs. Sabine. Let her come right up to the library. What’s that? Better see who it is. (_Showing displeasure._) I’ll tell Mr. Sabine myself. Yes; if you’re sure it’s Mrs. Sabine, better let her come up here. That’ll be all for to-night.

(_He hangs up the receiver, walks up and down again and
finally opens the hall door. There is quite a pause as he
stands, smoking a cigarette, awaiting her. Finally_, MRS.
SABINE _enters, leaving the door open_.

_She is in her late twenties, of rather restless beauty,
which under her shifting expression becomes hard and cynical.
She apparently has little resistance and suggests a love
of excitement and sensation. Her manner is flighty though
worldly. She is handsomely dressed, with beautiful furs upon
her sensuous shoulders._)

RANDOLPH

(_Abruptly_)

What the devil does this mean?

MRS. SABINE

We’re alone?

RANDOLPH

Naturally.

MRS. SABINE

(_Half flippantly_)

I had to see you.

RANDOLPH

Why here?

MRS. SABINE

I couldn’t wait till you came to me.

RANDOLPH

(_With strained jocularity_)

Feather brain; what’s the trouble?

MRS. SABINE

Nothing--only my husband _knows_.

RANDOLPH

(_Quickly_)

About us?

MRS. SABINE

He’s known for some time.

RANDOLPH

And he only spoke----?

MRS. SABINE

To-day.

RANDOLPH

The devil! (_Slowly_) What’s the reason?

MRS. SABINE

Why he kept silent? (_Shrugging shoulders_) You men always have reasons.

RANDOLPH

What did he say?

MRS. SABINE

(_Laughing cynically_)

He smiled. It was so funny and so unexpected.

RANDOLPH

(_Incredulously_)

He didn’t make a scene?

MRS. SABINE