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
No. And I’d been rehearsing for weeks what I should say.
RANDOLPH
But didn’t he----?
MRS. SABINE
(_Bitterly_)
I tell you he didn’t even insult me!
RANDOLPH
Sh!
(_He looks towards his daughter’s room and then crosses and
closes the door through which_ MRS. SABINE _has entered_.)
MRS. SABINE
(_After she has watched him_)
Hasn’t he spoken to you?
RANDOLPH
Not yet.
MRS. SABINE
That’s like him. He said he’d wait till I broke the news to you.
RANDOLPH
And then?
MRS. SABINE
Then he said you would want to see him and (_ominously_) he’d do
some talking.
RANDOLPH
(_Recalling_)
So that’s why he smiled just now.--Didn’t he say _anything_?
MRS. SABINE
He merely put his hands on your furs. I thought he’d believe I’d
saved enough to buy them myself. He stroked them once or twice
slowly--and smiled. But he _said_ nothing. Then he led me to the
window and pointed to your car--the extra one you forced upon
_us_--when you began. He smiled; but he said nothing. He picked
up a book: the work in the library was interesting; it kept him
_safe_ in the long winter evenings. I tell you he said it all in
his smiles and never a word. (_Violently_) He disappointed me so!
I’d be sorry for him a little if he’d only struck me. God! I hate
men who only smile when they are angry. (RANDOLPH _trying to quiet
her_.) Oh, I hate him with his penny a year. I hate him for asking
me to marry him, and then not even striking me when he found out
what I was!
RANDOLPH
But didn’t you even try to deny it?
MRS. SABINE
(_Defiantly_)
Why should I deny it?
RANDOLPH
(_Cynically_)
Of course not. Sooner or later, a woman always confesses to someone.
MRS. SABINE
(_Quickly_)
What did you want me to do? Think of you? I was sick of him. When I
saw he wasn’t going to make a fuss, I didn’t think your well-known
reputation would suffer; so I didn’t care about protecting myself.
What’s the difference, anyhow? He can’t give me what I want:
you can. If we can only keep it quiet, nobody need know--and it
wouldn’t even reach your daughter’s ears.
RANDOLPH
(_Angrily_)
We’ll not discuss her.
MRS. SABINE
No. She’s a good woman--with her lily hands and her thin eyebrows.
What does she know of life: the sordid soapy hours ending with
the snore of a husband you hate. Ugh! (_He walks up and down,
irritated._) Well, then, what are we going to do to keep it from
her?
RANDOLPH
That will depend on your husband and whether he’ll be sensible.
(_He goes to phone, switching it._)
MRS. SABINE
(_Looking before her_)
You did it beautifully, Randolph; with such knowledge of me and my
kind. But don’t take too much credit. I’d have done it with _any_
man who offered me what you did--if he’d come at the right time, as
you did, and found me at the end of a trolley line like this.
RANDOLPH
(_At phone_)
Step here a moment, Sabine. Yes: your wife is here. (_Cynically_)
She said you’d be expecting her. (_He hangs up the receiver._) You
could almost hear him smile.
MRS. SABINE
(_Without self-delusion_)
He couldn’t hold me: he was too poor.
RANDOLPH
No: you’re the sort that needs a diamond-studded clasp to keep her
morals fastened on.
MRS. SABINE
And they’re your specialty.
RANDOLPH
I think Sabine and I can make some arrangement.
MRS. SABINE
Let’s be comfortable, that’s all I say. I’m so tired of making my
lies fit. I’m willing to keep on with it. Why not? It’s all so easy
with a woman once she’s slipped. Lots of us would be what I am if
they could find a man to go through the marriage ceremony with them
_first_.
(_A knock is heard at the door--it seems almost sarcastic, as
it waits for a reply._)
RANDOLPH
Come in.
(_The door opens softly and_ SABINE _enters slowly and comes
down to them with the same smile. There is a pause._ MRS.
SABINE _remains tense and seated_.)
Have a cigarette?
SABINE
(_They eye each other as they light up_)
Thanks.
RANDOLPH
(_Coming to the point_)
You know.
SABINE
(_Puffing throughout_)
Yes.
RANDOLPH
Well?
SABINE
I repeat the word--well?
RANDOLPH
You will come to an understanding?
SABINE
Which means?
RANDOLPH
You are--shall I say agreeable?
SABINE
You love my wife?
RANDOLPH
(_Courteously_)
Naturally.
SABINE
And you, Mary?
MRS. SABINE
Would a woman do what I’ve done without love?
SABINE
Never.
RANDOLPH
Well, say something.
SABINE
(_Calmly_)
It seems very simple.
RANDOLPH
Which means?
SABINE
That I’d still like to complete the compilations in your library.
MRS. SABINE
(_Rising, astonished_)
You’re even willing to stay _here_?
RANDOLPH
(_Quickly_)
And live ostensibly at home--with your wife?
SABINE
(_Calmly_)
Why not? I have no place else to go and she merely wishes to be
comfortable.
RANDOLPH
(_Relieved_)
You will not make a fuss?
SABINE
I’m sorry to disappoint my wife.
RANDOLPH
You will not let my daughter discover?
SABINE
No. I consider your position embarrassing enough.
RANDOLPH
(_Eyeing him_)
So your wife is worth nothing to you?
SABINE
(_Quickly_)
You’re mistaken there.
MRS. SABINE
Thanks. But how?
SABINE
Protection.
MRS. SABINE
Against what?
SABINE
Against Mr. Randolph.
RANDOLPH
Me?
SABINE
Exactly.
RANDOLPH
What the devil are you driving at?
SABINE
Perhaps if I take it kindly now, you will not blame _me_--in the
future.
MRS. SABINE
Oh, I know we’ll get tired of each other if that’s what you’re
suggesting.
SABINE
(_Detecting an agreeing look in_ RANDOLPH’S _face_)
That _may_ be what I mean. (_Eyeing_ RANDOLPH _keenly as he sees
her bite her lips_.) If that’s all, I’ll return to the library.
RANDOLPH
Have you no suggestions?
SABINE
(_Coldly_)
Be careful not to make a fool of me--in public.
MRS. SABINE
There speaks the man.
RANDOLPH
Then you’ll be silent?
SABINE
Until----
RANDOLPH
Until?
SABINE
Until you get your deserts.
RANDOLPH
A threat?
SABINE
(_Smiling_)
No. Only I know my wife.
MRS. SABINE
And that’s the sort of man I married. (_To_ SABINE) Do you blame me
for throwing you over?
SABINE
Have I?
MRS. SABINE
(_Indignantly_)
How dared you open me to this?
RANDOLPH
Don’t blame him, Mary.
MRS. SABINE
(_Indignantly_)
You knew, and you let him steal your wife.
SABINE
Some men like their women that way.
MRS. SABINE
Isn’t it funny! It’s losing its romance--being handed over like
some food at supper. Isn’t it funny--and disappointing.
RANDOLPH
I can’t say I admire you, Sabine.
SABINE
No, you can’t. But you will when you know my wife better.
MRS. SABINE
(_Losing control_)
I’m more ashamed of you than I am of myself. Why didn’t you stop
me if you knew? What’s the reason? Why didn’t you strike me? Why
didn’t you, so I could feel you and I were quits? Why didn’t
you--like that and that. (_She strikes him furiously with her
gloves once or twice, but he continues smiling._)
RANDOLPH
Mary, don’t let’s have a scene. Sh!
MRS. SABINE
I wanted a scene! And to think I wasn’t even worth insulting!
(_She goes out quickly, leaving the hall door open. She
has dropped her glove and as_ RANDOLPH, _with a resigned,
half-bored air, starts to follow her_, SABINE _stoops, picks
up the glove and, smiling, halts_ RANDOLPH.)
SABINE
My wife dropped her glove. Will you take it to her? I have my work,
and, as you remarked, another month will about finish it.
RANDOLPH
(_Smiling in spite of himself_)
Life would be so much simpler if all husbands were so considerate.
SABINE
The spice would be gone.
RANDOLPH
I suppose she is waiting----
SABINE
--For the glove. (_Offering it to him._)
RANDOLPH
(_Taking it_)
Yes: for her glove.
SABINE
I’m glad you will drive in the closed car.
RANDOLPH
(_At the door_)
Our reputations must be protected.
SABINE
No man likes to be made a fool of.
RANDOLPH
(_Slowly_)
After all, she’s only a woman and they’re all alike, eh?
SABINE
(_Slowly_)
_All_ alike. Yes.
RANDOLPH
(_Casually_)
You’ll find the cigarettes on the table.
SABINE
Thanks.
(RANDOLPH _goes out, closing the door. Sabine stands a
moment, then turns to the window and looks off till he sees
the car has driven away. He turns down the light and then
crossing eagerly, he knocks on_ PAULA’S _door. He repeats
this._)
Paula! Paula!!
(_He stands waiting._)
[CURTAIN]
[E] Copyright by George Middleton. See back of title page.
THE HOUSE
THE PEOPLE
CHARLES RAY, a _professor of philosophy_.
ELIZABETH, _his wife_.
SCENE
_A room in an apartment hotel suite. One evening._
THE HOUSE[F]
_PROFESSOR and MRS. RAY are at the little table finishing their
coffee. In the center there is a white-robed birthday cake with
three golden candles sending a gentle light on them. A myriad of
faint wrinkles on the_ PROFESSOR’S _kindly face might betray his
age, though his thin body, in spite of its slight stoop, belies
his seventy years. As he sits there precisely dressed in his
evening clothes, he is the personification of fine breeding, the
incarnation of all that blood and culture can produce. And through
it all, there glows an alluring whimsy which one has no right to
expect in a professor of philosophy._
MRS. RAY, _gowned also for the ceremony they are celebrating, is
ten years younger; soft and gentle, too, yet sadder somehow, as
though, in spite of her effort to live in his enthusiasms, it has
become a bit difficult to sustain his mood of happiness._
_But as they sip their coffee alone in the hotel suite with its
conventional furnishings of a stereotyped comfort, graced only
by a large bunch of white roses, one senses the deep and abiding
affection which has warmed their long life together._
PROFESSOR
(_With a sigh of contentment_)
Ah!
(_He sees she is thoughtful: he reaches over and takes from
behind the table the quart bottle of champagne. He pours a
little in her glass._)
MRS. RAY
Oh, dear; I’m afraid I’ve had enough.
PROFESSOR
Nonsense.
MRS. RAY
But I’m beginning to feel it.
PROFESSOR
That’s the intention. (_Filling his glass._) There. Now a toast.
(_Standing with the greatest gallantry._) Here’s to my comrade of
forty years: may we have as many more together.
MRS. RAY
Oh, Charles, I’m afraid that’s asking too much of Providence.
PROFESSOR
We should ask much and be satisfied with less.
MRS. RAY
(_Raising her glass_)
To my friend and husband.
PROFESSOR
You make a distinction?
MRS. RAY
The world does.
PROFESSOR
What is the world doing here on our wedding anniversary?
(_Seriously_) Let’s drink to each other--and the children.
MRS. RAY
(_Wistfully looking at the candles_)
And the children.
(_They sip: he shows he enjoys it; she sits thoughtfully
while he takes out his cigarette case. He starts to take one,
and then, with a twinkle in his eyes, offers her the case._)
PROFESSOR
Cigarette, dear?
MRS. RAY
(_Smiling_)
No: thank you. I shan’t begin at my time of life.
PROFESSOR
Cato learned Greek at eighty. The minute people cease to
learn--even a vice--they have begun to grow old. So beware.
MRS. RAY
(_Striking a match_)
Let me light it for you.
PROFESSOR
(_Slyly_)
Which illustrates a woman’s part in life: encouraging vice in men,
eh? (_He lights it and puffs in enjoyment._) I must say I like my
idea about the cake and the candles.
MRS. RAY
It’s lovely, dear. Who but you would have thought of having a
birthday cake on our wedding anniversary.
PROFESSOR
I started to put forty candles: one for each year; but there was no
room left for the cake.
MRS. RAY
I like the idea of three--just three.
PROFESSOR
Yes; three birthdays that meant so much in our time together:
Teddy, Mary and Paul.
MRS. RAY
Forty years!
PROFESSOR
It’s a long while to be married, dear. Speaks well for our
patience, eh?
MRS. RAY
And not a word to-night from our three children.
PROFESSOR
(_Waving it aside_)
After all, our marriage didn’t concern them--at the time.
MRS. RAY
And we never forget their anniversaries.
PROFESSOR
But think how important those have always been from the beginning:
each one the start of a great adventure for us.
MRS. RAY
And more responsibility.
PROFESSOR
Certainly. Isn’t that the way we have broadened our lives? Think,
dear, of how many times we have been young--once with our own youth
and three times with our candles.
MRS. RAY
(_She rises and goes to the roses which she inhales_)
And our hair is white.
PROFESSOR
(_Gallantly rising also_)
That can’t be blamed on the children. White hair doesn’t indicate
marriage--always. It’s a matter of pigment, I’m told, and affects
bachelors equally.
MRS. RAY
You’re right, of course, dear. We have kept young through having
our children; only----
PROFESSOR
(_Coming to her_)
Only what? Surely there isn’t a regret as you look back?
MRS. RAY
Oh, no, not regret; only so many of our dreams have never been
realized.
PROFESSOR
(_As he breaks off a rose and gives it to her_)
But we have dreamed; that’s the important thing, isn’t it?
MRS. RAY
(_Looking at rose_)
I suppose so.
PROFESSOR
Of course it is, dear. And we have dreamed more than most because
we have been young four times.
MRS. RAY
(_As she crosses to the sofa_)
But it’s always been through others--for others.
PROFESSOR
But _now_ it is for ourselves.
MRS. RAY
(_Smiling_)
You mean our house?
PROFESSOR
Yes. Now that they’ve retired me with a pension and our children no
longer need our help, we can build our house.
MRS. RAY
(_Wearily, as she sits_)
We have built so many houses.
PROFESSOR
Yes. Life’s an experiment. Remember the first little cottage where
Teddy was born? It didn’t leave us much margin even though it was
small. Come to think of it, dear, we’ve built three houses, haven’t
we?
MRS. RAY
It’s the fourth we’ve really thought of most--and that hasn’t been
built _yet_.
PROFESSOR
That’s to be ours--all ours; with room for the children if they
want to come back.
MRS. RAY
Oh, that’s it: they won’t come back now. Our house won’t suit them.
PROFESSOR
(_Taking a chair over near her_)
How can we expect them to come into a house that isn’t even built?
You know our modern children are very peculiar. They get that from
you.
MRS. RAY
Nonsense. It’s you who are peculiar. Just look at the kind of house
you want.
PROFESSOR
(_Doubtfully_)
It _is_ different from yours, I’ll admit.
MRS. RAY
I don’t object to the architecture. It’s the surroundings you
insist on.
PROFESSOR
You want the city and I want the forest.
MRS. RAY
(_Shaking her head_)
We’ll never agree.
PROFESSOR
(_As though with an inspiration_)
I have a solution. I’ll live in your city house, if you’ll have my
forest around it.
MRS. RAY
I’m afraid, dear, that is a bit impractical at present prices.
PROFESSOR
(_With a whimsical smile_)
But we certainly can’t have the city you love around my house in
the woods! I’m afraid of the streets.
MRS. RAY
Any friendly policeman would help you across them.
PROFESSOR
Think of me walking arm in arm with a policeman! I must consider
my reputation, even though I am seventy. No. (_With a twinkle._) I
can’t seem to visualize the house, can you, dear?
MRS. RAY
It isn’t like your dream or mine.
PROFESSOR
No. I’d have a hard time finding my birch trees in the moonlight.
Have you ever noticed how lovely they are when the leaves have all
gone?
MRS. RAY
Somehow they are no more lovely than the sense of life in the tall
ugly buildings man has built with his own hands.
PROFESSOR
But trees are eternal.
MRS. RAY
That’s where we differ. I live in to-day: you live in all time.
PROFESSOR
That’s my profession. You lose count of time when you are a
philosopher.
MRS. RAY
And I am a woman of the world.
PROFESSOR
(_As he goes to light another cigarette from the candles_)
I’d hardly describe you that way, my dear; that sounds so naughty.
MRS. RAY
I mean I love every minute that passes and everything the moment
brings. I love the people who are of that moment.
PROFESSOR
You still dream of having a _salon_ of celebrities?
MRS. RAY
(_Smiling_)
It’s no worse than the museum of antiquities on your book shelves.
But I keep forgetting you want your house in the forest so you can
write about the dead.
PROFESSOR
And you want your house in the city for the living.
MRS. RAY
I wish we could compromise somehow.
PROFESSOR
If we only had more money I could do away with the wilderness and
content myself with a few wooded acres, I suppose. Only it must be
roomy where the winds can speak. And I must have some wild things
about. Though perhaps I could compromise on a pet squirrel, if
necessary. (_He smiles._) And if I met you that far do you think
you would be willing to live an hour or so from the city?
MRS. RAY
Why, of course. But haven’t we been looking for that sort of place
for years; even when we weren’t free to live where we wished?
PROFESSOR
I can’t see why money is always getting in the way of our dreams. I
often wonder what scoundrel it was who first invented money.
MRS. RAY
And yet we might now be able to have what we wished if----
PROFESSOR
If? The eternal if?
MRS. RAY
(_She has gone to the table, placing rose there_)
I was thinking of all we gave up for our children.
PROFESSOR
Wasn’t it jolly?
MRS. RAY
While we still dreamed of the house we two would build for
ourselves.
PROFESSOR
With rooms for them, don’t forget that.
MRS. RAY
And now where are our children?
PROFESSOR
Living--maybe dreaming a bit of our dreams and not knowing it is
ours. That’s the lovely thing about dreams: I like to think they
are never lost.
MRS. RAY
Yet here we sit alone on our anniversary and they have forgotten.
PROFESSOR
The young have so many things to remember.
MRS. RAY
And we can _never_ build our house now.
PROFESSOR