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.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Standing at the right of the table below the piano] Oh, more imperious, Florence dear! [Florence and Hossefrosse look at her.] More of this. [She lifts her shoulders, eyebrows and chin, to illustrate her idea of the general hauteur of the line.] Much more.

Florence. [Vaguely] Don’t you think she would cry there? [Mrs. Pampinelli looks at her steadily for a pause and thinks: then she rests her lead-pencil on the table and tilts her head a bit to one side.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Do you want to cry there, dear?

Florence. No, but I can if you want me to.

Mrs. Pampinelli. No,—personally, I think she’s speaking more in anger than in sorrow. You see, dear, you are impersonating a wronged wife. Now, you yourself, Florence darling, are an unmarried girl:—it is difficult for you to realize how excessively annoyed with her husband a married woman can become. I think I would take it with more lift. More of this, you know. [She repeats her former illustration.]

Florence. [Endeavoring to imitate the manner of delivery, and speaking in a deep, tragic tone] So do I.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Perfect.

Hossefrosse. [Turning to Mrs. Pampinelli] Go on?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Yes, go on.

Hossefrosse. [Clearing his throat and trying to summon his attack] What is your reason for sneaking into my office at this hour?

Florence. Is it necessary that your wife have a reason for coming to your office?

Hossefrosse. You wanted to embarrass Mrs. Rush, that was it, wasn’t it?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Waving her hand toward them with an upward movement] Tempo, children!

Florence. I wanted to meet my rival.

Hossefrosse. You could have met Mrs. Rush under more candid circumstances.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Moving around towards them, in front of the table] Tempo, children!

Florence. The present ones suited my purposes better.

Hossefrosse. [Turning away impatiently] Naturally!—You wanted a scene! [He starts over to the right, but Mrs. Pampinelli is standing right in his way, so he stops short, but maintains the physical tautness of his character. Florence, too, has turned away, to the left, and is moving across in front of the table towards the arm-chair.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Oblivious of Hossefrosse, and still making her upward waving gesture over his shoulder] Tempo, Florence! [Suddenly becoming conscious that she is obstructing Hossefrosse’s cross, and stepping below him] I beg your pardon.

Hossefrosse. [Bowing stiffly] Not at all. [He continues over to the right and stops, right in front of Spindler, and they stand looking into each other’s eyes; while Mrs. Pampinelli comes up at the left of the table to the piano.]

Florence. [Sitting down in the arm-chair] I think if I were a scenic woman I’ve had ample opportunity during the last fifteen minutes to indulge myself.

Hossefrosse. [Still looking into Spindler’s eyes] You did I think;—

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Beckoning to Spindler] Mr. Spindler.

Hossefrosse. I had the pleasure of hearing you.

Florence. Was it a pleasure, Clyde?

Mrs. Pampinelli and Hossefrosse, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Still beckoning to Spindler] Mr. Spindler!

Hossefrosse. [Whirling around and glaring at Florence] It appears to amuse you! [Spindler steps below Hossefrosse and passes up in front of him to Mrs. Pampinelli, who whispers something to him.]

Florence. [Unfastening her neckpiece] I have an inopportune sense of humor.

Hossefrosse. You should be able to appreciate the situation, you created it!

Florence. [Looking over at him] I didn’t create her husband.

Hossefrosse. [Making a little gesture of annoyance] I’m afraid I’m stuck! [He tries hard to think, and Mrs. Pampinelli makes a gesture toward Mrs. Fell to give him the line, but Nelly is occupied in telling Ritter a story.] But, don’t tell me! [He feels for the line again, and Mrs. Pampinelli tries to attract Nelly’s attention.] I guess I’m gone. [Suddenly Nelly bursts into a fit of laughing, having made the point of the story.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. What is the line, Nelly? [Ritter nudges her.]

Mrs. Fell. [Stopping suddenly in her laughter and hitting him with her fan] Stop that!

Ritter. Get on your job, you’re holding up the show. [Nelly looks excitedly toward Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. What is the line, Nelly, please.

Mrs. Fell. What! Oh, I beg your pardon, is somebody stuck?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Mr. Hossefrosse.

Hossefrosse. Got another mind-blank.

Mrs. Fell. Oh, well, now, just wait one minute, please, till I see where I’m at. [She searches frantically through the manuscript.] Oh, yes, here it is! [Ritter indicates a place on the page. She pushes his arm out of the way.] I didn’t create her husband. [Teddy and Twiller laugh.]

Mrs. Pampinelli, Florence and Hossefrosse, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. No, dear, we’ve just passed that.

Florence. I’ve already said that, Nelly.

Hossefrosse. It’s the next line.

Mrs. Fell. [Vaguely, and looking through her lorgnon and spectacles at the manuscript] Oh, have we passed that!

Mrs. Pampinelli. The next line after the one you just read.

Mrs. Fell. Oh, I see now where we are! The next line after that is, “You’ve all been listening to a lot of damned, cheap gossip.”

Mrs. Pampinelli and Hossefrosse, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. That’s it.

Hossefrosse. [To Mrs. Pampinelli] That certainly is my Jonah line.

Mrs. Pampinelli. You’ve all been list—[Spindler goes around to the right and sits on the piano-stool, looking near-sightedly at the music.]

Hossefrosse. [Turning to Florence, and assuming his character again] You’ve all been listening to a lot of damned, cheap gossip! [He starts to cross towards the left, passing between the piano and the table, but Mrs. Pampinelli is right in his way again, so he is obliged to stop short and wait.]

Florence. Which should show you that people are talking. [Mrs. Pampinelli turns to see why Hossefrosse is not picking up his line.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Stepping out of his way] I beg your pardon. [She circles down at the left of the table again.]

Hossefrosse. [Continuing over towards the mantelpiece] My fault. One or two old women, perhaps.

Florence. Will it confine itself to those?

Hossefrosse. [Turning at the mantelpiece and coming back to the middle of the room] Well, I can’t control that.

Florence. Have you tried?

Hossefrosse. [Whirling upon her, and literally shouting] No!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Standing at the right of the table below the piano] Excellent.

Hossefrosse. [Turning and bowing briefly to her] Thank you very much. [Resuming the scene with Florence] And I don’t intend to. People will always talk; it may as well be at my expense as anybody else’s.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Leaning towards him across the table, and speaking with poisonous sweetness] Anybody’s else, dear.

Hossefrosse. Beg pardon?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Would you say anybody’s else; it sounds better.

Hossefrosse. [Turning back again to Florence] It may as well be at my expense as anybody else’s. [Mr. Spindler’s elbow slips off the piano onto the keyboard, striking a perfectly villainous chord, and causing everybody to turn and look in that direction.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Mr. Spindler, please.

Spindler. [Adjusting his goggles, which have been slightly dislodged by the incident] I’m sorry. [Mrs. Pampinelli turns back to Hossefrosse.] Never mind, Mr. Hossefrosse, it will come.

Florence. Your position can’t afford it.

Hossefrosse. [Taking a step towards the right] I’ve given them nothing to talk about.

Florence. No? [He stops abruptly and turns and looks at her.]

Hossefrosse. What? [He takes a couple of steps towards her.]

Florence. [Rising] Please, Clyde!—[She crosses in front of the table at the left and goes towards him. Mrs. Ritter gets up from the partition-seat and comes down to the table at the right, below the piano.] You’re not talking to your office-boy—[Mrs. Ritter picks up the little chair from the left of the table and starts back again towards the center-door.] Let us get to the point.

Hossefrosse. Very well.

Mrs. Ritter and Hossefrosse, together.

Mrs. Ritter.—Excuse me, Florence. [Florence bows and smiles.] And you, too, Mr. Hossefrosse.

Hossefrosse. What brought you here tonight? [He turns to see the cause of the movement behind him.] Don’t mention it. [Mrs. Ritter places the chair in front of the partition where she has been sitting, then crosses to the piano and gets her sewing-basket, returning with it to the chair and sitting down to sew.]

Florence. Not to quarrel with you, for one thing.

Hossefrosse. You wanted to embarrass Mrs. Rush, that was it, wasn’t it?

Florence. Not at all,—you misunderstood me; I said, “I wanted to meet Mrs. Rush.” [Teddy comes in through the center-door from the right hallway and sits down on the partition-seat at the right. Teddy is a frail little wisp of a youth around twenty, in dinner clothes. He has big eyes and good teeth, and laughs on the slightest provocation. His forehead is defectively high, and his thin hair is plastered back and brilliantined. His type is always to be found draped upon the banisters or across the pianos in the houses of the rich,—a kind of social annoyance, created by wealthy connections and the usual lack of available men.]

Hossefrosse. What did you want to meet her for? [Twiller steps through the center-door from the right hallway and whispers something to Mrs. Ritter. She answers him, and he steps out into the hallway and fills himself out a glass of claret from the bowl, then goes up and sits on the landing of the stairway and watches the rehearsal.]

Florence. Why, I thought that we three might—reason together, [He holds her eye for a second, then turns away, and reaches in his various pockets for his cigarettes.] concerning our respective futures.

Hossefrosse. [In a lowered tone, to Mrs. Pampinelli] Forgot my cigarettes.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Never mind, I only want lines. Go on, Florence. [Hossefrosse takes an imaginary cigarette from an imaginary case, replaces the case, taps the cigarette on the back of his hand, puts it in his mouth, strikes an imaginary match on his shoe, and lights the cigarette.]

Florence. I’ve deferred the discussion for a long time, but it may as well be today as tomorrow.

Hossefrosse. Your plan didn’t work out very well, did it?

Florence. Oh, yes, very well indeed; although hardly as I had anticipated; thanks to her husband and your lies. [He blows out the imaginary match and tosses it onto the floor at the right; then snaps his head around and glares at Florence. Mrs. Pampinelli glances down onto the floor, as though to assure herself that Mr. Hossefrosse hasn’t really thrown a lighted match onto the carpet.] You’ve evidently told this boy here that Mrs. Rush is your wife.

Hossefrosse. I’ve told him nothing of the kind! [He starts to cross again to the right, but Mrs. Pampinelli is again right in his pathway, standing in front of the table below the piano.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Stepping below him, and going a step or two nearer Florence] I beg your pardon.

Hossefrosse. I beg your pardon. [He continues over to the table below the window at the right and stands there, pretending to smoke.]

Florence. Then, you’ve allowed him to think so.

Hossefrosse. [Looking straight ahead] That’s business.

Florence. Perhaps it is. It has at least allowed you to be present at the passing of Mrs. Rush. [She turns and goes towards the back. Mrs. Ritter calls her to her and they start discussing the hang of Florence’s skirt.]

Hossefrosse. [Whirling around] You are deliberately misinterpreting this situation! [He starts to move across towards her, passing between the piano and table.] Yes you are! It’s perfectly ridiculous that a physician cannot take a woman patient without being subjected to the whisperings of a lot of vulgar scandal-mongers! [Nelly Fell goes into violent laughter at something Ritter has just finished telling her. Florence and Mrs. Ritter continue their discussion of the dress, and Mrs. Pampinelli tries by dint of gesturing to attract Florence’s attention.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Florence dear, please.

Florence. [Turning suddenly, and continuing her lines] Oh, I beg your pardon! [She moves slowly towards the mantelpiece.] This is not a romantic age, Clyde.

Hossefrosse. Mrs. Rush is a patient of mine!

Florence. [Moving down at the left towards Ritter and Mrs. Fell] She may have been originally. [Mrs. Fell bursts out afresh over something else that Ritter whispers.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Flicking her finger at Nelly] Sh-sh-Nelly.

Mrs. Fell. [To Florence, who is standing looking at her] I beg your pardon.

Hossefrosse. [Standing in the middle of the room] She is now!

Florence. [Resting one hand on the arm-chair] I’m not disputing it. [He turns away, and stands at the left of the table below the piano.] But she must have a very persistent malady—

Mrs. Fell. Just one minute, Flossie—one minute—

Florence. That hasn’t responded to a treatment of more than six years—

Mrs. Fell. Flossie, Flossie, Flossie! [Florence stops and looks at her.] Just a minute. [She looks sharply at her manuscript.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. What is the matter, Nelly?

Mrs. Fell. Oh, I beg your pardon, I thought she’d omitted a line. [To Florence] I beg your pardon.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Go on, Florence. [Ritter says something to Nelly and she hits him with the manuscript.]

Florence. Not to speak of the innumerable changes of air that she’s enjoyed—[Mrs. Pampinelli, standing over at the right below the piano, takes quite a little coughing spell, and Mrs. Ritter promptly gets up and goes to the punch-bowl to fill her out a glass of punch.] at your expense; and under your personal escort. [Hossefrosse looks over at her. She raises her hand understandingly, and starts slowly across in front of the table towards him.] I have the day and date of the majority of them. So, you see, your chivalry is a bit trying, under the circumstances. [He looks straight ahead and tries to look sullen and defeated.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Up in the center-door, holding aloft a glass of punch] Betty!

Florence. But, I haven’t come here to reproach you, or to plead for your return. Not at all. I think you love this woman.

Mrs. Ritter. [Coming a little further forward] Betty! [Mrs. Pampinelli has another coughing spell.]

Florence. And in that case, I want to offer you your freedom—

Mrs. Pampinelli. Careful, now, children. [Mrs. Ritter comes forward to the table at the left and tries to attract Mrs. Pampinelli’s attention to the glass of punch.]

Florence. If you want it.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Holding up her forefinger] One, two, three.

Hossefrosse. [Snapping his head around and shouting at Florence] Well, I don’t want it!

Mrs. Pampinelli. Good!

Hossefrosse. And I see absolutely no occasion for any such talk. [Mrs. Fell drops her bag and reaches for it.]

Florence. You are probably more broad-minded than I. [Nelly Fell utters a piercing little shriek, having almost fallen off the chair in reaching to pick up her bag. Everyone turns and looks, and Teddy laughs, as usual.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. What’s the matter, Nelly?

Mrs. Fell. [Straightening up, with Ritter’s assistance, and laughing] I nearly fell off the chair. [Mrs. Ritter laughs and returns to the center-door and stands.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Go on, Florence.

Florence. And, really, I don’t think your freedom would be a very good thing for you. You have a form of respectability that requires a certain anchorage in the conventions. But unless you can reconcile yourself in the future to a more literal observance of those conventions, I shall be obliged to insist that you take your freedom.

Mrs. Pampinelli. Look at her, Mr. Hossefrosse.

Hossefrosse. Beg pardon?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With a touch of impatience] Look at her! [She begins to cough again.]

Hossefrosse. Oh, yes, yes! [He turns and glares at Florence, who is standing just a couple of feet away from him.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Holding the glass of punch aloft again] Betty!

Florence. I have a couple of growing boys,—[Mrs. Pampinelli passes right up between Florence and Hossefrosse to Mrs. Ritter, and takes the glass of claret.] who are beginning to ask me questions which I find too difficult to answer: and I will neither lie to them—nor allow them to pity me.

Hossefrosse. What do you want me to do?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Handing the claret-glass back to Paula, who goes to the bowl and refills it, and the note-book and pencil to Teddy] Just a moment. [She turns and comes forward in the middle of the room. Florence turns and moves over to the table at the left, and Hossefrosse remains standing at the table at the right.] Just one moment. Listen, Florence dear. [She uses her handkerchief, then stuffs it into the bosom of her dress.] I want you, if you can, to make just a little bit more of that last line. Within the limits of the characterization, of course; but if you can feel it, I’d like you to give me just the barest suggestion of a tear. Not too much; but just enough to show that,—under all her courage—and her threatening, she is still a woman—and a Mother. You see what I mean, dear?

Florence. More emotion.

Mrs. Pampinelli. In that last line. You are doing splendidly, darling, [Turning to Hossefrosse] both of you; [He acknowledges his excellence with a short bow.] but I have always felt that that last line—was really the big moment—of the play. It seems to me—[She toys with her necklace, narrows her eyes and looks away off.] that it is there—that she makes her big plea, for her boys, for her home,—for every woman’s home. And even though that plea is made in the form of a threat,—somehow or other—I seem to hear her saying, sub-vocally, of course, “In God’s name, don’t make it necessary for me to do this thing!” [She concludes this speech rather dramatically, her arms outstretched. Mr. Spindler, at this point, engaged in a too curious examination of the keyboard, accidentally touches D flat above High C. Everybody turns and looks at him, but his consciousness of guilt does not permit of his meeting their eyes, so he remains bent over the keyboard in precisely the attitude he was in when he struck the note.]

Mrs. Fell. Oh, go away from that piano, Mr. Spindler! [Mrs. Ritter comes forward at the left with a dish of cakes and a glass of claret.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Withdrawing her eyes witheringly from Spindler and turning back to Florence] Do you see what I mean, dear?

Florence. I think I do. Do you want me to go back?

Mrs. Pampinelli. No, that’s quite all right. We’ll take it right from Mr. Hossefrosse’s line, [She turns toward Hossefrosse. And Mrs. Ritter takes advantage of the circumstance to offer Florence a cake; which, of course, is declined with thanks. Then she turns to Mrs. Pampinelli and waits till the lady has finished directing Hossefrosse.] “What do you want me to do?” [Mrs. P. turns back, to be confronted with the cakes and claret; and she takes both. Then she and Paula move back towards the center-door.]

Hossefrosse. [Clearing his throat] What do you want me to do? [Paula gives a shriek of laughter, at something Mrs. Pampinelli whispers to her. Then Paula goes out through the center-door and offers Twiller, who is still sitting half-way up the stairs, some cake, which he accepts, and then Teddy, who declines, and finally, after taking another one herself, sets the plate down on the hallway table and resumes her chair up at the left; while Mrs. Pampinelli, cake and claret in hand, wanders forward at the right, passing over between the piano and the table below it.]

Florence. I’ve already told you.

Hossefrosse. Then, I suppose I’m simply to decline all women patients in the future, [She makes a little sound of amusement.] or else submit them for general approval. [He now presses the imaginary fire out of the cigarette on the imaginary tray on the table.]

Florence. Stick to your guns, Clyde.

Hossefrosse. That’s the only thing I see to do. [Mrs. Pampinelli stands over at the right watching the scene, and eating and drinking.]

Florence. Your tenacity is commendable, but it’s a lost cause. [Looking at him steadily] I appreciate your embarrassment—

Hossefrosse. [Turning to her, thrusting his hands into his coat-pockets, tilting his chin, and looking at her with an absurdly perky expression] I’m not embarrassed.

Florence. Desolation, then.

Hossefrosse. [Snapping his fingers at her] Ha! [He swings rather jauntily across and up towards the mantelpiece.]Mrs. Pampinelli. More nonchalance in the cross, Mr. Hossefrosse.

Hossefrosse. [Turning to her suddenly] Me?

Mrs. Pampinelli. More savoir faire, as we say in French. [She illustrates the idea with a kind of floating gesture of the hand.]

Hossefrosse. I see. [He continues over to the left and down towards Ritter and Mrs. Fell, endeavoring to execute Mrs. Pampinelli’s idea by raising his shoulders, stiffening his arms, throwing his head back and swinging his legs, as he walks. Nelly Fell is whispering something to Ritter behind her fan, so that, when Hossefrosse reaches them, he is obliged to touch Ritter on the shoulder and suggest with a nod and a smile that the exigencies of the play require that he shall sit where Ritter is sitting. So Ritter jumps up and tiptoes across in front of the table and up to the piano, where he stands leaning—and watching—particularly Mrs. Pampinelli.]

Florence. [Moving to the table below the piano] But, I shall be magnanimous; having loved and lost myself. So that, really, it may not be nearly so difficult as you imagine.

Hossefrosse. [Sitting on the chair vacated by Ritter] Well, I can’t say that I relish the prospect, with any such misunderstanding as this between us.

Florence. [Crossing to the table at the left] It’s the portion of half the world, Clyde. [Twiller gets up from the stairs and comes down into the right hallway, where he stands watching.]Hossefrosse. [Trying to look sullen, by resting one elbow on his knee and hunching his shoulders] It certainly isn’t a very inviting one. [Nelly Fell starts to whisper something in his ear.]

Florence. But it has its compensations. [Mrs. Pampinelli, having finished her cake and claret, sets the empty glass down on the table below the piano and uses her handkerchief.] You’ll have your memories, and I shall have the wisdom of disillusionment;—[The telephone-bell rings, up in the left hallway. Mrs. Ritter jumps up, places her sewing-basket on the chair, and, touching her hair, comes forward quickly at the right to the table below the piano.] as well as the consciousness of lots of company.

Mrs. Ritter. [Speaking directly to Mrs. Pampinelli] Is that my cue? [Florence stops and turns and looks at her.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Which cue, dear?

Mrs. Ritter. [Taking a step towards Florence, and with a little questioning, bewildered gesture] The telephone is my cue, isn’t it?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With a touch of impatience] No, darling, you’re not on in this scene at all. Go on, Florence. [Mrs. Ritter puts her hand to her cheek and looks from one to the other in puzzled embarrassment.]

Florence. [Turning and resuming her lines to Hossefrosse, who, by this time, is deep in conversation with Mrs. Fell] For there are a million women exactly like me. [Mrs. Ritter bursts out laughing. So does Teddy. Twiller reaches over the partition and flips Teddy on the head with his handkerchief. Jenny appears in the left hallway to answer the telephone.]

Mrs. Ritter and Florence, together.

Mrs. Ritter. [Turning to Mrs. Pampinelli] Oh, I beg your pardon! [She leans across the table explaining to Mrs. Pampinelli, who tries politely to silence her by suggestion that the scene is in progress.] I thought that was my cue.

Florence—Secondary women. [She moves around above the table and stands just above Hossefrosse.] So don’t look so tragic; you haven’t lost anything but a lot of time;

Jenny. [At the telephone] Hello?

Mrs. Ritter, Florence and Mrs. Fell, together.

Mrs. Ritter.—I was thinking of something else, you know, and when I heard the telephone, I thought it was for me.

Florence.—And that’s always lost when it’s spent on things that are insusceptible of conclusion.

Mrs. Fell. [Bursting into a perfect shriek of laughter at something Hossefrosse has just finished telling her, and pushing him away from her] Huxley Hossefrosse, you are perfectly dreadful! [He laughs, too, and attempts to tell her something else, but she turns away and waves him aside.] No, No, No.

Mrs. Pampinelli. No dear, that is your own telephone.Jenny. [At the telephone still] Just a minute. [Mrs. Ritter turns towards the back of the room.]

Mrs. Ritter. Oh, so it is! [Directly to Ritter] I knew I had one telephone cue. [She goes laughing through the center-door and on out into the right hallway.]

Jenny. [Trying to attract Ritter’s attention] Mr. Ritter! [But Ritter is absorbed in watching Hossefrosse. Florence stands waiting for Hossefrosse and Nelly to stop laughing, but as it doesn’t look as though they will ever stop, she gives Hossefrosse a little dig in the shoulder with her finger. He straightens up abruptly.]

Florence. [Prompting him] I’ve lost her.

Jenny. Mr. Ritter!

Hossefrosse. I’ve lost her.

Florence. That was inevitable in your case, Clyde; you have a conventional soul. [Jenny asks Teddy in pantomime to attract Ritter’s attention.]

Hossefrosse. [In a tone intended to express abysmal despair] I’ve lost you. [Ritter bursts out laughing. Teddy reaches out and indicates that he is wanted on the telephone. Jenny holds the telephone up, and he steps quickly out into the hallway to take it from her.]

Florence. That was incidental, eh?

Hossefrosse. But, it seems to me there should be some other way.Florence. [Moving to the right, above the table] There is, my dear boy,—for lots of people——

Ritter. [at the telephone] Hello? [Jenny goes out.]

Florence. But not for you.

Ritter. Yes.

Florence. You’re too respectable—Physically, I mean. [She laughs a little, and stands above the table looking at him.]

Ritter. Well, wait a minute, I’ll talk to you upstairs. [He sets the telephone down and starts towards the right to go upstairs. As he passes the center-door he speaks to Teddy, who is still sitting just inside the center-door on the right partition-seat.] Hang that up when I get on, will you, Teddy? [Teddy jumps up and goes out to the telephone, and holds it, waiting till Ritter gets on the extension upstairs.]

Florence. And Mrs. Rush has what it appears to me to be a rather—primitive husband—[Hossefrosse gives her a narrow look.] and you have a very modern wife. So be wise, Clyde; you know what usually happens to him who “loves the danger.” [There is a loud knock at the right door. Hossefrosse jumps to his feet and stands looking fearfully toward it. Florence assumes all the dignity at her command, drawing herself up, placing her right hand upon her throat, her left on her hip, and waiting,—the proud but outraged wife. Mrs. Pampinelli holds up both hands and looks in the direction of the door, to impress everybody with the dramatic value of the situation. Teddy hangs up the receiver and stands watching her. Nelly Fell straightens up briskly and sits watching the door, in expectant attention. Then Mrs. Pampinelli makes a gesture to Florence to go on with her lines.] Go into your office, I’ll talk to this woman. [Hossefrosse drops his head and shoulders and slinks across in front of the table, a beaten man. He continues up to the center-door and out, into the right hallway. The knock is repeated at the right door. Mrs. Pampinelli motions to Teddy that that is his cue to open the door. He comes through the center-door and crosses above the piano to the right door, Mrs. Pampinelli at the same time moving over to the arm-chair at the right and enshrining herself. Teddy opens the door; and Mrs. Ritter swishes in self-consciously. Nelly Fell and Mr. Twiller give a little ripple of applause, but Mrs. Pampinelli holds one finger up toward Nelly and shushes her. Mrs. Ritter is wearing a rather bizarre-looking hat, set at something of a challenging angle, and as she comes forward at the right of the piano, she bursts into a self-conscious giggle. But Mrs. Pampinelli reproves her with a look. So she controls herself and crosses below the piano, Teddy, simultaneously, crossing above the piano. She stops at the corner of the piano and rests her left hand upon it. Then she places her right hand upon her hip, and, tilting her head back, looks at Teddy, who has stopped directly above her. Ritter appears on the stairway, and moves down a step or two, watching his wife, narrowly.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Flipping her left hand at Teddy, in an attempt to give a fly impression] Hello, kid.

Teddy. Hello, Mrs. Arlington. [Mrs. Ritter swishes down towards the left, shaking her head from side to side and holding her arms akimbo. She turns around to her left, gives Florence a look, supposed to be a very contemptuous look, and stands in the middle of the room again, facing Teddy.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Speaking directly to Teddy] Is my sweetie in? [Ritter moves slowly down to the landing of the stairs, watching his wife as though she were some baffling phenomenon.]

Teddy. No, mam, he ain’t.

Mrs. Ritter. [Drawing her shoulders up, and speaking in a high unnatural key] What!

Teddy. He went about six o’clock.

Mrs. Ritter. Why, I had an appointment with him!

Teddy. He might be back, maybe.

Mrs. Ritter. But, I can’t wait unless I’m certain that he’s coming back.

Teddy. He was expecting you.

Mrs. Ritter. [Still shaking her head and trying generally to appear bold] Yes, I know he was. [Turning to the table at the left, back of which Florence is standing] I suppose I’d better leave a note for him. [She indicates the table with a waving gesture of her left hand.]Teddy. You’ll find that green one is the best pen.

Mrs. Ritter. [Stepping to the table] Thanks. [She looks at Florence, who gives her a withering look over her right shoulder and turns away to the mantelpiece at the left. Then Mrs. Ritter gives her idea of a scornful laugh.] Ha! Ha! Ha!

Ritter. [Sweeping his hand across his brow, groaning, and falling down the stairs, into the right hallway] Oh my God!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Seeing him fall, and jumping up] Oh, my dear! [Everybody turns.]

Twiller. [Trying to catch him] Hold it! [Spindler rushes past Mrs. Pampinelli and out the center-door into the right hallway. Teddy jumps into a kneeling position on the right partition-seat and looks over the partition. Florence and Mrs. Fell rush up to the center-door and try to see what’s going on, Nelly dodging from one side of Florence to the other, and peering through her lorgnon.] Are you hurt, old man?

Hossefrosse. [Handing his cane and gloves to Spindler] Hold those, please. [Spindler takes them, and Hossefrosse prepares to assist Twiller to lift Ritter from the floor.]

Twiller. Get some water, somebody! [Spindler rushes out the left hallway. Mrs. Pampinelli sweeps up from below the table at the right to the center-door.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Bewildered, in the middle of the room, as Mrs. Pampinelli passes her] What is it, Betty?

Mrs. Pampinelli. Now, don’t get excited, Paula. [Mrs. Ritter steps frantically across to the piano and turns, leaning against it, looking wide-eyed at Nelly Fell.]

Hossefrosse. Lift up his head.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Looking eagerly out into the right hallway] Is he hurt, boys?

Twiller. I want to get him under the arms. [They lift Ritter onto a bench in the hallway. Nelly Fell turns away from the center-door with an exclamation of distress.]

Hossefrosse. We’d better lay him right here.

Mrs. Ritter. Is it Fred, Nelly?

Mrs. Fell. I don’t know, dear.

Mrs. Pampinelli and Mrs. Fell, together.

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Addressing Hossefrosse and Twiller] You can lay him right here, boys, I think it’ll be as good as any.

Mrs. Fell. What is it, Florence, did Mr. Ritter fall downstairs?

Florence. I think so.

Mrs. Fell. [Covering her eyes and swaying] Oh, dear child, don’t! [Florence puts her arm around her and guides her towards the arm-chair at the left.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Give me one of those pillows, Teddy. [He hands her a pillow from the partition-seat where he’s kneeling.]Mrs. Fell. [Sinking into the arm-chair at the left] Betty, I think I’m going to faint!

Mrs. Pampinelli. [Turning to her] Sit down, dear, I’ll get you some water. [Calling and beckoning out into the left hallway] Jenny dear! come here, please!

Hossefrosse. [Rushing across from the right to the left hallway] I think I’d better call Dr. Wentworth. [He snatches up the telephone and works the hook violently.]

Mrs. Pampinelli. Yes, I would. [She turns around to her left and stands looking questioningly at Mrs. Ritter.] Go on with your lines, Paula.

Mrs. Ritter. Well, is he dead, Betty?

Mrs. Pampinelli. [With a definite little gesture of her right hand] Never mind! [The curtain commences to descend, and she sweeps forward.] We will go right on from where Mr. Ritter fell downstairs.

THE CURTAIN IS DOWN

As it Rises Again for the Picture

Hossefrosse. [At the telephone] Landsdowne 8, please,—right away! [Spindler rushes in from the left hallway carrying a glass of water, and followed immediately by Jenny. Twiller is ministering to Ritter. Mrs. Pampinelli is standing in the middle of the room, facing the center-door, and holding up both her hands, as a signal to the various artists that the rehearsal is about to be resumed; so they quickly step to the various positions in which they respectively were when Mr. Ritter fell.]

Mrs. Ritter. [Addressing Teddy] Yes, I know he was. I s’pose I’d better leave a note for him.

END OF THE ACT

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