[Curtain rises on a conventional living room of a country house in
California. It is the Hemingway house at Santa Clara. The room is
remarkable for magnificent stone fireplace at rear centre. On either
side of fireplace are generous, diamond-paned windows. Wide, curtained
doorways to right and left. To left, front, table, with vase of flowers
and chairs. To right, front, grand piano.]
[Curtain discovers LORETTA seated at piano, not playing, her back to it,
facing NED BASHFORD, who is standing.]
LORETTA. [Petulantly, fanning herself with sheet of music.] No, I won't
go fishing. It's too warm. Besides, the fish won't bite so early in the
afternoon.
NED. Oh, come on. It's not warm at all. And anyway, we won't really
fish. I want to tell you something.
LORETTA. [Still petulantly.] You are always wanting to tell me
something.
NED. Yes, but only in fun. This is different. This is serious. Our
. . . my happiness depends upon it.
LORETTA. [Speaking eagerly, no longer petulant, looking, serious and
delighted, divining a proposal.] Then don't wait. Tell me right here.
NED. [Almost threateningly.] Shall I?
LORETTA. [Challenging.] Yes.
[He looks around apprehensively as though fearing interruption, clears
his throat, takes resolution, also takes LORETTA's hand.]
[LORETTA is startled, timid, yet willing to hear, naively unable to
conceal her love for him.]
NED. [Speaking softly.] Loretta . . . I, . . . ever since I met you I
have--
[JACK HEMINGWAY appears in the doorway to the left, just entering.]
[NED suddenly drops LORETTA's hand. He shows exasperation.]
[LORETTA shows disappointment at interruption.]