EILEEN. It's not very cheerful to get letters full of sickness. I
wouldn't like to, I know.
MURRAY (_hurt_). That isn't fair, Eileen. You know I---- How long have
you been back in the Infirmary?
EILEEN. About a month.
MURRAY (_shocked_). A month! But you were up and about--on exercise,
weren't you--before that?
EILEEN. No. I had to stay in bed while I was at the cottage.
MURRAY. You mean--ever since that time they sent you back--the day
before I left?
EILEEN. Yes.
MURRAY. But I thought from the cheery tone of your letters that you
were----
EILEEN (_uneasily_). Getting better? I am, Stephen. I'm strong enough
to be up now, but Doctor Stanton wants me to take a good long rest this
time so that when I do get up again I'll be sure---- (_She breaks off
impatiently._) But don't let's talk about it. I'm all right. (Murray
_glances down at her face worriedly. She changes the subject._) You've
been over to see Doctor Stanton, haven't you?
MURRAY. Yes.
EILEEN. Did he examine you?
MURRAY. Yes. (_Carelessly._) Oh, he found me O.K. I'm fine and dandy,
as I said before.
EILEEN. I'm glad, Stephen. (_After a pause._) Tell about yourself--what
you've been doing. You've written a lot lately, haven't you?
MURRAY (_frowning_). No. I haven't been able to get down to
it--somehow. There's so little time to yourself once you get to know
people in New York. The sale of the stories you typed put me on easy
street as far as money goes, so I've felt no need---- (_He laughs
weakly._) I guess I'm one of those who have to get down to hard pan
before they get the kick to drive them to hard work.
EILEEN (_surprised_). Was it hard work writing them up here? You used
to seem so happy just in doing them.
MURRAY. I was--happier than I've been before or afterwards.
(_Cynically._) But--I don't know--it was a new game to me then and I
was chuck full of illusions about the glory of it. (_He laughs
half-heartedly._) Now I'm hardly a bit more enthusiastic over it than I
used to be over newspaper work. It's like everything else, I guess.
When you've got it, you find you don't want it.
EILEEN (_looking at him wonderingly--disturbed_). But isn't just the
writing itself worth while?
MURRAY (_as if suddenly ashamed of himself--quickly_). Yes. Of course
it is. I'm talking like a fool. I'm sore at everything because I'm
dissatisfied with my own cussedness and laziness--and I want to pass
the buck. (_With a smile of cheerful confidence._) It's only a fit.
I'll come out of it all right and get down to brass tacks again.
EILEEN (_with an encouraging smile_). That's the way you ought to feel.
It'd be wrong--I've read the two stories that have come out so far over
and over. They're fine, I think. Every line in them sounds like you,
and at the same time sounds natural and like people and things you see
every day. Everybody thinks they're fine, Stephen.
MURRAY (_pleased, but pretending cynicism_). Then they must be rotten.
(_Then with self-assurance._) Well, I've plenty more of those stories
in my head. Every time I think of my home town there seems to be a new
story in someone I've known there. (_Spiritedly._) Oh, I'll pound them
out some time when the spirit moves; and I'll make them so much better
than what I've done so far, you won't recognise them. I feel it's in
me to do it. (_Smiling._) Darn it, do you know just talking about it
makes me feel as if I could sit right down now and start in on one.
Is it the fact I've worked here before--or is it seeing you, Eileen.
(_Gratefully._) I really believe it's you. I haven't forgotten how you
helped me before.
EILEEN (_in a tone of pain_). Don't, Stephen. I didn't do anything.
MURRAY (_eagerly_). Yes, you did. You made it possible. I can't tell
you what a help you were. And since I've left the San, I've looked
forward to your letters to boost up my spirits. When I felt down in the
mouth over my own idiocy, I used to re-read them, and they always were
good medicine. I can't tell you how grateful I've felt, honestly!
EILEEN (_faintly_). You're kind to say so, Stephen--but it was nothing,
really.
MURRAY. And I can't tell you how I've missed those letters for the past
three weeks. They left a big hole in things. I was worried about
you--not having heard a word. (_With a smile._) So I came to look you
up.
EILEEN (_faintly. Forcing an answering smile_). Well, you see now I'm
all right.
MURRAY (_concealing his doubt_). Yes, of course you are. Only I'd a
darn sight rather see you up and about. We could take a walk,
then--through the woods. (_A wince of pain shadows_ Eileen's _face. She
closes her eyes_. Murray _continues softly, after a pause._) You
haven't forgotten that last night--out there--Eileen?
EILEEN (_her lips trembling--trying to force a laugh_). Please don't
remind me of that, Stephen. I was so silly and so sick, too. My temp
was so high it must have made me--completely crazy--or I'd never
dreamed of doing such a stupid thing. My head must have been full of
wheels because I don't remember anything I did or said, hardly.
MURRAY (_his pride taken down a peg by this--in a hurt tone_). Oh!
Well--I haven't forgotten and I never will, Eileen. (_Then his face
clears up as if a weight had been taken off his conscience._) Well--I
rather thought you wouldn't take it seriously--afterwards. You were all
up in the air that night. And you never mentioned it in your
letters----
EILEEN (_pleadingly_). Don't talk about it! Forget it ever happened. It
makes me feel--(_with a half-hysterical laugh_)--like a fool!
MURRAY (_worried_). All right, Eileen. I won't. Don't get worked up
over nothing. That isn't resting, you know. (_Looking down at her
closed eyes--solicitously._) Perhaps all my talking has tired you out?
Do you feel done up? Why don't you try and take a nap now?
EILEEN (_dully_). Yes, I'd like to sleep.
MURRAY (_clasps her hands gently_). I'll leave you then, I'll drop back
to say good-bye and stay awhile before I go. I won't leave until the
last train. (_As she doesn't answer._) Do you hear, Eileen?
EILEEN (_weakly_). Yes. You'll come back--to say good-bye.
MURRAY. Yes. I'll be back sure.
(_He presses her hand and after a kindly glance of sympathy down
at her face, tiptoes to the door and goes into the room, shutting
the door behind him. When she hears the door shut Eileen
struggles up in bed and stretches her arms after him with an
agonised sob "Stephen!" She hides her face in her hands and sobs
brokenly._ Murray _walks across to the hall door and is about to
go out when the door is opened and_ Miss Gilpin _enters._)
MISS GILPIN (_hurriedly_). How do you do, Mr. Murray. Doctor Stanton
just told me you were here.
MURRAY (_as they shake hands--smiling_). How are you, Miss Gilpin?
MISS GILPIN. He said he'd examined you, and that you were O.K. I'm
glad. (_Glancing at him keenly._) You've been talking to Eileen?
MURRAY. Just left her this second. She wanted to sleep for a while.
MISS GILPIN (_wonderingly_). Sleep? (_Then hurriedly._) It's too bad. I
wish I'd known you were here sooner. I wanted very much to talk to you
before you saw Eileen. You see, I knew you'd pay us a visit some time.
(_With a worried smile._) I still think I ought to have a talk with
you.
MURRAY. Certainly, Miss Gilpin.
MISS GILPIN (_takes a chair and places it near the hall door_). Sit
down. She can't hear us here. Goodness knows this is hardly the place
for confidences, but there are visitors all over and it'll have to do.
Did you close the door tightly? She mustn't hear me above all. (_She
goes to the porch door and peeps out for a moment; then comes back to
him with flashing eyes._) She's crying! What have you been saying to
her? Oh, it's too late, I know! The fools shouldn't have permitted you
to see her before I---- What has happened out there? Tell me! I must
know.
MURRAY (_stammering_). Happened? Nothing. She's crying? Why, Miss
Gilpin--you know I wouldn't hurt her for worlds.
MISS GILPIN (_more calmly_). Intentionally. I know you wouldn't. But
something has happened. (_Then briskly._) We're talking at cross
purposes. Since you don't seem inclined to confide in me, I'll have to
in you. You noticed how badly she looks, didn't you?
MURRAY. Yes, I did.
MISS GILPIN (_gravely_). She's been going down hill
steadily--(_meaningly_)--ever since you left. She's in a very serious
state, let me impress you with that. We've all loved her, and felt so
sorry for her and admired her spirit so--that's the only reason she's
been allowed to stay here so long after her time. We've kept hoping
she'd start to pick up--in another day--in another week. But now that's
all over. Doctor Stanton has given up hope of her improving here, and
her father is unwilling to pay for her elsewhere now he knows there's a
cheaper place--the State Farm. So she's to be sent there in a day or
so.
MURRAY (_springing to his feet--horrified_). To the State Farm!
MISS GILPIN. Her time here is long past. You know the rule--and she
isn't getting better.
MURRAY (_appalled_). That means----!
MISS GILPIN (_forcibly_). Death! That's what it means for her!