ACT III--The drawing-room at Ritter’s, two hours later.

Stage, screen and amateur rights for the production of this play

are controlled by the author, George Kelly, 3665 Midvale Avenue,

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. No public readings or performances may be

given without his written consent.

PREFACE

I cannot remember if it was one of those torrid and terrible nights of

August when the chain-gang of New York’s critics was tolled off to the

Forty-Eighth Street Theatre for the première of _The Torch-Bearers_.

But I do know that the general atmosphere of oppression--physical,

mental, professional--was a little denser than usual. In the first

twenty-eight days of August, 1922, managements too daring or too

resourceless to wait for September had deluged us with a steady stream

of inanity, and here was another dousing in prospect. If it wasn’t

the heat, it was certainly the humidity of theatrical August. Unknown

play, new producers, author’s name vaguely connected with vaudeville;

altogether a production so little esteemed by the booking powers that

it had to slip into a few weeks before the Equity Players began their

season at this theatre. It could have been a night of Elysian coolness,

and still we would have been expecting the worst. It could have been

mid-April, and still we should have found an almost ineffable freshness

in the breeze of George Kelly’s little comedy.

The cold, historical fact is that at about 9:15 o’clock on the evening

of August 29th, 1922, five or six hundred average New Yorkers, two or

three hundred friends of the management, and about fifty sophisticated

first-nighters were in grave danger of rolling off their seats in

hysteria because of _The Torch-Bearers_.

The intermissions were filled with three questions which more or less

concern the reader of the published play. Who was George Kelly? Where

did he get the comedy? How would it go?

On August 29th, 1922, George Kelly was a perfectly good Philadelphian

in his late twenties who was much better known to vaudeville than to

fame. He had written, directed, and played in about a dozen one-act

comedies and dramas on Keith and Orpheum time. He had begun by quitting

his family’s private tutor to try acting in a playlet by the late Paul

Armstrong. Then--with no more preparation, apparently--he had begun

to write his own vehicles. A certain drama in France absorbed his

attentions for a while. After that more “sketches”--as the vaudeville

powers call any effort above vocal or bodily acrobatics--and suddenly a

play.

The origin of _The Torch-Bearers_ was simple enough. Kelly wrote the

kind of tight, effective short plays that amateur actors and little

theatre directors are always looking for. He had a perfectly good

Philadelphia family behind him. And so he was being invited to lunch

every now and then by the Pampinellis of the cities in which he played.

To hear them was enough. They had to live a wider life.

_The Torch-Bearers_ passed a prosperous term on Broadway, and I think

it will go far in the little theatres which it satirizes. But upon the

opening night I remember much dubious debate about its chances. We

had laughed ourselves almost literally sick, and at the end of the

second intermission we had not yet seen the rather prosy last act.

Yet--conscious of our personal superiority--we wondered.... Brander

Matthews and Aristotle would scoff at it, George M. Cohan and Professor

Baker would scowl. _The Torch-Bearers_ broke all the rules, and it had

no plot. Obviously, by all the rules, it ought to fail.

There may be a good many reasons why it didn’t, and some may lead you

far into aesthetic explorations of the present breakdown of dramatic

form all over the world. But the reader will find more cogent reasons

in the pages that follow this introduction. Personally, I should put

it down to the fact that the character-study of the first act and the

hokum of the second are irresistible. We have all met our Pampinellis,

and we have all seen the lady prompter take a curtain call, or had

our mustache fall off in the big scene. We can never resist some

characterization on the stage, and as for such hokum as this record of

all the mishaps of the amateur actor, ill luck is the heart of broad

comedy and when ill luck comes where it is most painful--in personal

display--Cassandra herself must smile.

There were other things to make the death-watch wonder whether _The

Torch Bearers_ could live. It was satire. Satire is not ordinarily a

popular commodity in the theatre. It defeats sympathy, and sympathy is

necessary to emotion, and emotion to theatrical success.

Satire has had its great moments, however, in the history of the drama.

Aristophanes made merry over the fashions, foibles, and philosophies of

Athens. Satire was Molière’s stock in trade. Shaw has done very well by

poking a finger at society. Every nation has at least one outstanding

theatrical satire to its credit. But for the war, the wise of Paris

might still be laughing at the French Academy because of de Flers and

de Caillavet’s _L’Habit Vert_. England has _The School for Scandal_,

as Ireland has _The Playboy_ and _John Bull’s Other Island_. Germany,

though a little heavy in the theatre, can still point to Schnitzler’s

_Literature_.

Just at the moment America is beginning to display a surprising

fondness for theatrical satire. Beginning is hardly the word, perhaps,

for the first American drama, _The Contrast_, lampooned society with

a large “S”; _Fashion_, our first play by a woman, spoke out smartly

against the smart world, and from _Our American Cousin_ down to date,

so many of our playwrights have spoofed the alien and the aristocratic

for the benefit of the homespun, that it is only by a hair that I can

risk the statement that it is a “surprising fondness” which we now

display for satire. America has always enjoyed its irreverent moments

in the theatre, but it has seldom gone in for whole plays devoted to

almost nothing but lampooning.

In the last three seasons, however, the distinctly satirical play has

climbed noticeably in favour. In 1919-20 there was nothing of the

kind to be seen on Broadway. In 1920-21 came Porter Emerson Browne’s

Mexican melodrama, _The Bad Man_, with most of its success due to sly

digs at both sides of the international line, and George M. Cohan’s

joke at the expense of audiences as well as playwrights, _The Tavern_.

Last season, playgoers good-humoredly made a satire out of the deadly

serious absurdities of the British melodrama, _Bulldog Drummond_; the

_Chauve-Souris_ twitted Russian drama a little--in Russian; and the

firm of Kaufman and Connelly began in _Dulcy_ and _To the Ladies!_ to

vend biting wit at the expense of scenario writers and advertisers,

efficiency experts and after-dinner speakers.

This season a perfect flood of satire broke upon us, most of it very

good indeed, and some of it destined to be successful with a large

public. Besides _The Torch-Bearers_, there have been _R. U. R._, grim

sarcasm upon labour and capital, and a new bill of the _Chauve-Souris_,

the Kaufman-Connelly version of Henry Leon Wilson’s _Merton of the

Movies_, _Six Characters in Search of an Author_, from the Italian, and

_The World We Live In_, the insect comedy from the Czecho-Slovak.

The future of _The Torch-Bearers_, now that its Broadway career is

over, brings us up against the little theatre movement. I am very much

in favor of that odd and amazing phenomenon. I believe a great deal of

the promise of the American stage outside New York and a surprising

amount of its present accomplishment in that metropolis, is due to the

uncontrollable desire of people not so very unlike Mrs. Pampinelli to

produce plays. Kelly’s satire touches the lower fringes of what Mrs.

P. calls “the movement,” but it might be directed at Maurice Browne,

Sam Hume, and Irving Pichel and the little theatre would still go on,

and _The Torch-Bearers_ would become--as I am sure it will--one of the

most popular pieces in the repertory of the amateur actor. Many a Mrs.

Pampinelli, safe in the sense of her own self-importance, will do for

_The Torch-Bearers_ all that Mrs. P. did--which is, as Kelly observes,

to “tell the players where to go on the stage, so they won’t be running

into each other.”

But there is art in this play--not mere observation--and I am afraid

none of the Pampinellis who are to be concerned with its future will

ever quite equal the person that the author and Alison Skipworth,

the actress, created between them. I do not look for any moment so

extraordinary as when Mrs. Pampinelli, discussing the fatalities

invariably connected with these amateur performances, reaches her

peroration: “We are not dismayed; we have the lessons of history to

fortify us: for whenever the torch of essential culture has been

raised, (_she raises the lead-pencil as though it were a torch_) there

has unfailingly been the concomitant exactment of a human life.” For

one cannot expect to find a cuckoo-clock always present with its

sapient comment at such a moment.

The reader will find the cuckoo-clock, the satire, and the hokum

for himself. He will also detect, I think, a strain of divine and

devilish madness in Kelly which promises something of genius for

the American drama. The reader may note, too, in Kelly’s script

the kind of practical qualification for the theatre of which Mr.

Ritter speaks feelingly on page 56. This qualification has produced

extraordinarily effective humor and something else. This is a sense

for stage management. It makes Kelly a rare and precious figure in

our theatre, and gives you a script to read--or to produce--that is

liberally supplied with every bit of business and direction necessary

for putting on the play--either in the Cohoes Little Theatre or your

own imagination.

KENNETH MACGOWAN.

Pelham Manor, N. Y., February 25, 1923.

NOTE: The drawing-room at Ritter’s, in which the first and last

acts are laid, is a comfortable-looking room, suggestive of good

circumstance. Toward the back there is a fancy wooden partition

separating the hallway from the room proper. This partition begins

rather high up on the side walls and curves deeply down to two

ornamental columns, five feet high and set about five feet apart,

forming the entrance from the hallway to the room. Straight out through

this entrance, and paralleling the partition, is the staircase, running

up to the left and through an arched doorway. The foot of the staircase

is just to the right of the center-door; and then the hallway continues

on out to the front door. On the left, there is a passageway between

the staircase and the partition, running through an arched doorway

to the body of the house. In the room proper, breaking the angle of

the right wall and the partition, is a door, opening out, and below

this door, a casement-window. On the left, breaking the angle of

the left wall and the partition, is the mantelpiece, and below it a

door, opening out. Just inside the partition, on either side of the

center-door, is a built-in seat.

The entire room and hallway is done in a scheme of silver and the

lighter shades of green. All the woodwork and furniture, including the

piano and mantelpiece, is finished in silver-green, and the walls and

ceiling are in blended tones of orchid, gray and green, decorated with

tapestried panel-effects. The carpet is gray-green, and the vases and

clock on the mantelpiece, as well as the little cuckoo-clock over the

door at the left, are green. The drapes on the casement-window and the

doorways, at the head of the stairs and in the left hallway, are in

rose-colored brocaded satin; and the pads on the partition-seats are

covered with the same material. The piano-throw is a garishly subdued

blend of old-rose, Nile green and canary-colored silk.

Right out between the little wooden columns of the center-door, set

flat against the staircase, is a small console-table, holding a most

beautiful rose-colored vase filled with wisteria; and on the piano

there is a similar vase filled with white and yellow blossoms. On

either side of the console-table there is a tall torchiere with a

rose-colored shade; and the shades on the wall-lights, and the one on

the lovely rose-colored vase-lamp on the table down at the right below

the casement-window, are all rose-colored.

There’s a brilliant array of cushions about the room, all shapes and

sizes, and every color of the rainbow,--and many books and magazines.

The piano, up at the right, is littered with music, cigarettes, in a

fancy container, flowers and candy--in a pretty box made of pink satin.

The two arm-chairs in the room, one just to the left of the table below

the window, and the other at the left side of the table over at the

left, are over-stuffed in green-and-silver brocade.

There is a small table below the piano, with a light little chair

beside it, the left side, and there is a similar chair over at the

extreme left, below the door.

The keyboard of the piano parallels the right wall, with enough room,

of course, between the piano-stool and wall to permit of easy use

of the door. There must also be room enough above the piano for a

passageway between it and the partition-seat.

The rights and lefts employed in the foregoing descriptions are, of

course, the player’s rights and lefts.

ACT ONE.

_After a slight pause, a door out at the right is heard to close, and

immediately Mr. Ritter comes along the hallway beyond the partition

and into the room. He is a brisk, rather stocky type of man, in his

early forties, wearing a brown suit and overcoat, a derby hat, and

carrying a suit-case. He sets the suit-case down on the partition-seat

at the right, and, with a glance around the room, at the unusual

arrangement of the furniture, starts out into the hallway again,

removing his gloves and overcoat. He glances along the hallway to the

left and up the stairs as he goes. Jenny comes along the hallway from

the left carrying a small, light chair. As she is about to come into

the drawing-room proper from the hallway, she becomes conscious of Mr.

Ritter out at the hall-rack at the right. She stops and peers in that

direction. She is a pleasant little English person, plump and trim,

dressed in the regulation parlor-maid’s black and white._

JENNY. Is that you, Mr. Ritter?

RITTER. That’s who it is, Jenny! How are you?

JENNY. [_Bringing the little chair forward and placing it above the

little table at the left_] Pretty well, thanks, Mr. Ritter, how are

_you_?

RITTER. [_Coming along the hallway from the right_] I’m whatever you

are, Jenny. [_Jenny gives a faint little laugh and proceeds with her

arrangements, and Ritter picks up several telegrams from the stand in

the hallway, just to the left of the center entrance._]

JENNY. Ain’t you back a bit soon?

RITTER. [_Coming forward to the small table at the right, below the

piano_] Yes, I thought I’d have to go down to Cincinnati for a week or

two, but I didn’t.

JENNY. Mrs. Ritter ain’t expectin’ you, is she?

RITTER. [_Glancing thru the telegrams_] No, she isn’t, Jenny.

JENNY. I thought I didn’t remember hearin’ her sayin’ nothin’.

RITTER. Where is she?

JENNY. [_Starting for the hallway_] She’s upstairs, sir, I’ll call her.

RITTER. [_With a glance at the furniture_] What are you doing around

here, Jenny, housecleaning?

JENNY. [_Turning and coming back_] No, sir, there’s a rehearsal here

tonight. [_Ritter stops reading and looks at her quizzically for a

second._]

RITTER. What kind of a rehearsal?

JENNY. Why, a rehearsal for a show that Mrs. Ritter’s takin’ part in

tomorrow night. They done it at the Civic Club the week after you went

away, and they liked it so well they’re doin’ it again tomorrow night.

RITTER. _Who_ liked it?

JENNY. Sir?

RITTER. I say, who liked it so well that they’re doing it again?

JENNY. Why, everybody seemed to like it, Mr. Ritter, from what the

papers said.

RITTER. What kind of a show is it?

JENNY. Why, I think it’s a tragedy, from what I gather.

RITTER. Did you see it, Jenny?

JENNY. No, sir, _I_ didn’t get to see it, I’m sorry to say; but I heard

everybody connected with it sayin’ it was a _great success_. [_Ritter

resumes his telegrams, then looks at Jenny suddenly._]

RITTER. How did Mrs. Ritter get into it?

JENNY. Why, I think somebody died, Mr. Ritter, if I’m not mistaken.

RITTER. [_Shaking his head conclusively, and resuming his telegram_] I

assumed it was an extremity of _some_ kind.

MRS. R. [_At the top of the stairs at the back_] Fred Ritter! don’t

tell me that’s you down there! [_Jenny turns quickly and goes to the

foot of the stairs._]

RITTER. No, I’m still out in Chicago!

MRS. R. Is it, Jenny?

JENNY. Yes, mam, I was just comin’ to tell you.

MRS. R. [_Starting down the stairs_] I _thought_ I heard his voice!

[_Jenny laughs._] I’ve been standing up here for the last _five_

minutes saying to myself, “Who can that _be_ that has a voice so

much like Fred’s!” [_Coming into the room from the hallway_] Why,

Fred, darling, what are you doing here! [_He has moved up towards the

center-door._]

RITTER. [_Laughing a little_] How is the old kid! [_Kisses her_]

MRS. R. I thought you wouldn’t be back till the first! [_Jenny passes

along the hallway to the left._]

RITTER. Why, that Cincinnati thing’s been postponed till after

Thanksgiving.

MRS. R. [_Turning away from him and stepping out into the hallway

again_] Well, why didn’t you wire or something?

RITTER. I was afraid of giving you a shock.

MRS. R. Oh, Jenny!

RITTER. You’re such a frail little flower.

MRS. R. [_Turning back to him_] Now stop, Fred! I’ve really lost a lot

since you went away.

RITTER. How do you know? [_Jenny comes along the hallway from the

left._]

MRS. R. Why, my dear, I can tell by my clothes. [_She turns to Jenny._]

Jenny, will you get me a glass of water, please.

JENNY. [_Starting out_] Yes, mam.

RITTER. You’re not going to faint, are you?

MRS. R. [_Turning back to him again with a flip of her hand at him_]

No, I’m not.

RITTER. [_Slipping his arm around her waist and coming forward_] Any

mail here for me?

MRS. R. Not a single thing, Fred; I sent everything right on to

Chicago as soon as it came: there must be several letters there for you

now.

RITTER. [_Disengaging himself and taking her hands and looking at her_]

I’ll get them all right. How have you been treating yourself while I’ve

been away?

MRS. R. All right; only I’m glad to see you back.

RITTER. Kiss me.

MRS. R. The house seemed awfully lonesome.

RITTER. Kiss me. [_She kisses him._]

MRS. R. [_Passing above him to the piano at the right_] Crazy thing.

[_He moves over to the little table at the left, rummaging in his

pocket for a cigar, and Mrs. Ritter commences to rummage in a

sewing-basket on the piano. This basket is Mrs. Ritter at a glance, all

green and yellow satin, fraught with meaningless bows and weird-looking

knots. She undoubtedly made it herself, and it must have taken her

months. But she’s a practical woman; at least she thinks she is; and

the sewing-basket helps in a way to sustain the conviction. Poor Paula!

As one looks at her and listens to her he appreciates the fortune of

the circumstance that there is some sane and capable person between her

and the world; and as he more closely observes the sewing-basket, he

rejoices in the blessing of the sane and capable person’s ability to

spare her the necessity of having to make her own clothes. Although,

as a matter of fact, she would look lovely in anything; for Paula

is pretty--charmingly so. And her hair is marvelous. So gold--and

satiny. She is wearing a dress now of lime-green silk with a standing

collar edged with black fur, and gold-colored slippers._] Did you have

anything to eat, Fred?

RITTER. Yes, I ate on the train. What’s this Jenny was saying?

Something about a show you’re in?

MRS. R. Oh,--[_Looking at him_] did she tell you?

RITTER. I wondered what had happened to the furniture when I came in.

MRS. R. [_Coming around and forward towards the little table below the

piano_] Yes, there’s a rehearsal here tonight. We have it every Tuesday

and Thursday. Of course, it’s just to run over the lines, because we’ve

done it already at the Civic Club on the fourteenth. And, my dear, it

was perfectly marvelous.

RITTER. What kind of a show is it?

MRS. R. [_Standing back of the table_] Oh, it’s just a one-act

play,--in one act, you know. And it was really _quite_ wonderful. [_She

gives an inane laugh._] I had no idea. [_She touches her hair and turns

towards the back of the room again._]

RITTER. How did _you_ happen to get into it? [_Jenny comes along the

hallway from the left carrying a glass of water on a small tray._]

MRS. R. [_Turning to him_] Well now, wait till I tell you--[_She sees

Jenny._] Oh, thanks, Jenny. [_Jenny starts out again._] Jenny, will you

go to the top of the stairs and see if I left the lights burning in my

room.

JENNY. [_Turning and starting towards the foot of the stairs in the

right hallway; and setting the tray on the little stand as she goes_]

Yes, mam.

MRS. RITTER. [_Coming forward holding the glass of water_] I think I

did. [_She sips._]

JENNY. [_As she crosses the center-door_] Do you want that suit-case

taken up, Mr. Ritter? [_Mrs. Ritter turns round to the right and

watches Jenny._]

RITTER. Yes, you can take it up if you will, Jenny, thanks. [_Jenny

lifts the suit-case from the partition-seat and goes out and up the

stairs._]

MRS. RITTER. [_Turning to Ritter_] You know, I wrote you about poor

Jimmy Sheppard--

RITTER. Yes, what was that, had he been sick?

MRS. RITTER. Why, not a day, my dear! that’s the reason it was all so

dreadful. Of course, he’d always had more or less of a weak heart; but

nothing to threaten anything of that kind. And just three days before

the performance, mind you:--couldn’t happen any other time. And _poor_

Mrs. Sheppard playing one of the _leading_ parts. [_She turns to her

left and goes up to the center-door, where she looks out toward the

right hallway expectantly._]

RITTER. [_Casually depositing the band from his cigar on the tray at

his left_] Did he _know_ she was to play one of the leading parts?

MRS. RITTER. [_Turning at the center-door and looking at him_]

Who,--Mr. Sheppard?

RITTER. Yes.

MRS. RITTER. [_Coming forward again_] Why, of course he did--She’d

just finished telling him when he fell over. [_Ritter appears to be

unduly occupied with his cigar, and Mrs. Ritter takes advantage of the

circumstance to refresh herself with another sip from the glass._] My

dear, poor Clara Sheppard is a _wreck_--You want to write her a note,

Fred, when you get time. And he never spoke--not a solitary word. But,

she says--just as he was dying,--he gave her the funniest look. Oh, she

says--if she lives to be a thousand, she’ll _never_ forget the way he

looked at her. [_She goes up to the center-door and sets the glass down

on the tray._]

RITTER. [_Still busy with his cigar_] Had he ever seen her act?

MRS. RITTER. [_Turning to him, thoughtfully_] _I_ don’t know,--whether

he ever had or not. [_Jenny comes down the stairs._] Oh, yes he had,

too! for I saw him myself at the Century Drawing Rooms last Easter

Monday night, and she was in that play there that night, you remember.

[_She moves to the piano and starts looking for something in the

sewing-basket; he moves to the mantelpiece, up at the left, apparently

looking for a match._]

RITTER. No, I wasn’t there.

MRS. R. Oh, weren’t you! I thought you were.

RITTER. No. [_He feels in his pockets._]

MRS. R. There are matches there on that little table there, Fred. [_She

indicates the table below the mantelpiece._]

RITTER. [_Discovering some in his pocket_] I have some here. [_He moves

to the arm-chair at the left of table and sits down._]

MRS. R. [_As Jenny passes along the hallway towards the left_] Oh,

Jenny!

JENNY. Yes, mam?

MRS. R. Jenny, will you ask Mrs. Brock if she’ll make some of that

drink that she made the last time?

JENNY. I think she ’as made it already, Mrs. Ritter.

MRS. R. Well, will you see, Jenny, please?

JENNY. [_Starting away_] Yes, mam.

MRS. R. [_To Ritter_] The folks liked it so much the last time. [_She

picks up her sewing-basket._]

JENNY. All right, Mrs. Ritter. [_She disappears at the left._]

MRS. R. [_Stepping out into the hallway_] Oh, and, Jenny!

JENNY. [_Out at the left_] Yes, mam?

MRS. R. Tell her to put a little of that _gin_ in it, the way she did

before.

JENNY. All right, mam.

MRS. R. Tell her she’ll find some gin in the little buffet in the big

dining-room.

RITTER. She probably knows where it is.

MRS. R. [_Coming forward carrying her sewing-basket_] Well, anyway,

that’s how I happened to get into it. [_She sits on the chair at the

left of the small table below the piano._] Mrs. Pampinelli called me

up the first thing in the morning, and she said--

RITTER. Is she in it, too?

MRS. R. [_Looking up from the arrangement of a couple of strips of lace

which she has taken from the sewing-basket_] Who? Mrs. Pampinelli?

RITTER. Yes.

MRS. R. No, she doesn’t take any part; she’s just in charge of

everything.

RITTER. That suits her better.

MRS. R. Kind of directress, I suppose you’d call her. [_He has some

difficulty keeping his face straight._] Tells us where to go, you

know, on the stage,--so we won’t be running into each other. [_Ritter

laughs._] Really, Fred, you have no idea how easy it is to run into

somebody on the stage. You’ve got to know where you’re going every time

you move. [_He laughs louder._] Why, what are you laughing at?

RITTER. I was just thinking of a few of the things I’ve heard Mrs.

Pampinelli called.

MRS. R. [_Looking over at him reproachfully_] Oh--now, that isn’t a bit

nice of you, Fred Ritter. I know you don’t like her.

RITTER. I like her all right.

MRS. R. No, you do not, now, Fred,--so _don’t_ say you do.

RITTER. I think she’s marvelous.

MRS. R. Well, she’s tremendously clever at this stage business, I don’t

care what you say. You just ought to hear her talk about it sometime.

Now, the last rehearsal we had,--over at her house,--she spoke on

“Technique in Acting as Distinguished from Method;” and you’ve no idea

how interesting it was. [_Ritter glances over at her as he deposits

some ashes from his cigar on the little table-tray._]

RITTER. You say you’ve given this show before?

MRS. R. Oh yes! We gave it on the fourteenth at the Civic Club. And, my

dear, that audience just loved it. And you’d be surprised too, for it’s

a terrifically serious thing. In fact, in a way, it’s too serious--for

the general public--that’s the reason several of the people who saw it

suggested that, if we give it again, we should give a dance right after

it. [_She looks closely at her needle and Ritter looks discreetly at

the end of his cigar._] But, as Mrs. Pampinelli says, it’s an absolute

impossibility to give a dance at either the Civic Club or the Century

Drawing Rooms, so that’s how we’re giving it this time down at Hutchy

Kutchy. [_Ritter looks over at her with a quizzical squint._]

RITTER. Where?

MRS. R. [_Looking over at him_] Horticultural Hall--there at Broad and

Spruce, you know.

RITTER. Yes, I know;--what did _you_ call it?

MRS. R. Hutchy Kutchy. [_She laughs inanely._] Mrs. Pampinelli always

calls it that,--I suppose I’ve gotten into the habit too, from hearing

her. [_She gives another little laugh, then finishes with an amused

sigh._]

RITTER. What’s the show for, a charity of some kind?

MRS. RITTER. [_Turning to him suddenly, and with a shade of

practicality_] It’s for the Seamen’s Institute. Kind of a refuge

for them, you know, while they’re in port; so the sailors won’t be

wandering around the streets getting into bad company. [_Ritter

disposes of more ashes, with an unusual precision, and Mrs.

Ritter resumes her sewing. Then, suddenly, she glances toward the

casement-window at the right._] It was Mrs. Pampinelli’s idea, [_She

gathers her things into the sewing-basket and gets up, swinging round

to her left and talking as she goes._] so of course she _didn’t_ want

anything to happen. [_She sets the sewing-basket down on the piano,

and, with another glance thru the window at the right, crosses to the

little table at the left where Ritter is sitting._] So she called me up

the first thing in the morning, and she said, “Paula darling, _have_

you heard the news?” So, of course, I said “No;” because up to that

time I _hadn’t_, and, naturally, I _wasn’t_ going to say that I had.

RITTER. Certainly _not_.

MRS. R. “Well,” she said, “_poor_ Jimmy Sheppard has _just_ passed on.”

Well, luckily, I was sitting down at the time, or I _positively_ think

I should have passed on myself.

RITTER. [_Raising his hand from the table as though distressed by the

extremity of her remarks_] Don’t say such things.

MRS. R. [_Mistaking his attitude_] No, really, Fred, you’ve no idea

the _feeling_ that came over me when she said that. “Well,” I said,

“Betty, what on earth are we going to do!” Because the tickets were

all sold, you know. “Well,” she said, “Paula,--the only thing _I_ see

to do, is to have _you_ step right into Clara Sheppard’s role.” “Me!”

I said. “Yes,” she said; “you are the only person in _my_ opinion who

is qualified to play the part.” “But, my dear,” I said, “I’ve never

stepped on a stage in my _life_!” “That is absolutely inconsequential,”

she said, “it is entirely a matter of dramatic instinct. And,” she

said, [_She simpers a bit here and moves around from the right of the

little table where she has been standing to the back of her husband’s

chair, at the left of the table._] “_you_ have _that_--to a far

greater degree than you’ve _any_ idea of.” [_He makes a sound of dry

amusement._] No, really, Fred, everyone was saying it was a positive

tragedy that you couldn’t have been there to see me--I never forgot

myself once. [_She rests her hand on his left shoulder, and he reaches

up and takes her hand._]

RITTER. What are you going to do now, become an actress?

MRS. R. No, but it surprised me so, the way everybody enthused; because

I didn’t think I’d done anything so extraordinary--I just walked

onto the stage, and said what I’d been told to say, and walked off

again. [_She emphasizes this last phrase by an indefinite gesture

of nonchalance in the direction of the door at her left._] And yet

everybody seemed to think it was wonderful. Why, Nelly Fell said she’d

never seen even a _professional actress_ so absolutely unconscious.

[_He makes a sound of amusement._] Really, Fred, you ought to have

heard them. Why, they said if they didn’t know, they never in the

_world_ would have believed that it was my first offense.

RITTER. You mustn’t believe everything these women tell you; they’ll

tell you anything to get their names in the paper.

MRS. R. Well, it wasn’t only they that said it;--people that I didn’t

even _know_ said it. Why, Mrs. Pampinelli had a letter from a woman

away out at Glenside that happened to see the performance, and she said

that, at times, my repose was _positively_ uncanny. And the papers

simply raved; especially “The Evening Breeze.” I have it upstairs, I

must show it to you. It said that it didn’t understand _how_ I had

escaped the public eye so long. [_She glances at the cuckoo-clock

over the door at the left, and, in doing so, notices a book that has

been left lying on the chair below the door: she steps over and picks

it up._] I was awfully sorry you couldn’t have been there, Fred. I

was going to write you about it when Mrs. Pampinelli first spoke to

me about going on, but there was so little time, you see. And then,

I didn’t think you’d mind;--especially on account of its being for

charity. [_He is very carefully putting ashes on the little tray. She

stands holding the book, looking at him. And there is a slight pause._]

You _don’t_ mind my going on, do you, Fred?

RITTER. [_Rather slowly_] No,--I don’t mind, if you’re able to get away

with it.

MRS. R. [_Trailing across back of his chair_] I didn’t think you would.

RITTER. [_Raising his hand from the table quietly_] But a--[_She comes

to a stop and regards him over her left shoulder._] I don’t want any of

these women exploiting you for their own vanity. [_She doesn’t quite

encompass his meaning, and stands looking at him for a second. Then she

abstractedly lays the book down on the table beside him. There is a

very definite ring at the front door-bell._] I guess that’s some of the

people. [_She starts towards the hallway._]

RITTER. [_Preparing to rise_] Where do you do this thing, here?

MRS. R. [_Turning to him and indicating the general arrangement_]

Yes--just the way we have it fixed.

RITTER. [_Rising briskly and crossing to the table below the piano

at the right, while Mrs. R. continues to the center-door and stands

looking toward the front door. Jenny appears in the left hallway._] I

think I’ll beat it upstairs.

MRS. R. [_Turning to Jenny_] I guess that’s some of the people, Jenny.

[_She comes forward towards Ritter again._]

JENNY. Yes, mam. [_She passes back of Mrs. Ritter and along out into

the right hallway to answer the door._]

MRS. R. Won’t you wait and see the rehearsal, Fred? [_He is gathering

up the telegrams from the table, where he left them earlier._]

RITTER. [_Turning and going up towards the center-door, thrusting the

telegrams into his inside pocket_] No, I think I’d rather wait and see

the show. [_He passes her, to her left._]

MRS. R. [_Turning and trailing up towards the center-door after him_]

It’s really _very_ interesting.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Out at the front door_] You see how considerate I

am of you, Jenny, letting myself in? [_Mr. and Mrs. Ritter stop in the

center-door and look toward the front door._]

JENNY. [_At the front door_] Oh, that’s all right, Mrs. Pampinelli.

MRS. R. [_Turning quickly to Ritter at her left_] You can’t go up now,

Fred, she’ll see you.

MRS. PAMPINELLI and RITTER, together.

MRS. P. Well, I daresay you’ll have to open this door quite often

enough tonight without my troubling you.

RITTER. [_Coming back into the room with a slight gesture of

annoyance_] I don’t want to have to listen to her gab. [_He goes over

to the mantelpiece at the left and takes up his position there, while

Mrs. Ritter, with a movement to him to be silent, drifts down beside

the piano at the right._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Coming into view from the right hallway_] Well, I

suppose I’m still the shining example of punctuality. [_She sweeps

thru the center-door, carrying a large black-bear muff, a fan of black

ostrich-plumes, and a note-book and pencil._] How do you do, Mr.

Ritter,--[_She goes towards Mrs. Ritter._]

RITTER. [_Nodding_] How do you do.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. I’m glad to see you.

MRS. RITTER. [_Moving towards Mrs. P._] Hello, Betty.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Hello, Paula child,--[_Kisses her_] how are you,

dear? [_Mr. Spindler hurries in from the right hallway, carrying

several books. Mrs. P. steps to the table below the piano._] Will you

give those things to Mrs. Ritter, Mr. Spindler, she’ll set them down

somewhere. [_She sets her own encumbrances down on the table, and Mrs.

Ritter passes back of her to Spindler._]

SPINDLER. [_Standing in the middle of the room, toward the back_]

Certainly, certainly.

MRS. RITTER. Good evening, Mr. Spindler.

SPINDLER. Good evening, good evening. [_Jenny comes in from the right

hallway, takes the tray and glass from the hall table, and goes out the

left hallway._]

MRS. RITTER. I’ll just take these.

SPINDLER. [_Giving her the books and a manuscript_] If you please.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Crossing directly to Ritter_] Florence McCrickett

told me you were back; she saw you getting into a taxicab at the

station. [_Giving him her hand_] I’m glad to see you.

RITTER. I just got in.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. And I suppose you’ve already heard about the great

event?

RITTER. Yes, she’s just been telling me. [_They laugh together._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Well, my dear, you may count that day lost that

you missed it. [_She half turns to Mrs. Ritter, who is engaged in

conversation with Spindler._] Mayn’t he, Paula? [_But Paula hasn’t

heard what she’s been saying, so she just looks at her and gives an

inane little laugh. Mrs. Pampinelli continues to Ritter._] Although

you’ll have an opportunity tomorrow night; unless you’re going to run

away again before that.

RITTER. No, I’ll be here now till after Thanksgiving. [_Mrs. Ritter

leaves Spindler and goes over to a small table at the extreme right,

below the casement-window, where she sets the books and manuscript

down._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Turning from Ritter and crossing back again to the

table at the right below the piano_] Wonderful! Did you hear that,

Paula?

MRS. R. What is it, dear?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Mr. Ritter says he will be here for the performance

tomorrow night.

MRS. R. Yes.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Unfastening her fur neckpiece_] So you will have

an opportunity after all of revealing to him what gems of talent the

unfathomed caves of matrimony bear. [_They both laugh._]

MRS. R. [_Picking up Mrs. Pampinelli’s muff from the table and taking

the neckpiece_] I’ll just take these, Betty.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Settling her beads_] Anywhere at all, dear. [_Mrs.

R. starts to the right._] Oh, and by the way, Paula--[_Mrs. Ritter

stops and turns to her._]

MRS. R. Yes?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Indicating the books on the table below the window_]

There’s a remarkable article in one of those books I brought, on

a--gesture.

MRS. R. [_Looking at the books_] Yes?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. The little gray book I think it is, if I’m not

mistaken. [_She turns to her left and acknowledges Mr. Spindler with a

touch of state._] Mr. Spindler--[_He returns a smiling and very snappy

little bow._] brought it to my attention,--[_She turns back again

to Paula, who has gone up at the right of the piano and is putting

the furs on the partition-seat, while Spindler, becoming suddenly

conscious that Ritter is looking at him, stiffens abruptly, glances at

Ritter, and turns back again to Mrs. Pampinelli._] and it really is

remarkable. So many of my own ideas--things that I have been advocating

for years. I brought it especially for _you_, Paula,--so you must read

it when you have time. [_She picks up her lead-pencil from the little

table and, tapping it against her right temple, thinks profoundly._]

What is that wonderful line of Emerson’s that I’m so fond of--something

about our unexpressed thoughts coming back to accuse us--[_Turning to

Spindler_] You know all those things, Mr. Spindler.

SPINDLER. [_Pedantically_] Coming back to us “with an alienated

majesty.”

MRS. PAMPINELLI. That is the one I mean. [_She turns back again to

Paula, who has, by this time, come forward again at the right of

the piano, while Mr. Spindler, again becoming conscious that Ritter

is looking at him, gives him another glance, this time with a shade

of resentment in it, and, coughing briefly, as an emphasis of his

dignity, which Ritter’s general attitude somehow suggests is not being

sufficiently esteemed, turns back to Mrs. Pampinelli._] Well, that is

exactly what occurred to me when I read that article--My own thoughts

returning to me from an alienated majesty. [_She finishes her version

of the quotation to Spindler and Mr. Ritter._] Oh, by the way,--[_She

gives a little mirthless laugh._] I’m afraid I’ve neglected to

introduce Mr. Spindler [_Indicating Ritter with a very casual gesture

of her left hand, and picking up her lead-pencil from the little

table_] This is Mrs. Ritter’s husband, Mr. Spindler. [_Spindler strides

towards Ritter and extends his hand with that vigor which usually

characterizes the greetings of unimportant persons._]

SPINDLER. Glad!

RITTER. [_Tonelessly_] How are you?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Addressing Ritter directly_] Mr. Spindler is a

young man who has made quite an exhaustive study of the Little Theatre

Movement throughout the country; [_Spindler moves back towards his

former position, and Paula, over at the right, takes a piece of fudge

from a box on the little table below the casement-window._] and is

working very hard to bring about something of the same kind here.

[_Ritter inclines his head, and Spindler listens to Mrs. Pampinelli,

wreathed in smiles._] And is going to succeed, too, aren’t you, Mr.

Spindler?

SPINDLER. [_With a kind of pert assurance_] Never fell down on a big

job yet. [_He gives a self-conscious little laugh and glances at

Ritter, under whose coldly-appraising eye the laugh freezes instantly

into a short, hollow cough. Then he turns away._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. I’m sure he has all the qualifications.

SPINDLER. [_With a wooden smile, and saluting_] Thank you, thank you.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Hasn’t he, Paula?

MRS. RITTER. [_Nibbling at the fudge_] Yes indeed, Mr. Spindler’s quite

indispensable. [_Spindler gives her a pert little nod, by way of

acknowledgment._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_To Mrs. Ritter_] I think that’s what I shall have

to call him hereafter,--[_Turning to Spindler_] the indispensable Mr.

Spindler. [_They all laugh,--a trifle more than the brilliancy of the

remark should reasonably occasion, and Mr. Spindler accounts it even

worthy a salute._]

SPINDLER. Bouquets were falling [_Here the front door-bell gives two

sharp little staccato rings._] thick and fast. [_He starts towards the

center-door._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Well, it’s true--

SPINDLER. [_Speaking directly to Mrs. Ritter_] I’ll answer it. [_He

hurries out into the right hallway._]

MRS. P. and MRS. R., speaking together.

MRS. P. I know I don’t know what on earth I should do without him.

MRS. R. [_Addressing Spindler as he hurries out the hallway_] All

right, if you will, Mr. Spindler.

SPINDLER. [_Calling back_] Sure!

MRS. PAMPINELLI. He is one of those rare persons who never forsakes one

in the hour of quotation. [_She turns to Mrs. Ritter, who is chewing

fudge at her right._] What are you eating, Paula?

MRS. RITTER. A bit of fudge. Would you like some, Betty?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Very definitely_] No, thank you, dear.

MRS. RITTER. [_Indicating the table below the casement-window_] There’s

some here.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Raising her hand in a gesture of finality, and

speaking with conviction_] I never eat immediately before using my

voice. And you should not, either, Paula,--particularly candy. [_She

moves across to the left to Mr. Ritter. She is an imposing woman, in

her late fifties, with a wealth of false hair, perfectly done, and a

martial bearing. She is one of those matrons who is frequently referred

to in the suburban weeklies as a “leading spirit”; and this particular

description has always so flattered Mrs. Pampinelli’s particular

vanity, that she overlooks no opportunity of justifying it: an effort

that has resulted in a certain grandeur of voice and manner; which,

rather fortunately, becomes the distinction of her person. She is

gowned in sapphire-blue velvet, close-fitting, with an independent,

triangular train, from the waist, probably four yards long. Her

necklace, comb, the buckles on her black-velvet slippers, and her

rings, are all touched with sapphire._]

MRS. RITTER. [_Looking vaguely at the fudge-box_] There’s so much of it

here. [_Jenny appears from the left hallway._]

MRS. P. and MRS. R., speaking together.

MRS. P. [_Coming to Ritter’s right_] Very tragic about poor Sheppard,

wasn’t it, Mr. Ritter?

MRS. R. [_Going up to the center-door, and speaking to Jenny as she

goes_] Mr. Spindler is answering the door, Jenny, you needn’t bother.

RITTER and JENNY, speaking together.

RITTER. [_To Mrs. Pampinelli_] Yes, it _was_--too bad.

JENNY. [_To Mrs. Ritter_] Oh, all right, then. [_She withdraws, and

Mrs. Ritter stands looking out into the right hallway._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. I suppose Paula wrote you.

RITTER. Yes.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Dear me--I don’t know when anything has so upset me.

[_Ritter stands looking at the end of his cigar and Mrs. Pampinelli

looks straight ahead._] I don’t believe I closed an eye the entire

night,--wondering where on earth I should find someone to play his

wife’s part. [_Ritter glances at her, as he places the cigar in his

mouth, and Mrs. Pampinelli looks at him quickly._] Because, of course,

you know that Mrs. Sheppard was to have played the part that Paula

plays.

RITTER. Yes, so she told me. [_Mrs. Ritter, still nibbling at the

fudge, wanders down and stands in the middle of the room._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. But we only had three days to get someone; and it

didn’t seem possible to me that anyone could memorize that part in

that length of time. [_Mrs. Ritter touches her hair and makes a little

sound of amusement,--a kind of modest acknowledgment of the brilliancy

of her achievement._] So I thought at first--of having Clara Sheppard

go on anyway, and I should make an announcement; but, you see, Mr.

Sheppard was buried on the fourteenth, and that was the night of the

performance; and as I thought the matter over, it seemed to me that

perhaps it was just a little too much to expect of her--[_Ritter gives

her another glance._] Considering her experience as an actress, I mean.

RITTER. [_Taking the cigar from his mouth and speaking with a shade of

deliberation_] Couldn’t she have kept his death a secret,--until after

the performance?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Well, I thought of that, too; [_Ritter looks

at her steadily._] but, you see, it was three days,--[_He nods,

understandingly._] and he was so very well known. [_She moves back

across the room towards the table below the piano, and Ritter stands

looking after her. Simultaneously, there is a frantic giggle from the

right hallway. Mrs. Ritter goes up to the center-door, looks in the

direction of the laughter, and waves her handkerchief, while Mrs.

Pampinelli, passing below the table, gathers up her note-book and

pencil and continues to the table below the casement-window, where she

secures the manuscript. Ritter steps forward from his position before

the mantelpiece, and disposes of some ashes on the little table-tray._]

MRS. FELL. [_Out in the right hallway_] Paula, that’s a very dangerous

young man you have on that door tonight.

MRS. RITTER. [_Calling to her_] I think it’s very kind of Mr. Spindler.

[_Mrs. Pampinelli comes around in front of the big arm-chair below the

casement-window._]

MRS. FELL. [_Coming into view, with considerable flourish_] Kind!

My dear, I haven’t heard anything like it since I was twenty! [_She

gives a little wave of her gorgeous, single white ostrich-plume fan at

Mrs. Pampinelli._] Hello, Betty! [_Then to Mrs. Ritter_] How are you,

darling?

MRS. RITTER. Hello, Nelly. [_Nelly kisses her._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Enthroning herself in the arm-chair at the right_]

Is it _really_ possible!

MRS. FELL. [_Turning from Mrs. Ritter and hurrying through the

center-door_] You’re a sweet child! [_Extending the fan towards Mrs.

Pampinelli, and coming quickly forward to the table at the right below

the piano_] Yes, and I should have been here every night at this hour

if it weren’t for that dreadful officer up at the parkway! [_She sets

her fan and black-velvet bag on the table. Spindler comes in from

the right hallway and engages in conversation with Mrs. Ritter in

the centre-door._] He seems to take a fiendish delight in selecting

_my_ car, of all the _millions_ that pass there at this hour, to do

_this_! [_She extends her right arm and hand, after the fashion of

traffic-officers._] So I told him yesterday afternoon, I said, “Look

here, young man!” [_She points her forefinger as though reproving

the officer._] “You needn’t expect any Christmas-present from _me_

next Christmas, for you just--won’t--get it. Not till you change your

tactics.” So he says, after this, he’s just going to let me go ahead

and run into a trolley-car;--see how I like that. [_Mrs. Pampinelli,

making marginal notes in the manuscript, laughs faintly._] “Well,” I

said, “it’d be a change, anyway,--from being stopped all the time.”

[_She abstractedly picks up her fan again._] I don’t think he likes my

chauffeur. And I don’t blame him; I don’t like him myself. He drives

too slow--[_She starts for the center-door._] He’s like an old woman.

[_She sees Ritter, peering at her, and starts abruptly._] Well, for

Mercy’s sake, Frederick Ritter, you don’t mean to tell me that’s you!

RITTER. I was here a minute ago.

MRS. FELL. [_Laughing flightily_] Well, I declare! I don’t know what’s

happening to my eyes! [_Turning to Mrs. Pampinelli_] I saw him standing

there, [_Turning back again and starting towards Ritter, with her hand

extended_] but I thought it was one of the other gentlemen! How are

you, dear boy? [_He takes her hand and stoops over as though to kiss

her. She turns her head away quickly._] Stop it! Frederick Ritter!

[_Mrs. Pampinelli glances over, then resumes her notes. Mrs. Fell

half-turns to Mrs. Ritter, who is still talking to Mr. Spindler up at

the center-door._] Paula!--do you see what this bad boy of yours is

doing? [_Paula just looks and laughs meaninglessly, and resumes her

conversation with Spindler._] What brought you back so soon?

RITTER. [_Assuming the attitude and tone of a lover_] I got thinking of

you.

MRS. FELL. [_Touching her hair_] I thought you were out in Seattle or

South Carolina or one of those funny places.

RITTER. [_Leaning a bit closer and speaking more softly_] I couldn’t

keep away from you any longer. [_Nelly darts a swift glance at him._]

MRS. FELL. [_Starting towards the right_] Don’t play with fire,

Frederick--[_He laughs hard. She pauses in the middle of the room and

turns and looks at him._] You know what they say about widows, and I’ve

been all kinds. [_She continues over towards Mrs. Pampinelli._] Oh,

Professor Pampinelli! [_Turning and addressing Ritter directly_] I call

her Professor, she knows so much. [_Turning back to Mrs. Pampinelli_]

Mrs. P.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Looking up suddenly_] I beg your pardon, Nelly

dear--I didn’t know you were speaking to me.

MRS. FELL. I want to know if you can take me home in your car tonight?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Why, certainly, dear.

MRS. FELL. My chauffeur has been deviling me for the past two days

about some boxing-bee,--or wrestling-match or something that he wants

to see; and I told him he could go if there were someone here to take

me home.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. I can take you, of course.

MRS. FELL. All right, then, I can chase him; [_She turns to the left._]

I won’t hear any more about that. Oh, Mr. Spindler!

SPINDLER. Yes, mam? [_Excuses himself to Mrs. Ritter, who steps into

the left hallway and beckons with her finger for Jenny._]

MRS. FELL. Would you mind doing a favor for a very old lady?

SPINDLER. [_Who has hurried forward and is standing in the middle of

the room, at attention._] You know what I told you out at the door?

[_Nelly gives a shriek, and giggles._]

MRS. FELL. [_Looking coyly over Spindler’s shoulder at Ritter_] Oh,

you hear that, Frederick Ritter? You have a rival on the premises. Mr.

Spindler told me out at the door tonight,--that _my_ will was _his_

pleasure.

RITTER. [_Looking at the tip of his cigar_] San Juan is never dead

while Mr. Spindler lives. [_There is a general laugh._]

SPINDLER. [_Turning to Ritter_] Say, that’s pretty good!

MRS. FELL. Yes, I was afraid he was something of a gay deceiver.

SPINDLER. [_Speaking directly to Mrs. Fell_] Only one way to find out.

[_Mrs. Fell laughs deprecatingly and sweeps the tip of her fan across

his nose._]

MRS. FELL. Naughty boy. [_She giggles a little more, then becomes

practical._] Well then, I’ll tell you what you may do for me, Mr.

Spindler, if you don’t mind. [_Jenny appears in the left hallway and

Mrs. Ritter gives her an order of some sort, which appears to require

a bit of explanation._] Go out to my chauffeur, [_She turns him round

by the shoulder and they move up towards the center-door._] you’ll

probably find him asleep in the car, and tell him I said it’s all

right,--he can go along--that Mrs. Pampinelli will take me home in

_her_ car.

SPINDLER. [_Hurrying out the right hallway_] Righto! [_Jenny

withdraws._]

MRS. FELL. [_Standing in the center-door and calling after him_]

Like a good boy. [_She turns, to find Mrs. Ritter at her left in the

center-door. She takes her arm and they come forward._] Come in here,

Paula Ritter, and explain to me _why_ [_They stop in the middle of the

room, just above the line on which Ritter is standing._] you didn’t

tell me my--lover [_She peers around in front of Paula’s shoulder at

Ritter._] was coming back today?

MRS. RITTER. [_Laughing faintly_] My dear, I didn’t know it myself

until twenty minutes ago.

MRS. FELL. [_Becoming instantly rigid, and piercing Mrs. Ritter with a

look_] You don’t mean to tell me he returned unexpectedly?

MRS. RITTER. He never even sent a wire.

MRS. FELL. [_Moving over to the right, to the little table below the

piano_] I’m surprised at you, Frederick. I consider that the supreme

indiscretion in a husband--[_She lays her fan down on the table._] to

return unexpectedly. Isn’t it, Paula? [_She commences to unfasten her

cloak._]

MRS. RITTER. [_Moving over to help her_] I never got such a surprise in

my life.

MRS. FELL. It has probably wrecked more perfectly good homes than

any other one thing in the calendar. [_She slips her cloak off her

shoulders, and Mrs. Ritter, who has passed back of her, takes it. It is

a flowing affair in black and silver, with voluminous kimona sleeves

edged with black fur, and a deep circular collar of silver-cloth and

fur._]

MRS. RITTER. I love your cape, Nelly.

MRS. FELL. [_Settling her ornaments_] Do you really?

MRS. RITTER. [_Examining it_] Beautiful.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Reaching for it_] Let me see it, Paula.

MRS. RITTER. [_Handing it to her_] Where’s your seal, Nelly?

MRS. FELL. I thought I wouldn’t take it out this winter; I got so tired

looking at it last year. I want to have that collar and cuffs taken

off, anyway, before I wear it again;--there’s too much skunk there.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. This is perfectly gorgeous, dear. [_To Mrs. Ritter_]

Isn’t it?

MRS. RITTER. [_Picking up Nelly’s fan from the table_] Lovely. And

isn’t this sweet? [_Mrs. Pampinelli takes the fan from Mrs. Ritter and

returns the wrap._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Charming.

MRS. FELL. I’m so glad you like it;--I was afraid at first perhaps it

might make me look a little too much like a bride.

RITTER. [_With mock derision_] Ha! [_Nelly snaps her head toward him

and pins him with a narrow glare._]

MRS. FELL. Don’t be peevish, Frederick--

MRS. RITTER. [_To Mrs. Pampinelli, as she takes the fan from her and

replaces it on the table_] Isn’t he terrible!

MRS. FELL. It isn’t my fault that your wife is a great actress. [_She

gives a comic nod and wink at Mrs. Ritter. Ritter laughs._]

MRS. RITTER. [_Starting towards the door up above the casement-window,

at the right, with Mrs. Fell’s cape_] Now, Fred Ritter, you just stop

that!

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Never mind him, Paula--[_Paula goes out with the

cape._] He’ll probably change his tune after tomorrow night. [_Mrs.

Fell picks up her fan and commences to fan herself._]

RITTER. [_Standing over above the table at the left, smoking_] I’m

thinking of what happened to poor Jimmy Sheppard. [_Jenny comes in at

the left hallway, carrying a small punch-bowl filled with claret, which

she sets down carefully on the little stand in the hallway. Mrs. Ritter

re-enters from the door on the right and crosses over to Jenny, whom

she assists._]

MRS. FELL. [_Strolling across towards Ritter, fanning herself_] Oh, I

suppose it must be very difficult for the marvelous male, to suddenly

find himself obliged to bask in the reflected glory of a mere wife.

[_Mrs. Pampinelli laughs, over her notes._] For I’ve never known one

yet who was able to do it gracefully. [_She flips the tip of the fan

at Ritter’s nose. Mrs. Ritter gives Jenny a direction of some kind and

Jenny goes out again at the left hallway._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_As Mrs. Fell saunters back again across the room_]

Well, perhaps Mr. Ritter will show himself consistently _masculine_

in this instance, and do the exceptional thing. [_Mrs. Ritter follows

Jenny out._]

RITTER. I suppose that’s what you’d call _veiled_ sarcasm, isn’t it?

[_Mrs. Pampinelli laughs and rises._]

MRS. FELL. [_Standing in the middle of the room_] I shouldn’t say it

was veiled at _all_. [_Moving towards the table below the piano_] I

don’t think it’s even _draped_.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Laughing still, and coming to the little table_]

Here’s the manuscript, Nelly.

MRS. FELL. [_Stepping closer to the table_] Yes, dear.

RITTER. What are you going to do now, keep _on_ giving this show?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Well, not this particular one, Mr. Ritter, no; but we

are going to continue giving shows.

RITTER. What’s the idea?

MRS. FELL. They’re to be for different charities.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. And then they will afford the boys and girls an

opportunity of developing themselves as artists.

RITTER. What are they going to do, all go on the stage?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Well, hardly all of them will go;--but those that we

feel have sufficient talent we will encourage to go on, by all means.

RITTER. Do you think Mrs. Ritter has sufficient talent?

MRS. FELL. She’s wonderful, Fred, really.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Yes, I should say that Paula had a very remarkable

talent.

RITTER. Well, what will you do about _her_?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. How do you mean, Mr. Ritter, what will we _do_ about

her?

RITTER. Why, I mean,--you’d hardly encourage _her_ to go on the stage,

would you?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. And why not?

RITTER. Why, what about her home? [_Nelly Fell touches her hair and

gives Mrs. Pampinelli a look of amused impatience._] She couldn’t very

well walk away and leave that, could she?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Well, personally, Mr. Ritter, I have always felt that,

where it is a question of talent, one should not allow himself to be

deterred by purely personal considerations.

MRS. FELL. She’s really awfully good, Fred! You wait till you

see--You’ll want her to go yourself.

RITTER. [_Stepping quietly to the table at the left and disposing of

some cigar-ashes_] She’ll have to be pretty good.

MRS. FELL. Won’t he, Betty?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Well, as far as that is concerned, I think that the

question of whether to be or or not to be an actress, is one that every

woman must, at some time or other in her life, decide for herself.

[_Spindler hurries in from the right hallway and down to Mrs. Fell’s

left, where he stands at attention, saluting, of course, as usual. Mr.

Spindler is full of salutes. He was in the army;--drafted ten weeks

before the armistice; and subjected throughout the long term of his

service to the dangers and exposure of a clerkship in the Personnel at

Upton. And he’s never gotten over it; being of that immature type of

mind upon which the letter of the Military makes a profound impression.

He’s a peppy person, thin and stilted,--in dinner clothes,--with sleek

hair and goggle glasses: one of that distressing student-order that is

inevitably to be found in the retinue of some Mrs. Pampinelli,--her

social status and constant championship of so-called artistic movements

affording him a legitimate indulgence of his particular weaknesses. So

he becomes a kind of lead-pencil-bearer extraordinary to her ladyship;

and her ladyship tolerates him,--for a variety of reasons; not the

least of which is his unfailing attitude of acquiescence in all her

opinions. And she has so many opinions,--and on so many different

subjects, that this feature of Mr. Spindler’s disposition is far from

inconsiderable. Then, he has a most highly developed faculty for small

correctnesses,--an especially valuable asset, in view of the enormous

amount of detail work incidental to Mrs. Pampinelli’s vast activities.

He reminds her of things, or, “brings them to her attention,” as she

puts it. For Mr. Spindler is one of those--fortunately few--people who

remembers things--word for word--even the things he’s read--And he

appears to have read most everything. And he quotes incessantly. As

Mrs. Pampinelli has already observed of him, “he is one of those rare

persons who never forsakes one in the hour of quotation.”_] Look here,

Nelly.

MRS. FELL. Yes, dear. [_Mrs. Ritter comes in from the left hallway

carrying several punch-glasses, which she puts down on the hallway

table._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Indicating a certain line in the manuscript with

her lead-pencil_] There are a couple of little changes here on page

twelve--[_Mrs. Fell opens her lorgnon and looks at the manuscript._] I

have them marked.

MRS. FELL. [_Becoming conscious of Spindler at her left_] Pardon me,

Betty. [_Turning to Spindler_] Did you tell him, Mr. Spindler?

SPINDLER. Yes, mam; he’s gone on his way rejoicing.

MRS. FELL. You’re a sweet child.

SPINDLER. [_Snapping his salute_] Thank you. [_He does an about-face

and goes up to Mrs. Ritter,--Ritter watching him with an expression

susceptible of infinite interpretation._]

MRS. FELL. The only man I’ve met in a long time that has made me wish I

were--ten years younger.

RITTER. Ha!

MRS. FELL. [_Pertly_] Outside of you, of course.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_With a touch of wearied impatience_] Look here, dear.

MRS. FELL. [_Stepping quickly to the table again and re-adjusting her

lorgnon_] Yes, I beg your pardon.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. You see, in this line here,--the author has employed a

defective verb in the perfect tense. [_Mrs. Fell looks suddenly at her

and then right back to the manuscript again. Ritter is watching them

closely._] Would you come here for a moment, Mr. Spindler?

SPINDLER. Certainly, certainly. [_Excuses himself to Mrs. Ritter, with

whom he has been chatting, and comes down briskly to Mrs. Fell’s left._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. If you please.

MRS. FELL. [_Appearing to have some difficulty locating the defective

verb_] Where is that, now, that you were saying, Betty?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Indicating with the point of the pencil_] Right

there, dear. [_Nelly just looks at the spot, through her lorgnon._]

This is the point I was speaking to you about last night, Mr. Spindler.

SPINDLER. [_Securing his goggles_] Oh, yes, yes! [_Ritter draws Mrs.

Ritter’s attention to the group down at the table. She reproves him

with a steady stare. He smiles and shakes his head hopelessly._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. You see, this author has employed a defective here, in

the perfect tense.

SPINDLER. [_Looking closely_] Ah, yes, I see.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Looking at him directly_] So I have changed it. [_He

straightens up and looks at her, and Mrs. Fell looks from one to the

other._]

SPINDLER. A very good change. [_He nods and crosses over to the left,

passing below the table at the left. Ritter watches him until he takes

up his position just below the mantelpiece, rather ill at ease under

Ritter’s gaze._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. I think so. So, if you’ll just watch that Nelly. [_She

picks up the manuscript._]

MRS. FELL. All right, I’ll watch it. [_She reaches for her bag and

takes out a lip-stick. Jenny appears from the left hallway with a tray

of cakes, which Mrs. Ritter assists her in making room for on the hall

table._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Starting for the center-door_] I must show it to

Paula, it’s her line. [_The door-bell rings._] Paula child. [_Jenny

passes back of Mrs. Ritter and goes out into the right hallway to

answer the door-bell._]

MRS. RITTER. [_Eating a cake_] Yes, dear? [_Mrs. Pampinelli calls her

attention to the change in the manuscript. Mrs. Fell is making up

her lips down at the table below the piano. Ritter is watching her,

and Spindler is watching Ritter, and trying to assume his general

deportment._]

RITTER. Are _you_ in the show, Nelly?

MRS. FELL. [_Without turning, and applying the lip-stick, with the aid

of the little mirror in her hand-bag_] Who, me?

RITTER. Yes.

MRS. FELL. [_Half-turning, and giving him a melting look_] Yes;--I play

a chicken. [_She returns to her mirror._]

RITTER. [_Casually_] In the last act, I suppose. [_Nelly snaps her head

around and pierces him with one of her looks._]

MRS. FELL. No, and not in the last stages, either. [_She resumes her

make-up. Nelly is forever making up. But, she does know how to do it.

Of course, she should, considering the years of her experience in the

art. For Nelly Fell’s age amounts to an achievement; one of those

attainments so absolutely undisputed that it is perfectly permissible

to refer to it in any gathering. She says she’ll “soon be sixty”; but

the short and simple annals of society record flutterings of the lady

as far back as the first term of President Grant. And she’s still

fluttering--a perennial ingenue, full of brittle moves and staccato

vocalisms. She looks like a little French marquise, so chic, and

twittery--and rich. For, of course, Nelly is wealthy--enormously so;

it would be utterly impossible to have her hair and not have money;

the feature is financial in itself; so silver-white, with a lovely

bandau of small, pale-pink leaves, tipped with diamond dewdrops; all

heightened tremendously by the creation in black velvet she is wearing.

This gown is heavily trimmed with silver, and quite sleeveless, with

two panels of the goods fastened at the waist on either side and

trailing at least a yard. She has a preference for diamonds and pearls,

obviously, for her ear-rings, dog-collar, bracelets and rings are all

of those gems, and her long, triple-string necklace is of pearls.

Altogether, Nelly is a very gorgeous little old lady--from the topmost

ringlet of her aristocratic hair, to the pearl buckles on her tiny

black-velvet slippers._]

SPINDLER. Mrs. Fell is the official promptress.

MRS. FELL. [_Turning her head and looking at Ritter_] I _prompt_

everybody. [_She replaces her lip-stick in the hand-bag._]

RITTER. Yes?

MRS. FELL. [_Putting the hand-bag down again on the table_] As well as

lending my moral support.

RITTER. Yes? [_Spindler laughs._]

MRS. FELL. [_To Ritter_] You bold thing!

HOSSEFROSSE. [_Coming into view from the right hallway_] Good evening,

everybody!

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Turning to him, from Mrs. Ritter, with whom she has

been discussing the change in the manuscript_] Oh, good evening, Mr.

Hossefrosse. [_They shake hands._]

MRS. RITTER. Mr. Hossefrosse. [_Mrs. Pampinelli comes forward into the

room again, bringing the manuscript with her._]

HOSSEFROSSE. Mrs. Ritter--good evening. [_Mrs. Ritter asks him if he

will have a glass of claret and he says yes, so she proceeds to fill

him out one._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. I hope the rest of the people aren’t far behind you.

HOSSEFROSSE. Are we late?

MRS. FELL. [_Waving to him_] Hello, Huxley.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Not very.

HOSSEFROSSE. Hello, Nelly. How are you? [_Mrs. Ritter gives him the

claret, and he stands up at the center-door with her, drinking it.

Teddy Spearing wanders in from the right hallway._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Passing below the little table below the piano and

laying the manuscript on it_] Here’s the manuscript, Nelly. [_She

continues to the arm-chair below the casement-window, and, picking

up her note-book from the little table at her right, sits down and

commences to make notes._]

MRS. FELL. [_Seeing Teddy Spearing, and starting towards the right

partition_] Oh, Teddy Spearing!

TEDDY. Hello, Nelly.

MRS. FELL. [_Beckoning him with her fan_] Come here, dear, I’ve got

something to tell you. [_Teddy leans over the partition at the right

and Nelly kneels on the partition-seat and whispers something to him.

Hossefrosse and Mrs. Ritter are conversing in the center-door, Mrs.

Pampinelli is making notes down at the right, Ritter is standing over

in front of the mantelpiece, smoking, and Spindler is standing just

below him, to his left, watching him._]

SPINDLER. [_In a sudden surge of courage, and taking a rather

nonchalant step towards Ritter_] Could you spare one of those cigars,

please? [_Ritter looks at him keenly, then reaches in his vest-pocket

for a cigar._]

RITTER. Do you smoke?

SPINDLER. Semi-occasionally, yes. [_Ritter hands him the cigar and he

steps nonchalantly back to his former position, Ritter keeping one eye

on him. He examines the cigar curiously, and, being apparently very

near-sighted, seems to have considerable difficulty in deciphering the

band-inscription._]

RITTER. You can light _either_ end of it.

SPINDLER. [_Very self-conscious_] Yes,--I was just looking at this

label here: it’s rather keen. [_He puts the cigar in his mouth, and

attempts an attitude of careless detachment._]

RITTER. Have you got a match?

SPINDLER. I don’t--[_As he opens his mouth to speak the cigar falls on

the floor, and he scrambles after it._]

TEDDY. [_Laughing incredulously and turning away from Nelly_] Oh, Nelly!

MRS. FELL. Upon my word, dear! Come here till I tell you. [_Teddy

returns to the partition and Nelly proceeds with her gossip._]

SPINDLER. [_Straightening up, and attempting another man-of-the-world

attitude_] I don’t care to smoke just now, thank you. [_He holds the

cigar in his fingers._]

RITTER. [_As things settle again_] You’ve been in the army, haven’t you?

SPINDLER. [_Turning to Ritter with a suggestion of military erectness_]

Yes; I put in the better part of three months down at Upton, in the

Personnel.

RITTER. I imagined from your salute you’d been around one of the camps.

SPINDLER. Yes,--I was Third Lieutenant down there--[_Ritter looks at

him sharply; then Spindler turns and meets the look._] Regimental

Sergeant Major.

RITTER. Rest.

MRS. FELL. [_Coming away from the partition_] So I’m going to ask

him right out the very next time I meet him. [_She comes down to the

little table below the piano again. Mr. Hossefrosse comes through the

center-door towards Ritter, rubbing his hands, and Teddy moves over

towards Mrs. Ritter, who is still officiating at the punch-bowl._]

TEDDY and HOSSEFROSSE, speaking together.

TEDDY. [_Speaking to Mrs. Fell_] Maybe he doesn’t know it himself.

HOSSEFROSSE. [_Addressing Ritter_] Ah, Mr. Ritter! How do you do, sir?

[_They shake hands._]

RITTER. How do you do?

MRS. FELL and HOSSEFROSSE, together.

MRS. FELL. Well, I’m going to find out, whether he does or not.

HOSSEFROSSE. [_To Ritter_] Decided there was no place like home, eh?

[_He laughs, with a mirthless effusiveness._]

RITTER. Are you in the show, too? [_Mrs. Ritter fills out a glass of

claret for Teddy._]

MRS. FELL and HOSSEFROSSE, together.

MRS. FELL. I should say he is in it.

HOSSEFROSSE. We’re all in it.

MRS. FELL. He’s the leading man. [_Hossefrosse raises his right

hand toward Nelly and laughs deprecatingly._] Unfortunately, there

isn’t a place in the play where he can use that perfectly gorgeous

singing-voice of his. [_Hossefrosse is quite overcome, and crosses,

with hand extended, to Spindler._] It’s true.

HOSSEFROSSE. Good evening, Mr. Spindler.

SPINDLER. Good evening, good evening. [_In shifting the cigar from his

right hand to his left he drops it._]

HOSSEFROSSE. Uh! I beg your pardon! [_Mrs. Ritter laughs at something

Teddy has said to her, then hands him a glass of claret. Mr.

Hossefrosse stoops to pick up Spindler’s cigar._]

SPINDLER. [_Stooping also, after the cigar_] That’s all right.

HOSSEFROSSE and SPINDLER, together.

HOSSEFROSSE. I’ll get it. [_He picks it up and hands it to Spindler._]

SPINDLER. It isn’t lit.

HOSSEFROSSE. There we are.

SPINDLER. Thank you very much.

HOSSEFROSSE. Don’t mention it. [_He crosses down to Nelly, who is

looking through the manuscript at the table below the piano._]

TEDDY. [_Coming through the center-door and speaking to Ritter_] How do

you do, Mr. Ritter?

RITTER. [_Shaking hands with him_] How are you?

TEDDY. [_Nodding to Spindler_] Good evening.

SPINDLER. Good evening, sir; good evening.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Teddy!

TEDDY. [_Crossing towards the piano_] Yes?

MRS. RITTER, MRS. PAMPINELLI and HOSSEFROSSE, together.

MRS. RITTER. [_Waving her handkerchief toward the right hallway_]

Hello, Florence!

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Addressing Teddy_] Did you telephone that man about

those tickets?

HOSSEFROSSE. [_Standing at Mrs. Fell’s left shoulder_] What are you

doing, Nelly?

FLORENCE, MRS. FELL and TEDDY, together.

FLORENCE. [_Out in the right hallway_] Am I the last? [_She hurries

into view and whispers something to Paula at the center-door which

sends Paula into a fit of laughing._]

MRS. FELL. [_To Hossefrosse_] Making more changes. [_He crosses over

to the right in front of Nelly and sits on the piano-stool, back of

Mrs. Pampinelli._]

TEDDY. [_Answering Mrs. Pampinelli_] Yes, I did, Mrs.

Pampinelli, he said he’d have them there all right.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Thank you so much. [_Teddy goes up and crosses above

the piano, where he engages Mr. Hossefrosse in conversation._] Hello,

Florence! [_Jenny comes into view from the right hallway._]

FLORENCE. [_Coming straight forward from the center-door_] Am I the

last? [_The front door-bell rings again, and Jenny turns and goes back

into the right hallway again._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. No, but you’re very close to it. How are you, dear?

FLORENCE. Rushed like mad. [_Flipping her lynx muff_] Hello, everybody.

Hello, Nelly. [_She swings round to her left._]

MRS. FELL. Hello, Flossie.

FLORENCE. How do you do, Mr. Spindler? [_Hossefrosse gets up and

whispers something to Mrs. Pampinelli, in which she agrees._]

SPINDLER. How do you do? [_Ritter bows very graciously to Florence, and

Mrs. Ritter comes forward to her husband’s right, eating a piece of

cake._]

FLORENCE. [_Extending the muff at arms-length at Ritter_] No, I don’t

speak to you at all. [_She removes her stole._]

RITTER. What’s the matter?

FLORENCE. Paula, did you know your husband is becoming very snooty?

[_Hossefrosse resumes his seat on the piano-stool._]

MRS. RITTER. [_Sliding her hand through Ritter’s right arm_] Why didn’t

you speak to Florence at the station today, Fred?

RITTER. I didn’t see you today.

FLORENCE. Well, my dear, you _must_ be getting old; for Irene Colter

and I did everything but stand on our heads to attract your attention.

[_On the last word of this sentence she flips one of the tails of

the stole at him, and he ducks, as though afraid of getting hurt._]

Where shall I put these, Paula? [_Mrs. Pampinelli rises quietly from

her chair at the right, and, lost in thought, proceeds slowly and

majestically across in front of Mrs. Fell to the middle of the room,

tapping her lead-pencil on the note-book._]

MRS. RITTER. I’ll take them. [_She takes the muff and stole from

Florence and goes up and out into the right hallway with them._]

FLORENCE. [_Espying Teddy up back of the piano, shading his eyes with

his hand, as though trying to see her from a great distance_] Hello,

Teddy dear! [_Goes towards him_] What are you doing away back here in

the corner? [_She makes a sudden move as though to tickle him in the

ribs, but he laughs and jumps away. Mrs. Pampinelli has by this time

reached the center of the room, where she stands turning from side

to side in a profound indecision as to the relationship of certain

positions. She indicates her line of thought by divers pointings and

flippings of the lead-pencil. Ritter watches her with narrow amusement;

and, presently, Mrs. Fell, who is still occupied with the manuscript

at the little table, looks up, distracted by the gyrations of the

lead-pencil._]

MRS. FELL. What’s the matter, Betty?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. I was just wondering about a little piece of business

here.

SPINDLER. [_Stepping to the back of the arm-chair at the left and

leaning over it towards Mrs. Pampinelli_] Can I help you, Mrs. P.?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Without turning to him_] No, thank you; it’s

purely technical. [_He resumes his position at the left corner of

the mantelpiece and glances at Ritter, who is obliged to use his

handkerchief to hide his amusement. Mrs. Ritter comes in through the

door at the right, above the piano._]

MRS. FELL. Betty, did I tell you I saw Clara Sheppard today? [_But Mrs.

Pampinelli is still deep in technical profundities, and simply silences

her with a gesture of her right hand._]

MRS. RITTER. [_Coming forward at the right of the piano_] Where did you

see her, Nelly?

MRS. FELL. Darlington’s, at the mourning counter.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Coming suddenly out of her abstraction, and turning

to Mrs. Fell_] Is she going in black?

MRS. FELL. My dear, she’s _in_ it already.

TWILLER. [_Coming in the right hallway_] Good evening!

MRS. PAMPINELLI. She’s very foolish, under the circumstances.

MRS. FELL. That’s just what I told her today.

TWILLER. [_Coming through the center-door and forward at the left of

the piano_] Good evening, Mrs. Ritter.

MRS. RITTER. Good evening, Mr. Twiller.

TWILLER. [_To Hossefrosse, casually_] Huxley.

HOSSEFROSSE. [_Shifting from the piano-stool to the arm-chair, which

Mrs. Pampinelli has just vacated, and proceeding to study his part,

which he has taken from his pocket_] Hello, Ralph.

MRS. FELL. Hello, Ralph.

TWILLER. Nelly!

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Still in the middle of the room_] You’re the ten

o’clock scholar again tonight, Mr. Twiller. [_Jenny crosses from the

right hallway to the left, and goes out._]

TWILLER. I’m awfully sorry, Mrs. P., really; but the fates seem to be

against me. [_Teddy gives a little whistle at him. He turns and sees

him, standing with Florence, up back of the piano._] Hello, Teddy!

[_He goes towards him, and Teddy shoots at him with his thumb and

forefinger, by way of reply. Florence smiles and extends her left arm

and hand towards him._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI and TWILLER, together.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Moving over from the middle of the room to the left

of Mrs. Fell, who is still at the table below the piano_] What was

that you were saying, Nelly, about Clara Sheppard?

TWILLER. Flossie, dear, I didn’t see you two up here! [_He takes

Florence’s hand and kisses it. Then he crosses to the left and shakes

hands with Ritter; then over to Spindler, and then starts back towards

Florence, at the piano. As he passes Ritter, Ritter taps him on the

right shoulder; he turns, and Ritter asks him something. He replies,

and they stand chatting for a moment; then Ritter indicates the

partition-seat behind them and they sit down, to talk it over._]

MRS. FELL. Why, I simply told her--I said, “Don’t be spectacular, dear;

it’ll only make it more difficult for you when you want to marry again.

And,” I said, “you probably _will_ marry again,”--[_Spindler sits on the

chair below the door at the left._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Of course she will.

MRS. FELL. “For you’re a comparatively young woman. So,” I said, “just

get through the next few months as undramatically as possible. [_Jenny

enters in the left hallway and takes empty glasses off._] I know he

was your _first_ husband, and all that; but, after all,” I said, “he

was _only_ your husband: it isn’t as though you’d lost someone who was

very _close_ to you”--[_She turns her head and speaks directly to Mrs.

Pampinelli._] Like one of your own people, [_Turning to Mrs. Ritter,

who is standing at her right_] or something like that, I mean. “And,” I

said, “another thing, darling,--_always remember_--he’d have very soon

put another in _your_ place if it had been you.” [_She finishes the

remark to Mrs. Pampinelli._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Knowingly, and with conviction_] I should say he

would.

MRS. FELL. [_Reaching for her hand-bag_] And I felt like saying, “And I

could give you the names and addresses right now of _several_ that he

would have put in your place _long ago_, only for the law.”

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_With a shade of confidence_] She must have known it.

MRS. FELL. [_Reflecting the tone_] Of _course_, she knew it. [_Florence

leaves Teddy, up at the piano, and crosses to Ritter and Twiller, to

show them a piece of music. They rise, and she indicates a certain

point on the sheet; then she continues down to Spindler, who rises at

her approach, and shows it to him._]

MRS. RITTER. How is she, Nelly?

MRS. FELL. My dear, she looks a perfect wreck. [_Florence sits on the

arm of the arm-chair at the left and Spindler resumes the little chair

below the left door, and drawing it a bit closer to the arm-chair. He

appears to be telling Florence something very interesting._]

MRS. RITTER. Poor soul.

MRS. FELL. She says no one will _ever_ know how she feels--about losing

that part. And she says she simply cannot _wait_ until tomorrow night,

[_She turns to Mrs. Pampinelli._] to see Paula’s interpretation of it.

[_Mrs. Ritter gives an inane little laugh, and Mrs. Fell turns quickly

to her._] She’s heard so much about it. [_Jenny comes in from the left

hallway again with fresh glasses. She sets them down on the hallway

table and proceeds to arrange them._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Is she coming to the performance tomorrow night?

MRS. FELL. She says she’ll see that performance, if she has to disguise

herself.

MRS. RITTER. Doesn’t that sound just like her? [_Nelly nods agreement._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Yes,--she’s so full of dramatic instinct.

MRS. FELL. [_With a touch of bitterness_] He never appreciated it

though.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. My dear, has _any_ artist _ever_ been adequately

appreciated?

MRS. RITTER. I understand he was very heavily insured.

MRS. FELL. Oh, yes!

MRS. PAMPINELLI. She _seemed_ very optimistic when I spoke to her on

the telephone.

MRS. FELL. I believe your husband’s company had him insured for quite a

lot, didn’t they, Paula?

MRS. RITTER. [_Lowering her tone_] I believe they did, Nelly,--but I

couldn’t say for just how much.

MRS. FELL. [_Quietly detaching herself_] I must find that out. [_She

passes back of Mrs. Pampinelli and across towards Ritter. Mrs. Ritter

and Mrs. Pampinelli continue in conversation._] Frederick, I want to

ask you something. [_He steps forward, excusing himself to Twiller._]

Pardon me, Ralph.

TWILLER. That’s all right, Nelly. [_He crosses again to Teddy._]

MRS. FELL. Frederick, what did you think when you heard Jimmy Sheppard

was dead?

RITTER. Why, I thought he was dead, of course. [_Mrs. Ritter leaves

Mrs. Pampinelli, passing back of her, and goes up to assist Jenny with

her arrangements. Mrs. Pampinelli busies herself with making notations

on the margin of the manuscript, at the little table._]

MRS. FELL. [_Flipping the tip of her fan in his face_] Oh, did

you, Smarty! [_Ritter raises his right hand, as though to ward off

the blow._] Well, listen, Frederick. [_He attends, and she becomes

confidential._] He left quite a bit of insurance, didn’t he?

RITTER. Yes--about three hundred thousand, I believe.

MRS. FELL. [_Becoming generally stoney_] Is there a will, do you know?

RITTER. I don’t know; I suppose there is.

MRS. FELL. Well, I hope she was sharp enough to see that there is.

Because if there isn’t, you know, she’s only entitled to a third

in this state. That’s all the widow’s entitled to. And, you know,

Frederick, Clara Sheppard could never in this world get along on a bare

hundred thousand dollars; you know that as well as I do.

RITTER. Well, she has quite a bit of money of her own, hasn’t she?

MRS. FELL. Oh, tons of it, yes; but there’s no sense in using her

own if she can use his. [_Ritter glances at her, but she has turned

away slightly to cough, behind her fan. Jenny goes out at the left

hallway._] Was sudden, wasn’t it?

RITTER. Yes, it was.

MRS. FELL. We were terribly inconvenienced. Because I’d simply

_deluged_ my friends with tickets. [_Mrs. Ritter is up at the

punch-bowl, sampling the punch and nibbling at the cakes._]

RITTER. I can’t understand why you didn’t postpone the show.

MRS. FELL. That’s what _I_ wanted to do; but Mrs. P. here was

superstitious.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Catching her name, and straightening up from the

manuscript, imperiously_] What are you saying about Mrs. P., Nelly Fell?

MRS. FELL. Why, Frederick was wondering why we didn’t postpone the

performance when Jimmy Sheppard died,--and _I_ told him you were

superstitious about a postponement.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. No, Nelly, I was not superstitious, so please don’t

say that I was; I shouldn’t care to have such an impression get abroad.

MRS. FELL. [_Touching her hair_] Well, you were something, Betty.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Yes, Nelly, I admit that I was something,--but it

was not superstitious. I was,--[_She looks out and away off, and feels

for the word._] intuitive. [_She turns her head and looks directly

at Ritter, who drops his eyes to the tip of his cigar. Nelly Fell,

following Mrs. Pampinelli’s eyes, looks at Ritter also. Then everyone’s

eyes shift to Mrs. Pampinelli. Florence turns languidly and looks; and

Mrs. Ritter, with a glass of punch in one hand, and a small cake in the

other, moves forward, in the middle of the room, and stands looking

and listening--and chewing. Hossefrosse steps over to the table behind

which Mrs. Pampinelli is standing, and takes the manuscript,--returning

with it to the arm-chair, and becoming absorbed in a comparison of a

certain page of it with his individual part._] I have struggled so long

to inaugurate a Little Theatre Movement in this community, that I had

intuitively anticipated the occurrence of some obstacle to thwart me;

so that, when the telephone-bell rang, on the night of Mr. Sheppard’s

death, I said to myself, before I even took down the receiver, [_She

plants her lead-pencil on the table and assumes something of the aspect

of a crusader._] “_This_ is my event. Something has happened--that is

going to put my sincerity in this movement to the test. And I must

remember, as Mr. Lincoln said at Gettysburg, ‘It is better that we

should perish, than that those ideals for which we struggle should

perish.’” [_She turns her gaze in the direction of Ritter, but Mrs.

Ritter is first in the line of vision, with her eyes full of the

coast of Greenland, and her mouth full of cake. As she becomes

suddenly conscious that Mrs. Pampinelli has stopped talking and is

looking directly at her, she meets the look and breaks into an utterly

irrelevant little laugh._]

RITTER. It’s a singular thing, but I’ve noticed that invariably there’s

a _fatality_ connected with these amateur performances.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Unfortunately, that is true, Mr. Ritter, I agree with

you. But then, we are not dismayed; we have the lessons of history

to fortify us; for whenever the torch of essential culture has been

raised, [_She raises the lead-pencil as though it were a torch._] there

has unfailingly been the concomitant exactment of a human life. [_She

stands holding the torch aloft until the little cuckoo-clock over the

door at the left cuckoos the half-hour. Ritter looks at it, and Nelly

Fell gives it a glance. Florence, too, turns and looks up. Then Mrs.

Pampinelli turns her eyes slowly upon it and withers it with a look._]

Well, children, it’s eight-thirty,--[_She gathers up her train and

tosses it across her left arm, then comes around to the right in front

of the table where she has been standing. Mrs. Ritter returns to the

table in the hallway and sets down her empty glass. Ritter goes up

after her and she fills him out a drink. Florence rises from the arm of

the chair, and, passing in front of the table at the left, goes up and

across back of the piano and out the door, at the right. As she passes

above the piano she says something to Teddy, who has come down at the

right of the piano, from his late position up near the door, and is

crossing below it. Twiller turns and goes out through the center-door

and stands leaning over the partition in the right hallway. Hossefrosse

rises, settles his clothes and clears his throat. Mr. Spindler, also,

has risen, and is replacing his chair back against the wall, below the

door._] Time we went “unto the breach” once more.

MRS. FELL. [_Stepping forward a little to the center of the room, and

stretching her hand towards Mr. Hossefrosse_] You have my props, Huxley.

HOSSEFROSSE. [_Crossing below the table, to give her the manuscript_] I

beg your pardon, Nelly; I was just looking at something here.

MRS. FELL. Thanks. [_She pulls him towards her and whispers something._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Standing at the left of the little table_] Have you

my other pencil, Mr. Spindler?

SPINDLER. [_Hurrying across towards her_] I believe you left it over

here on this little table. [_He passes below Teddy, who is just

crossing to the left, and continues on between the piano and the table

to the little table below the casement-window. Nelly Fell breaks into a

shrill giggle, pushes Hossefrosse towards the center-door, and crosses

to the left, passing below the table. She is in a violent state of

laughter. Hossefrosse goes on up to the center-door, and, excusing

himself to Ritter, who is standing there drinking, passes out into the

right hallway. Teddy comes around back of the arm-chair at the left

and sits in the arm-chair. Mrs. Pampinelli has moved to the right of

the table below the piano, where she stands reviewing her notes._]

MRS. FELL. [_To Teddy, confidentially, as she takes up her position on

the chair below the door at the left_] I’ll tell you later. [_She sits

down._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Tapping her lead-pencil on the table and addressing

them generally_] Now, folks,--[_Ritter sets his glass on the table and

steps into the right hallway, where he converses with Twiller for a

second, then stands listening; while Mrs. Ritter hurries in and settles

herself on the partition-seat at the left and listens attentively._]

you understand, of course, that the setting will be just as it was

at the Civic Club on the fourteenth; only, of course, as you know,

the stage at Hutchy Kutchy is considerably larger. That, however,

need not concern us particularly, as the entrances and exits will be

relatively the same. [_She finishes this speech to Mr. Spindler, who

is standing at her right, waiting for her to take the lead-pencil._]

Oh, thank you, Mr. Spindler. [_She gives him the one she has--simply an

exchange of pencils, and he salutes and returns to a position below the

casement-window. Florence comes in at the right door again, wearing her

furs, and comes down at the right of the piano. Mrs. Pampinelli moves a

little towards the center-door._] Are you going to watch the rehearsal,

Mr. Ritter?

MRS. FELL. Of course, he is!

RITTER. [_Coming through the center-door_] If I wouldn’t be in the way.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Not at all,--very glad to have you.

MRS. FELL. He can sit over here with the promptress. [_He crosses

towards Nelly, picking up the little chair above the table at the left,

as he passes. Hossefrosse emerges from the right hallway carrying a

light, soft hat, a cane and gloves, and stands in the center-door.

Florence steps across below the piano and asks Mrs. Pampinelli

something._] If you can behave yourself. [_Florence returns to the

corner of the piano nearest the window and drapes herself on it. She’s

a very gorgeous-looking thing, in a sleeveless gown of canary-colored

metallic silk, made quite daringly severe, to exploit the long, lithe

lines of her greyhound figure. There’s a chain-effect girdle with the

dress, of vivid jade, worn loose, and an ornament of the same jade on

the left shoulder, from which the goods falls in a plain drape down in

front of the arm to the bottom of the skirt. She has a perfect shock of

hair,--rather striking,--a kind of suspicious auburn; and she has it

bobbed. Her slippers and stockings are white._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. You needn’t sit there yet, Teddy, I’m going to run

through the last scene first,--

TEDDY. [_Rising_] Oh, all right.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. For Mr. Hossefrosse’s lines. [_Teddy passes in front

of the table at the left and goes up to the center-door and out into

the right hallway, where he chats with Twiller and watches the

proceedings over the partition. Spindler comes over and asks Mrs.

Pampinelli something. Ritter places his chair beside Nelly’s, above it,

and sits down, assuming the attitude of a lover._]

MRS. FELL. [_Pushing Ritter’s arm away_] Stop it, Frederick Ritter!

Paula! [_Spindler returns to his post._]

MRS. RITTER. [_Inanely_] Behave yourself, Fred.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Now, folks,--[_She moves slowly down and across

towards the table at the left._] Mr. Spindler will attend to the

various cues tonight, and at the performance tomorrow night as well.

[_Speaking directly to Nelly_] So we won’t have to bother about that.

[_Turning round to her left and addressing the others_] He will do all

the rapping. [_She raps a little._] And he has a little telephone-bell

of his own, [_She moves across again towards the back of the table at

the right._] which he has very kindly tendered the use of. Have you

that bell with you tonight, Mr. Spindler? [_He holds out a bell and

battery arrangement on a piece of wood, having taken it from his pocket

immediately she referred to it, and rings it twice._] Splendid. [_She

passes above the table and comes forward at the right of it, very

thoughtfully._] That’s splendid. [_Spindler replaces the battery._]

Now, children,--[_She crosses in front of the table._] I think,

first, I should like to take that scene at the finish, between Doctor

Arlington and his wife; [_She is standing at the left of the table,

speaking directly to Hossefrosse, who is standing in the center-door,

with his hat on, at a rather absurd angle, and holding his cane in

one hand and his gloves in the other, in a very stilted fashion.

Hossefrosse is a terribly well-fed-looking person in dinner clothes,

perhaps, thirty-eight years of age,--flamingly florid of complexion,

and with an effusiveness of manner that is probably only saved from

absolute effervescence by the ponderous counterpoise of his dignity._]

there are a few little things in there I want to correct. [_Crossing

over back of the table at the left towards Mrs. Fell_] Page eighteen or

nineteen, I think it is, Nelly. It’s the scene at the finish between

Mr. Hossefrosse and Miss McCrickett. [_Nelly looks for the place,

through her lorgnon._] Oh! [_Mrs. Pampinelli turns back to the others

again._] and one thing more I want to mention, boys and girls, before

I forget it. [_She takes a funny little coughing spell._] Pardon me.

[_She coughs again._] Oh, dear me! [_She closes her eyes tight and

shivers her head._]

MRS. FELL. Page eighteen did you say it was, Betty?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Eighteen or nineteen, yes. It’s somewhere right in

there.

MRS. FELL. Oh, yes, here it is, I have it.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Turning back to the people, and speaking with

careful emphasis_] When you are going on and off the stage, be

very careful of those little wooden strips that they have across

the bottoms of the doors, and don’t trip. [_Mrs. Ritter laughs

self-consciously and Hossefrosse leans over and says something to her.

Florence laughs, and turns and says something to Spindler, and Teddy

and Twiller laugh and look toward Mrs. Ritter._]

MRS. FELL. [_Looking out around Mrs. Pampinelli to see Mrs. Ritter_]

Paula! [_Then she sits back, laughing, and says something to Ritter._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. I really think that was what made some of you so

nervous at the Civic Club the last time. So, watch it, all of you,

for they will probably have just the same thing down at Hutchy

Kutchy.--There is perhaps nothing quite so disconcerting as to trip--as

one comes on a stage. Going off--is not so bad; but--coming on, I have

found that it requires a _tremendous_ artist to rise above it. [_She

starts down towards the table at the right, below the piano._] So,

watch it, all of you. Now, is everybody in his place? [_She stops below

the table and picks up her note-book._]

MRS. FELL. [_Handing Ritter the manuscript and getting up suddenly_]

Oh, just one moment, Betty! [_She teeters across to the table at the

right._] I want to get my other glasses--they’re right here in my bag.

[_She picks up the bag and starts back to her place._] I beg pardon,

everybody, but I can’t tell one letter from another without these

glasses. [_This last sentence culminates in a flighty giggle, for no

reason at all, and then she sits down, and heaves a deep sigh of

amusement._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Who has been looking at her steadily_] _Now_, is

everybody ready? [_Mrs. Fell simply lifts her eyes and looks at her;

then proceeds to get her glasses out of the bag._] Use your voices,

children, and try to do it tonight just as you are going to do it

tomorrow night at Hutchy Kutchy. [_She moves a step or two nearer the

middle of the room._] Doctor Arlington is still in his office.

HOSSEFROSSE. Yes.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Mr. Rush--

TWILLER. [_Coming in through the center-door_] Yes.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Is just about to make his exit. [_He crosses above

the piano and stands waiting at the right door. He’s a bald-headed

youth, between thirty and thirty-five, in dinner clothes, excessively

well-groomed but utterly nondescript._] And Mrs. Arlington is putting

on the deadlatch. [_Florence straightens up._] All ready, now? [_She

holds up her hands for a second, then claps them once._] All right.

[_Twiller goes out through the right door and Mrs. Pampinelli moves

over towards the right, watching Florence._]

FLORENCE. [_Pretending to put on a deadlatch_] Deadlatch.

SPINDLER. [_Standing in rigid military fashion_] Click--click.

[_Florence turns and starts across towards the middle of the room,

passing between the piano and the table below it._]

FLORENCE. [_Glancing toward the center-door_] You can come out now,

Clyde, they’ve gone. [_She continues to the table at the left and

stands resting one hand upon it._]

HOSSEFROSSE. [_Bustling forward from the center-door, removing his

hat as he comes_] Anybody here, David? [_Spindler whistles shrilly,

takes a step forward and tries to attract Hossefrosse’s attention, by

holding up his right arm and flicking his fingers at him. Teddy laughs

and turns to tell Twiller, who is just rejoining him from the right

hallway, what has happened. Florence turns and looks at Hossefrosse,

then at Mrs. Pampinelli, who is standing at the right of the table

below the piano. Mrs. Ritter gets up and simply staggers laughing

through the center-door and out to Teddy and Twiller._]

FLORENCE. [_Speaking to Mrs. Pampinelli_] That isn’t right, is it?

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Turning to Spindler at her right and holding up her

hand_] Please don’t whistle, Mr. Spindler! I can’t stand whistling.

FLORENCE. I thought we were going to take the _last_ scene first.

MRS. PAMPINELLI and MRS. FELL, together.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Moving around in front of the table and going

near to Hossefrosse_] We are taking the _last_ scene _first_, Mr.

Hossefrosse, that is the _first_ scene.

MRS. FELL. [_Holding up her hand_] Wait a moment, wait one moment,

just one moment, somebody’s off the track! [_Twiller and Teddy laugh

again and Hossefrosse turns and looks at them. Twiller shakes his

head, flips his hand at him and walks away into the right hallway, as

though deploring his stupidity. Ritter begins to laugh._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. I thought I had made that sufficiently clear.

MRS. PAMPINELLI, MRS. FELL, SPINDLER and TWILLER, together.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. We are taking the scene at the finish, Mr.

Hossefrosse, between you and Miss McCrickett.

MRS. FELL. [_Rising_] That’s the first scene, Huxley, and we are

taking the last scene, between you and Florence, on page nineteen,

right here, [_She indicates the place in the manuscript_].

SPINDLER. [_Addressing Teddy_] I hope he doesn’t pull anything like

that tomorrow night. [_He returns to his place below the window._]

TWILLER. [_Coming back into view from the hallway_] Don’t weaken,

Huxley, you know what they say about a bad rehearsal.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Topping them all_] Please, children, please!

MRS. FELL. Down at the bottom of the page. [_Mrs. Ritter comes through

the center-door again and sits down on the left partition-seat._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Speaking directly to Mrs. Fell_] Please--[_Mrs. Fell

sits down again, slowly, Mrs. Pampinelli looking at her stonily._]

Let us have one director, if you please. [_She withdraws her eyes

slowly, and Nelly darts a bitter look at her._] Now, don’t let us have

everybody talking at once; it only confuses people, and wastes a lot of

time. [_Hossefrosse stands bewildered in the middle of the room. Mrs.

Pampinelli addresses him directly, speaking with measured emphasis._]

We are taking the _last_ scene _first_, Mr. Hossefrosse: it is the

scene at the finish, between you and Miss McCrickett, just before Paula

comes on,--

HOSSEFROSSE. Oh, I beg your pardon!

MRS. PAMPINELLI. And _after_ Mr. Rush has left the stage.

HOSSEFROSSE. I thought we were beginning right from the beginning.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. No, I’d like to run through the _last_ scene _first_,

if you don’t mind; there are a few little things in it I’d like to

correct.

HOSSEFROSSE. [_Turning and starting for the center-door_] This was the

wrong entrance for that line, anyway.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. And you won’t need your hat and cane in this scene.

HOSSEFROSSE. That’s so, too.

TWILLER. [_Who is standing out just at the right of the center-door_]

I’ll take them, Hux.

HOSSEFROSSE. [_Handing him the hat, gloves and cane_] Thanks. [_Turning

to Mrs. Ritter_] I’ll get straightened out after while. [_Paula

laughs._]

MRS. PAMPINELLI. Now, Florence dear, will you go back?

FLORENCE. [_Crossing back again to the window_] Certainly.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_Crossing back to the right, in front of the table_]

And take it right from Mr. Rush’s exit.

FLORENCE. [_Looking round at Hossefrosse_] Ready?

HOSSEFROSSE. [_In the center-door_] Yes, I’m ready.

MRS. PAMPINELLI. [_To Florence_] Go on.

FLORENCE. [_Repeating her former business of putting on a deadlatch_]

Deadlatch.

SPINDLER. [_Having again assumed his rigid military attitude_]

Click--click. [_Florence turns and crosses again between the piano and

the table._]

FLORENCE. [_With a glance at the center-door_] You can come out now,

Clyde, they’ve gone. [_She continues to her former position at the

right of the little table at the left. Hossefrosse steps resolutely

through the center-door, gives her a wicked look, glances toward the

door at the right, then strides forward and plants himself directly

opposite her, his head thrown back, his eyes ablaze, and his arms

akimbo._]

HOSSEFROSSE. Did you come here to make a scene!

FLORENCE. [_Languidly, and without turning_] Have I made one?

HOSSEFROSSE. [_Getting loud_] What are you doing here?

FLORENCE. [_Raising her hand to enjoin silence_] Sh-sh--[_He turns

abruptly and looks toward the door at the right; then back to her

again._]

HOSSEFROSSE. I want an explanation of this!

FLORENCE. [_Turning to him, and rather casually_] So do I.