You have reached the coffee and are putting up a brave fight against the
orchestra before going out into the privacy of the street.
_She:_ And we didn’t get home, after all, until two o’clock. I was so
angry: it spoiled the evening.
_You:_ Angry! I don’t think that you could ever be angry.
_She:_ Oh, yes, you don’t know me at all. I have a _dreadful_ temper.
_You:_ Well, it doesn’t somehow fit in with my idea of you, you see. No,
I must disagree with you. You haven’t a temper. It’s impossible for you
to have a really earthly emotion.
_She (somewhat irritated):_ Why, how can you say such a thing?
_You:_ You’re a strangely aloof child, you know.
_She (after a pleased little silence):_ That’s not nice of you.
_You:_ Why not? It’s so nice of you, you know.
_She:_ Oh, do you really think so? I’m sure I don’t try to be. No....
(_with a charming smile_)—you’re quite wrong. It’s the rest of them
that are different. I’m really very normal.
_You:_ Normal? Oh, my dear! And yet, after all, it’s not very funny.
Perhaps it’s a tragedy.
_She:_ What is?
_You:_ Your attitude toward life.
_She:_ Why, I have no attitude!
_You:_ There you are; that’s just it. Someone of us mortals tries to
tell you how we—how flesh-and-blood beings react to you, and you simply
open those clear eyes of yours, and—well, how can I go on talking in
the face of such bland ignorance?
_She:_ Ignorance! Why I don’t....
_You:_ Oh, surely you know how ignorant you are? You must remain
ignorant with deliberation. It’s part of your charm, of course, but ...
oh, how charming you could be, in another way!
_She:_ Really.... (_suddenly her voice warms and she leans a little over
the table, talking eagerly_) No, you’re perfectly right. I mean from
your viewpoint, of course. One thing that you forget, though, is that I
don’t feel the way that you and the rest of them do. I can’t really
understand it myself, and yet ... oh, all that sort of thing; emotion
and all that; seems so ... so messy.
_You:_ Messy? My dear child, what sort of people can you have known?
_She:_ Perfectly normal people, I assure you. No, it’s my own fault.
It’s me, and I can’t help it. Emotion to me has always seemed—no thank
you, just demi-tasse—seemed common. Not aristocratic. That’s rather a
snide thing to say, isn’t it? I don’t mean to sound that way.
_You:_ I know you don’t. (_The music plays without competition for a
moment_). But how sad!
_She:_ Sad? Oh no. I get along quite well. I’m really very happy, except
once in a while. I’m as happy, that is, as you can possibly be for all
your—your normality.
_You:_ But what a strange way for an intelligent person like yourself to
think! Have you no curiosity?
_She:_ Oh, certainly. To an extent. But when curiosity conflicts with
one’s disgusts....
_You:_ Disgusts? Now you are certainly wrong. It gives you away.
_She:_ Yes, that was a silly thing to say.
_You:_ Don’t you think that you allow your mind to rule you too much?
It’s really dangerous. I mean it. Surely your intelligence tells you
that a well-rounded personality....
_She:_ But I told you; I don’t want to experiment!
_You:_ I can’t believe that you are in a position to judge. You don’t
really know what you want; you don’t know what to want. I don’t believe
you for a minute when you say you are happy. Lovely, yes; but lovely in
a melancholy way. How can you know about yourself, you wise child? Tell
me, are you always so serene?
_She:_ You’re getting much too serious. Let’s dance.
_You:_ I don’t want to dance with you just now. I think you’re trying to
run away from me as you have always run away from questions. Do you
know, you’re a most deceptive person. When I met you, I said to myself,
“She is sensitive,” but I never thought of you as being beautiful. I’m
being frank, do you mind? But I see now that you are. I see that you are
rarely beautiful, but that you do not wish to be. Isn’t that true?
_She:_ Why no, of course not. I don’t understand it all.
_You:_ It’s just this, and I don’t care whether or not I offend you. In
fact, I hope I do. Someone ought to offend you now and then. You’re
committing a crime, not only against us but against yourself. If I had
my way—and I’m not being selfish, either—
_She (blazing):_ As though any of you weren’t selfish!
_You:_ What?
_She:_ I’m so tired of it all. Don’t you think I hear something like
this every day of my life? All of you working for yourselves, arguing
for yourselves, talking eternally about the same thing. I can’t stand
any more of it. I’m sick of it.
_You (gravely):_ I beg your pardon, but you’re not being quite polite,
are you? You’re a bit unjust.
_She:_ Perhaps I’m rather excited. Sorry.
_You:_ Perhaps not. This is the result of a long silence, isn’t it? You
have never spoken like this before?
_She:_ Yes, that’s it.
_You (leaning forward):_ My dear, if I’ve said anything....
_She (faintly):_ No, it’s nothing. Tell me, how can you—all of you—be
so cold blooded and unfastidious at the same time?
_You:_ Oh, but you are wrong. I’m sure that as a rule we are more
fastidious than you could possibly know. I’m sorry that I’ve disturbed
you—Check, please! I’m going to take you home.
_She:_ No, I was foolish. You’re right. I’m sure you’re right. But I
couldn’t help it. Have I hurt you?
_You:_ Let’s forget it all. Let’s go somewhere and talk about other
things. (_You rise and start to the door._) I didn’t want to spoil the
evening, much as you seemed to think so. Should we go to my place and
look at the print I just bought? It’s so early to take you home.
_She:_ Yes, that would be nice.
_You:_ There, you see; I’ve done you an injustice. You’re quite human
underneath it all. Probably someone has hurt you, and you won’t tell me
about it. I think, my dear, that you have a very great capacity for
living. Let’s take one with the top down. TAXI!!