a moment MARGARET PIERCE hurries in._
MARGARET
[_After looking at them._] She’s worse? [_Growing more and more alarmed
by them._] Where is she?
[_Starts towards the stairs._
ABBIE
No--there.
[_Pointing._
CRAIG
[_Stepping between MARGARET and the closed door._] She’s dead,
Margaret.
MARGARET
Dead? Oh--no. Not Bernice. [_Waits imploringly._] But that couldn’t
_be_.
CRAIG
I know. I know what you mean, Margaret.
[_It seems MARGARET is about to fall; CRAIG brings a chair; without
taking a step she sinks to it, facing the closed door. ABBIE turns
and goes out, toward the kitchen._
MARGARET
[_A slight quick turn of her head to him._] I don’t believe it!
CRAIG
It’s true, Margaret.
MARGARET
[_Like blood from her heart._] But Bernice--she _was_ life.
CRAIG
I know--what you mean.
MARGARET
[_After much has gone on in her._] And I wasn’t here!
CRAIG
No. Nor I.
MARGARET
[_A moment later, just having taken this in._] Why weren’t you here?
CRAIG
I didn’t know she was sick.
MARGARET
Your boat got in a week ago.
CRAIG
Yes. I was detained in New York.
MARGARET
Detained by May Fredericks?
CRAIG
Margaret! Bernice wouldn’t want you to talk that way to me--now.
MARGARET
No.
CRAIG
Why, she knew it. Bernice knew I was staying out on Long Island with
them while I was attending to some things about my work. I had a
beautiful letter from Bernice. She was perfectly all right--about
everything. And I was anxious now to get home to her. I was getting
ready to start the very day I got the telegram that--that it was like
this. You mean--you think I didn’t make Bernice happy, Margaret?
MARGARET
Oh, I don’t think you had the power to make her very unhappy.
CRAIG
That’s a cruel thing to say, Margaret. Bernice wouldn’t say that to me.
MARGARET
[_Who is all the while looking straight ahead at the closed door._] No.
CRAIG
She understood me.
MARGARET
And was indulgent.
CRAIG
[_After a pause._] Margaret, did you ever feel you didn’t really get
_to_ Bernice?
MARGARET
Get to her? So far as I had power. _She_ never held me back. Life broke
through her--a life deeper than anything that could happen to her.
CRAIG
Yes, that’s it. Something you couldn’t destroy. A life in her deeper
than anything that could be done to her. That--that makes a difference,
Margaret. I never _had_ Bernice.
MARGARET
Oh, wasn’t it wonderful to you that beneath what you “had” was a life
too full, too rich to be _had_? I should think that would flow over
your life and give it beauty.
CRAIG
I suppose a man’s feeling is different. He has to feel that he
moves--completely moves--yes, could destroy--not that he would, but has
the power to reshape the--
MARGARET
Craig! “Reshape” Bernice! [_In anguish._] Oh, I came to see _her_. Not
to sit here talking to you.
CRAIG
I loved her, Margaret. I valued her--even though her life wasn’t made
by my life. And she loved me. You think she didn’t?
MARGARET
No, Craig, I don’t think she didn’t. I know she did. I was thinking of
those things in her--even greater than loving. Those things in her even
loving never--caught.
CRAIG
Yes. I know, Margaret.
MARGARET
I want to see Bernice!
[_Crying she goes blindly toward the closed door, and to Bernice._
[_A second time left alone in the room, CRAIG now looks at those
various things with which he and Bernice have lived. When he can
no longer do this he goes to the passage way at the front of the
staircase._
CRAIG
Abbie! [_After a moment’s wait ABBIE comes slowly in._] When Miss
Margaret came, you were about to tell me something. My wife--left a
message for me?
ABBIE
Yes. No--I don’t know. [_Wildly._] She killed herself!
CRAIG
[_Falling back._] _What_--are--you--saying?
ABBIE
She--did it herself. Took her life. Now I’ve told you! You know now!
CRAIG
[_Roughly taking hold of her._] What’s this you’re saying? What’s this
lie you’re trying to--[_Letting go of her--in horror, imploringly._]
Abbie! _Tell me it isn’t true._
ABBIE
It’s true. I’m telling you. It’s true. She--didn’t want to live any
longer--so she took something--ended her life. That’s all. That’s all I
can tell you. Nobody knows. Not her father--nobody. I thought I ought
to tell you. Now I’ve told you! Let me go. I’ve told you--I--
[_She breaks from him and rushes out. CRAIG does not move. MARGARET
comes from Bernice, without looking at CRAIG, opens the door to go
outside._
CRAIG
[_Scarcely able to call to her._] Margaret.
MARGARET
[_Not turning._] I’ll be back soon.
CRAIG
[_Wildly._] You can’t go away leaving me alone with this! I tell you I
can’t _stand_ it. You’re going to the woods to think of Bernice! Well
I’ll tell you one thing. You never _knew_ Bernice. You thought she
didn’t love me. You think I didn’t matter. But Bernice _killed_ herself
because she loved me so!
MARGARET
What--are--you--saying?
CRAIG
Abbie just told me. No one knows. Not her father--only Abbie.
MARGARET
It is _not_ true.
CRAIG
Yes. Abbie was with her. Oh, Margaret, she loved me like _that_.
MARGARET
And you killed her!
CRAIG
No--Oh, don’t say that! I didn’t _know_.
MARGARET
[_After trying to take it in._] I knew Bernice. She was life. She came
from the whole of life. You are asking me to believe that because
of--some little thing in her own life--
CRAIG
But it wasn’t a little thing. _That’s_ what we didn’t know. I was
_everything_ to Bernice. More than all that life we felt--[_Some one is
heard above._] I think Laura’s coming down. Laura mustn’t know. I had
to have you know. Nobody else. Not Laura.
LAURA
[_On the stairs._] Oh, Margaret, you have come?
MARGARET
I was just going out. [_As LAURA comes nearer._] I’m going to take a
walk!
[_She goes out._
LAURA
[_Looking after her._] Take a _walk_. She always does some strange
thing. [_CRAIG has sunk to a chair, his back to LAURA._] Why should she
rush away like this, as if it were so much harder for her to stay in
this house than for anyone else? [_CRAIG, bowed, covers his face with
his hands._] Has she been trying to make you feel badly, Craig? [_She
goes up to him and puts a hand on his bent shoulder._] Don’t let her
do that. It isn’t true. It isn’t as if Bernice were--like most women.
There was something--aloof in Bernice. You saw it in her eyes; even in
her smile. Oh, I thought she was wonderful, too. Only, it isn’t as if
Bernice--
CRAIG
If you think she didn’t love me, you’re wrong!
LAURA
Oh--Craig! Love you, of course. Only--things that might have hurt
another woman--
CRAIG
How do we know who’s hurt? Who isn’t? Who loves--who doesn’t love?
Don’t _talk_, Laura.
[_She stands there beside him; the FATHER, coming in, at first sees
only LAURA._
FATHER
I must have dropped the ten of diamonds. [_Seeing CRAIG._] Of course.
Of course. I try not to think of it. My little girl. She loved life so.
Always. From the time she was a baby she did rejoice so in the world.
[_He stands looking at the closed door. ABBIE comes in; looks at
CRAIG, hesitates, then slowly crosses the room and takes the
traveling-bag he brought in when he came; another look at his bowed
head, then, herself bowed, starts up the stairs._
(CURTAIN)
ACT TWO
SCENE: _As in Act One, save that it is evening now; the reading lamp is
lighted, and candles. LAURA is sitting before the fire knitting. ABBIE
is standing at the foot of the stairs, as if LAURA had called to her as
she came down._
LAURA
But he took the tray, did he, Abbie?
ABBIE
He let me leave it.
LAURA
And how did he seem?
ABBIE
I didn’t see his face. And he didn’t say anything.
LAURA
He wasn’t like that until Margaret Pierce came. How long was Mrs.
Norris sick, Abbie? [_As she asks this the outer door opens and
MARGARET comes in._] Been out looking at the stars, Margaret? Aren’t
they bright up here in the hills?
MARGARET
I--I didn’t see them.
[_She looks at ABBIE, who is looking at her. ABBIE turns away from
MARGARET’S look._
LAURA
I was asking you--how long was Mrs. Norris sick, Abbie?
ABBIE
Two days.
LAURA
And just what did the doctor say was the matter?
ABBIE
The doctor wasn’t here.
[_She steals a glance at MARGARET, who is all the while looking at
her._
LAURA
I know. But afterwards--what was his opinion?
ABBIE
Attacks like she had had before--only worse. Ulcers in the stomach, he
thought it was.
LAURA
It’s a great pity you couldn’t get a doctor. That’s the worst of living
way up here by one’s self. Mrs. Norris had seemed well, hadn’t she?
ABBIE
Yes, except once in a while; the doctor had said that she ought to go
to the hospital to find out.
MARGARET
[_To LAURA._] Too bad Craig wasn’t here.
LAURA
Yes. He was detained in New York.
MARGARET
Yes. I know.
LAURA
Abbie, I wish you would go up and ask Mr. Norris if he would like some
more coffee and--see how he seems. [_To MARGARET, resentfully._] I
don’t understand why Craig should be quite like this. [_ABBIE does not
move until LAURA looks at her in surprise, then she turns to go._] No;
I’ll go myself, Abbie. I want to see how he is.
[_She goes up, and ABBIE comes back. Without looking at MARGARET she
is turning toward the kitchen._
MARGARET
Abbie! [_Reluctantly ABBIE comes back, at first not looking up. Then
she raises her eyes._] Yes, he told me. [_ABBIE does not speak or
move._] Had she seemed unhappy, Abbie?
ABBIE
No. No, I hadn’t noticed anything.
MARGARET
Abbie! Don’t shut me out like this! _She_ wouldn’t shut me out. Bernice
loved me.
ABBIE
I know. I know she did. But there’s nothing for me to tell you, Miss
Margaret, and it’s hard for me to talk about. I loved her too. I lived
with her her whole life long. First the baby I took care of and played
with--then all the changing with the different years--then _this_--
[_A move of her hands towards the closed door._
MARGARET
Yes--then this. [_Gently._] That’s it, Abbie. “This”--takes away from
all that. Abbie, do _you_ understand it? If you do, won’t you help me?
ABBIE
I don’t understand it.
MARGARET
It’s something so--outside all the rest. That’s why I can’t accept it.
Something in me just won’t take it in--because it isn’t _right_. I knew
her. I _know_ I knew her! And this--Why then I didn’t know her. Can’t
you help me?
ABBIE
I don’t see how, Miss Margaret.
MARGARET
But if you would tell me things you know--little things--even though
they meant nothing to you they might mean something to me. Abbie!
Because you loved her don’t you want what she was to go on living in
our hearts?
ABBIE
Oh, I do! I do! But she’ll go on living in my heart without my
understanding what she did.
MARGARET
But differently. I’ll tell you what I mean. Everything about her has
always been--herself. That was one of the rare things about her.
And herself--oh, it’s something you don’t want to lose! It’s been
the beauty in my life. In my busy practical life, Bernice--what she
was--like a breath that blew over my life and--made it something.
ABBIE
I know--just what you mean, Miss Margaret.
MARGARET
It’s inconceivable that she should--cut off her own life. In her lived
all the life that was behind her. You felt that in her--so wonderfully.
She felt it in herself--or her eyes couldn’t have been like that.
_Could_ they? Could they, Abbie?
ABBIE
It--wouldn’t seem so.
MARGARET
She wouldn’t destroy so _much_. Why she never destroyed anything--a
flower--a caterpillar. Don’t you see what I mean, Abbie? This denies so
_much_. And then is it true that all this time she wasn’t happy? Why
she seemed happy--as trees grow. Did Mr. Norris make her unhappy? Oh,
don’t think you shouldn’t talk about it. Don’t act as if I shouldn’t
ask. It’s too big for those little scruples. Abbie! I can’t let
Bernice’s life go out in darkness. So tell me--just what happened--each
little thing. [_MARGARET has taken hold of ABBIE; ABBIE has turned
away._] When did you first know she had--taken something? Just what did
she say to you about it? I want to know each little thing! I have a
_right_ to know.
[_A step is heard above._
ABBIE
[_As if saved._] Mrs. Kirby’s coming down now.
MARGARET
I want to talk to you, Abbie, after the others have gone to bed.
[_LAURA comes down, ABBIE passes her at the foot of the stairs, and
goes through to the kitchen._
LAURA
Margaret, what is to be gained in making people feel worse than they
need? Craig upstairs--he’s so broken--strange. And even Abbie as she
passed me now. You seem to do this to them. And why?
MARGARET
I don’t do it to them. I’m not very happy myself.
LAURA
Of course not. None of us can be that. But I believe we should try to
bear things with courage.
MARGARET
That comes easily from the person who’s bearing little!
LAURA
You think it means nothing to me that my brother has lost his wife?
MARGARET
Your brother has lost his wife! That’s all _you_ see in it!
LAURA
I don’t see why you seem so wild--so resentful, Margaret. Death should
soften us.
[_She takes her old place before the fire._
MARGARET
Well I can tell you this doesn’t soften me!
LAURA
I see that you feel hard toward Craig. But Bernice didn’t. You think
he should have come right home. But you must be just enough to admit
he didn’t have any idea Bernice was going to be taken suddenly sick.
He had been out of the country for three months, naturally there were
things connected with his writing to see about.
MARGARET
Connected with his writing! Laura! Don’t _lie_ about life with death
in the next room. If you want to talk at a time like this, have the
decency to be honest! Try to see the _truth_ about living. Craig stayed
in New York with May Fredericks--and he doesn’t pretend anything else.
Stayed there with May Fredericks, continuing an affair that has been
going on for the past year. And before it was May Fredericks it was
this one and that one. Well, all right. That may be all right. I’m
not condemning Craig for his affairs. I’m condemning you for the front
you’re trying to put up!
LAURA
I certainly am not trying to put up any front. It’s merely that there
seems nothing to be gained in speaking of certain things. If Craig
was--really unfaithful, I do condemn him for that. I haven’t your
liberal ideas. [_Slight pause, she takes up her knitting._] It’s
unfortunate Bernice hadn’t the power to hold Craig.
MARGARET
Hadn’t the power to hold Craig!
LAURA
She didn’t want to--I suppose your scoffing means. Well, she should
have wanted to. It’s what a wife should want to do.
MARGARET
Oh, Laura, Bernice will never say one more word for herself! In there.
Alone. Still. She will not do one new thing to--to throw a light back
on other things. That’s death. A _leaving_ of one’s life. Leaving
it--with us. I cannot talk to you about what Bernice “should have
been.” What she was came true and deep from--[_Throwing out her hands
as if giving up saying it. Taking it up again._] It’s true there was
something in her Craig did not control. Something he couldn’t _mess
up_. There was something in her he might have drawn from and become
bigger than he was. But he’s vain. He has to be bowling some one over
all the time--to show that he has _power_.
LAURA
I don’t agree with you that Craig is especially vain. He’s a man. He
does want to affect--yes, dominate the woman he loves. And if Bernice
didn’t give him that feeling of--
MARGARET
Supremacy.
LAURA
There’s no use trying to talk with you of personal things. Certainly I
don’t want to quarrel tonight. That would not be the thing. [_In a new
tone._] How is your work going? I don’t quite know what you are doing
now, but trying to get some one out of prison, I suppose?
MARGARET
Yes; I am trying to get out of prison all those people who are
imprisoned for ideas.
LAURA
I see.
MARGARET
I doubt if you see, Laura.
LAURA
Well I don’t say I sympathize. But I see.
MARGARET
No; for if you did see, you would have to sympathize. If you did see,
you would be ashamed; you would have to--hang your head for this thing
of locking any man up because of what his mind sees. If thinking is
not to become--whatever thinking may become!--then why are we here at
all? [_She stops and thinks of it._] Why does Bernice--her death--make
that so simple tonight? Because she was herself. She had the gift
for being herself. And she wanted each one to have the chance to be
himself. Anything else hurt her--as it hurt her to see a dog tied, or a
child at a narrow window.
LAURA
I don’t think Bernice was a very good wife for a writer.
MARGARET
She would have been a wonderful wife for a real writer.
LAURA
Oh, I know she didn’t value Craig’s work. And that’s another thing. And
I suppose you don’t value it either. [_She looks at MARGARET, who does
not speak._] Fortunately there are many thousands of people in this
country who do value it. And I suppose you think what I do of little
value too. I suppose you scoff at those things we do to put cripples
back in life.
MARGARET
No, Laura, I don’t scoff at anything that can be done for cripples.
Since men have been crippled, cripples must be helped. I only
say--Don’t cripple minds--strong free minds that might go--we know not
where! Might go into places where the light of a mind has never been.
[_Rising._] Think of it! Think of that chance of making life even
greater than death. [_With passion._] If you have any respect for
life--any reverence--you have to leave the mind free. I do not scoff at
you, but you are not a serious person. You have no faith--no hope--no
self-respect!
LAURA
[_Rising._] _You_ tell me I have no self-respect! You who have not
cared what people thought of you--who have not had the sense of
fitness--the taste--to hold the place you were born to--you tell me,
against whom no word was ever spoken, that I have no self-respect?
MARGARET
You have a blameless reputation, Laura. You have no self-respect. If
you had any respect for your own mind you could not be willing to limit
the mind of any other. If you had any respect for your own spiritual
life you could not be willing to push _your_ self into the spiritual
life of another. [_Roughly._] No! You could not. [_As one seeing
far._] I see it as I never saw it. Oh I wish I could talk to Bernice!
Something is _down_. I could see things as I never saw them.
LAURA
[_Gathering up the things she had been working with._] I will go before
I am insulted further.
MARGARET
There’s nothing insulting in trying to find the truth. [_Impulsively
reaching out her hands to LAURA, as she is indignantly going._] Oh,
Laura, we die so soon! We live so in the dark. We never become what we
might be. I should think we could help each other more.
LAURA
[_After being a moment held._] It would have to be done more
sympathetically.
MARGARET
I didn’t mean to be unsympathetic. [_Watching LAURA go up the stairs._]
I suppose that’s the trouble with me. [_She stands a moment thinking of
this. Then there is something she wants to say. She knows then that she
is alone--and in this room. Slowly she turns and faces the closed door.
Stands so, quite still, realizing. Suddenly turns to the stairway, goes
up a few steps._] Craig! [_Listens, then goes up another step and calls
a little louder._] Craig!
LAURA
[_From above._] Please don’t disturb Craig, Margaret.
[_MARGARET hesitates, turns to go down. A door opens above._
CRAIG
Did some one call me?
MARGARET
I did, Craig. I’m down here alone--lonely.
CRAIG
[_As if glad to do so._] I’ll come down. [_After coming._] I wanted to
come down. I thought Laura was down here. I can’t pretend--not tonight.
MARGARET
No. I can’t. I wanted so to talk to Bernice, and when I couldn’t
I--called to you.
CRAIG
I was glad to hear my name. It’s too much alone. [_He and MARGARET
stand there hesitatingly, as if they are not able to do it--settle
down in this room and talk. CRAIG takes out his cigarette case. In the
subdued voice of one whose feeling is somewhere else._] You want a
cigarette, Margaret?
MARGARET
No. I don’t believe so.
CRAIG
Oh, I remember, you don’t like these. Bernice must have some of the--
[_He opens a chest on the mantel, takes from it a beautiful little
box._
MARGARET
[_As she sees the box._] Oh--[_Turning away._] Thank you, Craig, but--
CRAIG
Of course. [_Holds the box for a moment, then slowly replaces it. He
looks around the room. Then, helplessly._] I don’t know what I’m going
to do.
[_He sits down before the fire. MARGARET also sits. The door at the
other side of the room opens and the FATHER comes in from his room._
FATHER
I was going to bed now. I thought I’d go in here first.
[_Slowly goes in where Bernice is. A little while CRAIG and MARGARET
sit there silent._
CRAIG
And I don’t know what he’s going to do. Poor old man. Bernice was
certainly good to him--keeping him happy in that life he made for
himself away from life. It’s queer about him, Margaret. Somehow he just
didn’t go on, did he? Made a fight in his youth, and stopped there.
He’s one of the wrecks of the Darwinian theory. Spent himself fighting
for it, and--let it go at that. [_Running his hand through his hair._]
Oh, well, I suppose we’re all wrecks of something. [_With a nervous
laugh._] What are you a wreck of, Margaret? You’re a wreck of free
speech. [_Impatiently._] I’m talking like a fool. I’m nervous. I’ll be
glad when he goes to bed. [_Looking upstairs._] I guess Laura’s gone to
bed. [_After looking into the fire._] Well, Bernice isn’t leaving any
children to--be without her. I suppose now it’s just as well we lost
our boy before we ever had him. But she would have made a wonderful
mother, wouldn’t she, Margaret?
MARGARET
Oh, yes!
CRAIG
You ever wish you had children, Margaret?
MARGARET
Yes.
CRAIG
[_Roughly._] Well, why don’t you have?
MARGARET
[_Slowly._] Why, I don’t just know, Craig. Life--seems to get filled up
so quickly.
CRAIG
Yes. And before we know it, it’s all over--or as good as over.
Funny--how your mind jumps around. Just then I thought of my mother.
How she used to say: “Now eat your bread, Craig.”
[_His voice breaks, he buries his face in his hands. MARGARET reaches
over and puts a hand on his shoulder. The door opens and the FATHER
comes out. He stands looking at them._
FATHER
[_Gently._] Yes. Of course. I’m glad you’re here Margaret. But my
little girl looks very peaceful, Craig. [_Pause._] She had a happy life.
[_CRAIG moves, turning a little away. MARGARET makes a move as if to
shield him, but does not do this._
FATHER
Yes; she had a happy life. Didn’t she, Margaret?
MARGARET
I always thought so.
FATHER
Oh, yes. She did. In her own way. A calm way, but very full of her
own kind of happiness. [_After reflection._] Bernice was good to me.
I suppose she might have liked me to have done more things, but--she
wanted me to do what--came naturally to me. I suppose that’s why we
always felt so--comfortable with her. She was never trying to make us
some--outside thing. Well--you know, Margaret, I can see her now as
a baby. She was such a nice baby. She used to--reach out her hands.
[_Doing this himself._] Well, I suppose they all do. I’m going to bed.
[_After starting._] I’m glad you’re here with Craig, Margaret. Bernice
would like this. You two who know all about her--well, no, nobody knew
_all_ about Bernice--but you two who were closest to her, here now
as--close as you can be. I’m going to bed. Good-night.
MARGARET
[_Crying._] Good-night.
CRAIG
[_After the father has closed his door. With violence._] “Reached out
her hands!” And what did she _get_? [_Roughly grasping MARGARET’S
wrists._] I _killed_ Bernice. There’s no use in your saying I didn’t.
I did. Only--[_Letting go of her_] don’t flay me tonight, Margaret. I
couldn’t stand it tonight. [_With another abrupt change._] Am I a fool?
Why did I never know Bernice loved me like this? [_In anguish._] Why
wouldn’t I _know_ it? [_Pause._] We don’t know _anything_ about each
other. Do we, Margaret? Nothing. We never--get anywhere. [_Shivering._]
I’m cold. I wonder if there’s anything to drink in the house. There
must be something. [_He goes out into the kitchen; after a moment there
is the sound of running water; he comes in with a bottle of whiskey, a
pitcher of water._] I don’t see the glasses. Things seem to have been
moved. [_Looks at MARGARET as if expecting she will go and get them;
she does not; he goes out again. From the kitchen._] Margaret, have you
any idea where the glasses are?
MARGARET
No, Craig. I don’t know. [_After hearing him moving things around._]
Isn’t Abbie somewhere there?
CRAIG