Index     1     2     3

ACT THREE

SCENE: The same.

TIME: Late afternoon. Two weeks later.

The telephone is ringing as the curtain rises. There is a moment and MINNIE enters and crosses to rear of the table rear of the sofa left. She picks up the receiver.

MINNIE—[Speaking into the phone.] Hello.—No, Mr. Kurt, she's not yet back. Vot. You're not coming home to dinner?!—But I've made the pfannkuchen you like—Vot?— You're tired of my damn pfannkuchen—[She shouts angrily.] Every night I make dinner and you and Marion go out!—I'm not yelling—Vot? Vot shall I tell Marion?—Vot—[Door bell rings.] Wait—wait a minute.—Someone's ringing. [She puts the receiver on the table and goes to the door. MINNIE shows in LEANDER NOLAN who is followed by ORRIN KINNICOTT, who is a big, well-developed Southerner, about fifty-five, with a high-pitched voice. He is a superbly built man with a magnificent chest development. He is aware that he is a fine figure of a man, impeccably dressed in formal afternoon clothes.]

NOLAN—[To MINNIE, who has preceded him into the room.] Did Miss Froude say she was expecting us for tea, Minnie?

MINNIE—No, Mr. Nolan. She didn't say nothing to me.

NOLAN—Not even when she'd be back?

MINNIE—[Hangs up coats.] No. She just went out.

NOLAN—All right, Minnie. We'll wait.

MINNIE—Yes, Mr. Nolan. [She is about to go out into kitchen when she remembers that KURT is on the telephone. She picks up the receiver and says:] Hello—Mr. Kurt—you dere?—Good-bye! [She then hangs up the receiver and exits left.]

KINNICOTT—[Querulously. Sits sofa right.] Did you tell her four o'clock?

NOLAN—Yes. I told her. [NOLAN'S manner with his father-in-law-to-be in this scene conveys the beginnings of a secret irritation, an inner rebellion.]

KINNICOTT—Does she know I'm a busy man?

NOLAN—[Gloomily.] She's not impressed much by busy men.

KINNICOTT—I know these fly-by-night characters. I've dealt with 'em before . . . Bad— [He sniffs the air of the room.] bad air. [Rises—tries to open window, fails, sits window seat.] Bet she's under-exercised.

NOLAN—On the contrary—she's radiantly healthy!

KINNICOTT—Cosmetics, I bet! These fly-by-night characters. . . .

NOLAN—[Very irritated.] Why do you keep calling her a fly-by-night character? She's nothing of the sort!

KINNICOTT—[Crosses to NOLAN.] Look here, Leander. . . .

NOLAN—Well?

KINNICOTT—Have you been entirely frank with me, in this matter?

NOLAN—Of course I have. . . .

KINNICOTT—[Cryptic.] About the past—yes. But I refer to the present.

NOLAN—I don't know what you mean.

KINNICOTT—I think you do know what I mean. Sometimes the way you talk I suspect—I suspect, Leander—that you are still in love with this woman.

NOLAN—Nonsense! I simply tell you that she's not a fly-by-night character. That doesn't mean I'm in love with her!

KINNICOTT—My daughter feels the same thing.

NOLAN—Slade! You've discussed this with Slade!

KINNICOTT—She's discussed it with me. She's no fool that girl. She's noticed things lately.

NOLAN—What things?

KINNICOTT—She says she talks to you and that you're off somewhere else—dreaming. I tried to put her on another scent—but she was positive. She said: "Come on now, dad—don't stall me—come clean!" So I told her!

NOLAN—You did!

KINNICOTT—Yes.

NOLAN—When?

KINNICOTT—Yesterday. Told her it happened fifteen years ago, that you were a naive young feller didn't know anything about women, were just naturally taken in . . .

NOLAN—That's not true though. I was not taken in.

KINNICOTT—There you go again—defending the woman that's endangering your entire career and using up my energies and yours when you ought to be home right now getting together with folks and thinking how to cinch this here election. Not going to be a walk-over, you know. [Again trying the window.] How do you open this thing to get some air? [Sits window seat.]

NOLAN—I don't know. What did Slade say when you told her?

KINNICOTT—Nothin'. You know Slade's not the talkin' kind.

NOLAN—Funny she didn't mention it to me last night.

KINNICOTT—Didn't want to worry yer probably . . . all wool and a yard wide that girl is. I warn you, Leander, don't tamper with the most precious and rare thing. . . .

NOLAN—[Impatient of oratory.] I know—I know. The point is—what are we going to do?

KINNICOTT—Course I can get that young fellow—what's his name?

NOLAN—Kurt.

KINNICOTT—I can get him fired all right. From what you've told me, Leander, he's got something else up his sleeve. . . .

NOLAN—I'm afraid so.

KINNICOTT—That's what I want to find out from your lady friend. And I've got a pretty sure idea right now what it is.

NOLAN—What do you mean?

KINNICOTT—Money!

NOLAN—[Still not understanding.] Money. . . .?

KINNICOTT—Blackmail!

NOLAN—You're crazy!

KINNICOTT—You don't know much about women, Leander; when you know the sex as well as I do you'll know that every woman has blackmail up her sleeve.

NOLAN—Look here, Orrin. . . .!

KINNICOTT—[Rises, confronts NOLAN.] Now, you listen to me for a moment, son. . . This situation's gone about far enough right now. You'd better make up your mind whether you want this blackmailing female or whether you want my daughter . . . and you'd better make it up right quick.

NOLAN—[Flaring up.] I resent your tone, Orrin and I won't be ordered around as if I were a high-grade servant!

KINNICOTT—Now son, when you get control of your temper, and cool down a little bit, you'll see that my ordering hasn't been so bad for you. I'll acknowledge you were mighty successful as a lawyer, but in politics, you're nothing but a novice.

NOLAN—[Resentful.] Am I! [Doorbell.]

KINNICOTT—Just look back a bit, that's all—I've had to push and bolster you to get you where you are.

NOLAN—[Desperately.] I know—I have every reason to be grateful to you—that's the worst of it. [MINNIE enters and crosses to hall door. Both MEN turn and watch to see who it is that is calling.]

MINNIE—[Speaking to someone at the door.] Ja Fraulein?

SLADE—[Off stage.] Is Miss Froude in?

MINNIE—Nein Fraulein.

SLADE—[Entering.] Well, I'll just wait. [SLADE KINNICOTT is a good-looking, dark, high-spirited girl, a rather inspiriting and healthy example of the generation growing up on D. H. Lawrence. To her father and NOLAN as she crosses down stage between them.] Hello.

NOLAN—Slade!

KINNICOTT—[Severely.] Daughter! What are you doing here?

SLADE—Came to have my picture painted. What are you?

KINNICOTT—Your coming here at this time is most inopportune, daughter. We are here on business.

SLADE—[Mischievously.] I can imagine!

NOLAN—I'm very glad you came, Slade. I want you to meet the woman whom your father has just been accusing of the most reprehensible crimes!

SLADE—I'm pretty anxious to get a load of her myself. [Looks about the room taking it in and then sits on the left end of the sofa below the piano.] Nice lay-out. Gee, I wish I were artistic. What a lucky gal she is! A paint-brush and an easel and she can set up shop anywhere in the world. That's independence for you! Gosh! [She looks about, admiring and envious.]

KINNICOTT—Why must you come here to get your picture painted? We have tolerable good artists in Knoxville.

SLADE—Well, if you must know I'm very keen to have a heart-to-heart talk with my fiancé's old girl. Natural, isn't it?

KINNICOTT—No, it isn't natural!

NOLAN—[Crosses angrily to window and back toward KINNICOTT and sits stool down right near sofa in which SLADE and her father are sitting.] This is what you get for telling her, Orrin.

SLADE—If you think I didn't suspect something was up ever since Froude arrived here, you don't know your little bride. Maybe I haven't been watching the clouds gather on that classic brow! Where is my rival? Don't tell me she's holding up two big shots like you two boys.

KINNICOTT—Slade, this is no time . . . please leave us before she comes.

SLADE—Not I! Just my luck when a story is going to come out which has something in it I want to read you two killjoys are going to suppress it!

NOLAN—This isn't exactly a joke you know, Slade. . . .

SLADE—I mean it. . . .

KINNICOTT—[Sadly.] I've spoiled you, Slade—I've been too easy with you. . . .

SLADE—At least I hope you'll buy the manuscript. My God, father, I'm curious. Can't you understand that? I want to find out what Leander was like before he became ambitious. I've a right to know! This story might hurt you with the voters in Tennessee, Leander, but it's given me a kick out of you I didn't know was there! How did she make you, Leander—that's what I'd like to know. You've been pretty unapproachable to me but I sort of took it for granted National Figures were like that. Also I'd gotten to the point when I was going to suggest that we break our engagement, but this little incident revives my interest.

NOLAN—[Furious.] Indeed!

SLADE—Yes indeed. Where is this woman? What is that secret? How to Make National Figures . . . there's a title for you!

KINNICOTT—Slade, you're talking too much! Shut up!

NOLAN—[Rises and moves stool toward them a bit.] No, she isn't at all. . . . [To SLADE.] If your interest in me requires the artificial stimulus of an episode that happened twenty years ago . . .

SLADE—[Leaning toward him.] It requires something. . . .

NOLAN—[Leaning closer toward her. The three heads are now close together, KINNICOTT'S in the center.] Does it!

SLADE—It does. We were getting so that conversation, when we were alone, was rather difficult. [NOLAN starts to argue.]

KINNICOTT—[Pushes them apart.] Children! Children!

NOLAN—We're not children! [To SLADE.] If our relationship is so—

SLADE—Tenuous . . .?

NOLAN—. . . That it requires artificial . . .

SLADE—Respiration . . .?

NOLAN—If it's as bad as that then I think perhaps we'd both better . . .

SLADE—Call it a day? . . . You'll need me in the Senate, Leander, to fill in the gaps when you get hung up in a speech. Consider carefully what you are discarding. . . .

NOLAN—If that is the case I tell you solemnly we'd better separate now.

SLADE—[Mock tragedy.] Father, Leander is giving your daughter the air. Do something!

KINNICOTT—I don't blame him for being irritated. You should not be here. Please go home.

SLADE—[Lights cigarette.] Don't worry dad. I'll get him back.

KINNICOTT—This is a bad mess, Leander. And I must tell you frankly that I don't altogether approve of your attitude . . .

NOLAN—And I must tell you frankly that I don't approve of yours. . . .

KINNICOTT—Is that so!

NOLAN—I don't like your tone in speaking of a woman with whom at one time I had a relation of the tenderest emotion—for whom I still have a high regard. . . .

KINNICOTT—That's evident anyway!

NOLAN—When you apply to such a woman the terms you used before Slade came in, when you impute to her motives so base, you cast an equal reflection on my judgment and my character. . . .

SLADE—And that, pop, is lèse-majesté.

NOLAN—And it may be perfectly true, Slade, that knowing Miss Froude has spoiled me for the flippant modernisms with which you study. . . .

SLADE—I'm dying to ask her one thing: when you made love to her in the old days did it always sound like a prepared speech on tariff schedules?

KINNICOTT—This is getting us nowhere. . . .

SLADE—Well, dad, what do you expect? Leander and I have broken our engagement since I came into this room. That's progress, isn't it?

KINNICOTT—Your coming here at this time was most unfortunate.

SLADE—Leander doesn't think so. [Ironically.] He's free now to pursue the lady for whom he still has a high regard. [Rises.] Are we no longer engaged, Leander?

NOLAN—That's not for me to say.

SLADE—[Rises and shakes hands with NOLAN.] Gentleman to the last! And at the very moment—

KINNICOTT—[In despair—speaks as SLADE starts to speak.] Slade, if you would only go home!

SLADE—[Crosses left.] Just at the very moment when I was saying to myself: Well, if a brilliant and beautiful woman who has played footie with royalty in the capitols of the world loved him, maybe there's a secret charm in him that I've overlooked—just when I was saying that and preparing to probe and discover, [Lightly.] he gives me the air. [Sits on sofa left.] By God, Orrin, there's life for you. [Bell rings.] Ah, that must be my rival! [NOLAN gets up and fixes his tie expecting MARION. But it is KURT who comes in. He faces them. He is in a white heat of anger.]

KURT—Well, gentlemen, I'm not surprised to find you here! [Drops hat on model stand and comes down stage left.]

NOLAN—[About to introduce KINNICOTT.] How do you do Mr. Kurt . . . this is . . . .

KURT—I can guess who it is. I can guess why you're here. Having failed to intimidate me you are here to intimidate Miss Froude. [SLADE rises, excited by this tempest.] Well, I can advise you that you will fail with her too.

NOLAN—This is his usual style, Orrin. Don't mind him.

KURT—I have just come from my office where I have been informed by Mr. Neff—[SLADE stands below KURT—just behind him—watching him.] whom you doubtless know, Mr. Kinnicott—that I could decide between publishing Miss Froude's story or giving up my job. I invited him to go to Hell. That invitation I now cordially extend to you two gentlemen.

SLADE—Why doesn't somebody introduce me to this interesting young man? [She comes toward him. KURT is embarrassed, but covers it in a gruff manner. He has actually not been aware of her in the room.]

KURT—I'm sorry—I—I didn't know. . . .

SLADE—Why are you sorry? I'm Slade Kinnicott. [She gives him her hand. He takes it, limply.]

KURT—Alright—alright. [He is disarmed and feels, suddenly, rather foolish.]

SLADE—Leander, why have you kept me apart from this young man?

KURT—I'm sorry—I . . .

SLADE—Nonsense. What's your name?

KURT—Richard Kurt.

SLADE—Go to it—[Turns him toward others.]

KINNICOTT—[Impressively—interposing between them.] You're being very foolish, young man.

KURT—[Crosses toward them—to right of model stand.] Possibly.

NOLAN—You can't argue with him. I've tried it. He's a fanatic.

KURT—But if you ask me I think you're being very foolish.

KINNICOTT—[Who wants to find out what's in KURT'S mind.] Are we? How do you figure that, young man?

SLADE—[Parroting—crosses and sits on model stand. She is having a wonderful time.] Yes, how!

KINNICOTT—Oh, hush your mouth.

KURT—Because I'm going to publish Miss Froude's book myself. And I promise you that it'll be the best-advertised first book that's come out in a long time.

SLADE—Thank God! Will you send me the advance sheets? I'll make it worth your while, Mr. Kurt.

KINNICOTT—I can see you are an extremely impulsive young man. Have you ever inquired, may I ask . . . ?

SLADE—[Edges a bit closer to KURT.] This is going to be dangerous! Look out, Richard. . . . [NOLAN sits on stool, disgusted with SLADE.]

KINNICOTT—[Smoothly.] Have you inquired into the penalties for libel, Mr. Kurt?

KURT—Libel! You're going to sue me for libel, are you!

KINNICOTT—[Same voice.] Yes. You and Miss Froude both . . . yes. . . .

KURT—Well, you just go ahead and try it, that's all I can tell you. Go ahead and sue. [Crosses to above NOLAN.] It'll put Mr. Nolan in a charming position before those moral constituents of his, won't it? [Includes both NOLAN and KINNICOTT.] Go ahead and sue, both of you—sue your heads off. . . . ! I promise the two of you I'll give you the fight of your lives!

SLADE—[Delighted.] Good for you, Richard! [MARION comes in. She wears a long red velvet coat, and a little red cap stuck on the side of her golden head—she looks a little like PORTIA. She is at the top of her form.]

MARION—[Beaming with hospitality.] Well! How nice! Minnie!

KURT—[Goes upstage to right of MARION.] This chivalrous gentleman has just been proposing to sue you for libel—he considers . . .

SLADE—[Who rises and stands just below the model stand.] I'm Slade Kinnicott.

MARION—[Crosses down stage to her and they shake hands over the model stand.] How very nice of you to come! [Turns and faces KINNICOTT.] Is this Mr. Kinnicott? [He bows.] I'm so glad to see you. [They shake hands.] I'm so sorry to be late. [Waves hello to NOLAN.] Hello Bunny.

SLADE—[This is too much for her.] Oh, my God—BUNNY! [She sits, overcome.]

MARION—[To NOLAN.] I'm so sorry . . .

NOLAN—[Glaring at SLADE.] It's all right, Marion!

MARION—Has Minnie given you tea? I'll just . . . Minnie! [MINNIE enters.] Tea Minnie, please. . . . [To the men.] Or cocktails—highball . . .?

KINNICOTT—I never drink alcoholic mixtures.

NOLAN—[Asserting his independence.] I'll have a highball!

KINNICOTT—I must tell you, Leander, that I do not approve—

NOLAN—I'll have two whiskies straight!

MARION—Good! Highball for you, Miss Kinnicott?

SLADE—Thanks.

MARION—I'll fix them myself, Minnie. Just bring us some tea, Minnie.

KINNICOTT—Nor do I wish any tea.

KURT—[Crosses down left.] Nor do I.

MARION—Do you mind if I have a cup? Do sit down Miss Kinnicott. A tiring day. . . . [SLADE sits on model stand. MARION goes up to rear of piano.] Minnie, please bring me a cup of tea—

MINNIE—Ja, Fraulein. (Remembering.] A telegram for you, Fraulein.

MARION—Oh, thank you, Minnie. Just put it there on the table. [MINNIE leaves the telegram on the table rear of the sofa left and then exits left. MARION removes her coat and hat and crosses to rear of piano and starts to mix the highballs.] Now then! What is all this nice cheerful talk about a libel suit? That's what they're always having in England, isn't it, on the least provocation. It's when you've circulated a lie about someone—defamed someone—maliciously—isn't it? Bunny! [She gives NOLAN his two drinks. He takes them and returns to his position. MARION picks up the other glass and crosses with it to SLADE.] Now then—whom have I defamed?

KURT—You've defamed the Honorable Mr. Nolan!

MARION—[Hands drink to SLADE.] Have I? Oh I am tired. . . . [She sits on sofa.] Sit by me, won't you, Miss Kinnicott?

SLADE—[Sauntering over.] Thanks. [She sits by MARION on the sofa.]

MARION—You're very pretty. . . .

SLADE—[More warmly.] Thanks!

MARION—Bunny, I congratulate you. I've heard so much about you, Miss Kinnicott. And I think it's very gracious of you to come and see me. If Bunny lets me I'd like to paint you—[MINNIE enters.] and give you the portrait for a wedding-present. [She rises and crosses to above model stand to get cup of tea from MINNIE. MINNIE exits left.] Thank you, Minnie.

SLADE—You're very lovely.

MARION—Thank you, my dear.

SLADE—I can't tell you how curious I've been about you—I—

KINNICOTT—This is all very well—but I'm a busy man . . .

MARION—[Looks at KINNICOTT as she crosses and sits right of SLADE. A moment then MARION speaks.] It seems so strange to see you with all your clothes on. It seems a pity—as an artist I must say it seems a pity—to conceal that wonderful chest-development that I've admired so often in The Body Beautiful.

KINNICOTT—That's neither here nor there.

MARION—[This is almost an aside to SLADE.] It seems to me that it's decidedly there. [MARION and SLADE laugh quietly together.]

KINNICOTT—Slade, you've upset everything by coming here. . . . [KURT comes forward. He has been eaten up with irritation because the superb indignation he felt should have been so dissipated by this cascade of small talk. He can stand it no longer.]

KURT—[Crosses to right of model stand.] If you understood better what these gentlemen mean to do . . .!

NOLAN—[Protests.] It wasn't my idea!

KURT—You wouldn't be quite so friendly, Marion. . . .

MARION—I couldn't possibly be unfriendly to anyone so frank—and—and gladiatorial—as Mr. Kinnicott.

KURT—[Furious at her for not letting him launch into it.] A libel suit . . .!

MARION—Oh, yes! A libel suit! It sounds so cozy. Sit down, won't you? [KINNICOTT sits on stool.] A libel suit. Now then—what shall it be about?

KURT—The Honorable Nolan is going to sue you for libel. . . .

NOLAN—I'll punch your head if you say that again.

KURT—On the assumption that when you say in your story that you and he were lovers you are lying and defaming his character!

MARION—Dear Bunny, you must want to be a Senator very very badly!

NOLAN—[In despair.] I never said it I tell you!

MARION—As a matter of fact how could I prove it? Come to think of it, are there any letters? Did you ever write to me, Bunny?

NOLAN—I don't remember.

MARION—I don't think you ever did. You see—we were always—during that dim brief period of your youth—we were always so close—letters were hardly necessary, were they? Did I ever send you any letters, Bunny?

NOLAN—I don't remember, I tell you.

MARION—Neither do I. You might look around in old trunks and places and see if you can find some old letters of an affectionate nature—I'd love to read them—they'd probably make wonderful reading now. Why is it that the things one writes when one's young always sounds so foolish afterwards? Has that ever occurred to you, Mr. Kinnicott?

KINNICOTT—I don't admit the fact.

MARION—No.

KINNICOTT—No. I was looking over some old editorials of mine written in the depression of 1907 and they're just as apropos today. I haven't changed my ideas in twenty-five years.

MARION—Haven't you really? How very steadfast. Now if the world were equally changeless, how consistent that would make you. [To KURT.] Well, there isn't any documentary evidence.

KURT—It doesn't matter. . . .

KINNICOTT—As I said before, this is getting us nowhere. Don't you think, Miss Froude, that the only way we can settle this is by ourselves? [She smiles at him.] I can see you're a sensible woman.

MARION—I am very sensible.

KINNICOTT—And you and I can settle this matter in short order.

KURT—You don't have to talk to him at all if you don't want to.

MARION—[Smiling at KINNICOTT.] But I'd love to. I've always wanted to meet Mr. Kinnicott. There are some questions I want very much to ask him. [To the others.] You can all wait in my bedroom. It's fairly tidy, I think.

SLADE—[To KURT—Rises, crosses to him.] Why don't you take me for a walk, Richard?

MARION—[As KURT hesitates.] Do that Dickie. A walk'll do you good.

NOLAN—What'll I do?

MARION—[As if it were another dilemma.] You wait in my bedroom. [Aware suddenly of the proprieties.] No—in Minnie's bedroom. It's just next to the kitchen.

NOLAN—[Defiantly.] I will! [He exits into bedroom.]

KURT—[Sulky—he doesn't quite like the turn affairs have taken.] We'll be back in ten minutes.

SLADE—[As they go out.] You can't tell, Richard. [SLADE and KURT exit. MARION draws a deep breath. She assumes at once with KINNICOTT the air of two equals, mature people talking freely to each other after they've gotten rid of the children.]

MARION—[They cross to sofa left.] Now we can talk! It's funny—I feel we've put the children to bed and can have a quiet talk after a lot of chatter.

KINNICOTT—Same here!

MARION—Please sit down. [They do.]

KINNICOTT—I feel sure you and I can come to an understanding.

MARION—I'm sure we can.

KINNICOTT—Now then about this little matter of the story—You won't mind if I speak very frankly to you. . . .?

MARION—Not at all.

KINNICOTT—You see, Miss Froude. . . .

MARION—Oh, call me Marion. Everybody does.

KINNICOTT—Thanks. Call me Orrin.

MARION—Alright, I'll try. Not a very usual name. Orrin. Fits you. Strong. Rugged strength.

KINNICOTT—Thank you.

MARION—You're welcome. What were you going to say when I interrupted you? You were going to say something. . . .

KINNICOTT—I was going to say—you're not at all what I expected to meet.

MARION—No? What did you think I'd be like? Tell me—I'd love to know.

KINNICOTT—Well, you're kind of homey—you know—folksey . . .

MARION—Folksey. [Smiles.] After all there's no reason I shouldn't be, is there? I'm just a small-town girl from Tennessee. I sometimes wonder at myself—how I ever got so far
away. . . .

KINNICOTT—[Positively.] Metabolism!

MARION—I beg your pardon. . . .

KINNICOTT—I always say—take most of the bad men and most of the loose women—and correct their metabolism and you'll correct them.

MARION—Really?

KINNICOTT—[Seriously.] Absolutely. Trouble with our penology experts—so-called—is that they're psychologists—so-called—when they should be physiologists.

MARION—That is very interesting indeed. Have you ever written anything about that?

KINNICOTT—Off and on.

MARION—Any definitive work I mean?

KINNICOTT—I'm considering doing that right now.

MARION—Oh, I do wish you would! It's extraordinary how little one knows about one's own body, isn't it? I get so impatient of myself sometimes—of my physical limitations. My mind is seething with ideas but I haven't the physical energy to go on working. I tire so quickly—and often for no apparent reason. Why is that, Mr. Kinnicott?

KINNICOTT—Defective—[She says at same time with him.]

MARION, KINNICOTT—Metabolism!

KINNICOTT—Tell me—

MARION—What?

KINNICOTT—Do you eat enough roughage?

MARION—I don't know, off-hand.

KINNICOTT—[Firmly.] Well, you should know!

MARION—As I say, Orrin—one is so ignorant of these fundamental things.

KINNICOTT—[Definitely aware now of MARION as a personal possibility.] I can see this, Marion—if you'd met me—instead of Leander—when you were a young girl—you'd have been a different woman.

MARION—I'm sure I would. Imagine—with one's metabolism disciplined early in life—how far one could go.

KINNICOTT—[Confidentially offering her hope.] It's not too late!

MARION—Isn't it?

KINNICOTT—Er. . . . [He drops his voice still lower.] What are you doing tomorrow evenin'?

MARION—I—I'm free.

KINNICOTT—[Same voice.] Will you have dinner with me?

MARION—I'd be delighted.

KINNICOTT—Fine! Then we can go over this little matter of the story and Leander quietly. Leander isn't strong on tact. . . .

MARION—You know, some men aren't.

KINNICOTT—You and I can make a friendly adjustment.

MARION—What fun! [They chuckle.]

KINNICOTT—What time shall we meet? Say seven-thirty?

MARION—Let's say eight . . . do you mind?

KINNICOTT—My apartment?

MARION—If you like.

KINNICOTT—Here's my card with the address. It's a roof apartment. I'm a widower.

MARION—Irresistible combination!

KINNICOTT—By the way—

MARION—What?

KINNICOTT—Don't mention our little date for tomorrow evenin' to Leander.

MARION—[Rising.] No, I agree with you. I don't think that would be wise.

KINNICOTT—[Nodding trustingly—rises.] Fine! At seven-thirty?

MARION—No—no. Eight.

KINNICOTT—Oh yes . . . eight. [A moment's pause. He visibly preens before her, buttoning his beautifully-fitting frock-coat across his heroic chest.]

MARION—[Approving.] Wonderful! Wonderful!

KINNICOTT—[Going toward bedroom. To her.] Do you mind if I . . . Leander . . .

MARION—Not at all.

KINNICOTT—I'll take the load off his mind. [He goes out. She can't believe it. The whole situation is so fantastic. She flings off her little red cap and shaking with laughter collapses on the couch. MINNIE comes in to clear up the tea-things.]

MARION—[As MINNIE enters.] It's too good to be true, Minnie. . . .

MINNIE—Vat is too good to be true?

MARION—I must write some of it down before I forget it . . . [The bell again. MARION gets up to make notes on her script.]—A widower's pent house—[With an irritated sigh MINNIE goes out to answer bell. MARION sits at desk jotting notes very fast. SLADE and KURT come in. KURT is morose. MARION gets up to greet them.] Well, children?

SLADE—That walk was a total loss.

MARION—[Laughing.] What did you expect?

SLADE—Well, a little encouragement—just a soupçon . . .

MARION—Dickie's very serious.

SLADE—How did you come out with dad?

MARION—Wonderful! I'm crazy about him!

SLADE—Bet he got you to renig on the story . . .

MARION—Well, he thinks so. However, we're going to discuss it tomorrow evenin'.

SLADE—Thought he'd date you up—could tell by the way he eyed you. . . .

MARION—He's going to teach me how to live in a state of virtuous metabolism.

SLADE—Oh! Don't you believe it! Dad's an awful old chaser!

MARION—[Rather shocked.] Slade!

SLADE—[Amused.] Are you shocked?

MARION—You make me feel a little old-fashioned. [KURT is intensely irritated by this conversation.]

KURT—Where are they?

MARION—They're in there sitting on Minnie's bed. Orrin is probably telling Bunny that everything'll be all right.

SLADE—[Sits left of MARION.] Marion. . . .

MARION—Yes. . . .

SLADE—What is there about Bunny you can't help liking? [Utterly disgusted, KURT goes to sofa down left and sits staring moodily into a gloomily-tinted future.]

MARION—He's a dear—there's something very touching about Bunny—sweet . . .

SLADE—Were you in love with him once?

MARION—Yes.

SLADE—Are you in love with him now?

MARION—No.

SLADE—[In a whisper.] Are you in love with—someone else?

MARION—[A moments pause.] Yes.

SLADE—I thought you were. He's mad about you.—I envy you, Marion.

MARION—Do you? Why?

SLADE—You're independent. You're—yourself. You can do anything you like.

MARION—Yes, I know. But it's possible one can pay too much for independence. I'm adrift. Sometimes—you know what seems to me the most heavenly thing—the only thing—for a woman? Marriage, children—the dear boundaries of routine . . .

SLADE—If you had married Bunny he would've given 'em to you. He's still in love with you, but he doesn't quite know it. Shall I tell him?

MARION—[Parrying.] What are you talking about?

SLADE—I wish we could change places, Marion. You can with me but I can't with you. [KINNICOTT and NOLAN come in from the bedroom. KINNICOTT is at his most oleaginous.]

KINNICOTT—[To KURT.] Well, young man! Over your little temper?

KURT—No, I'm not over it! What makes you think I'm over it?

KINNICOTT—Well, well, well! As far as I'm concerned there are no hard feelings. I'm going to call up your employer myself when I get home and tell him, that as far as you are concerned, to let by-gones be by-gones. Can't do more than that, can I?

KURT—To what do I owe this generosity?

KINNICOTT—To the fact that in Miss Froude you have a most gracious friend and intercepter. [He gives MARION a gallant, old-South bow.] Miss Froude—this has been a very great pleasure.

MARION—[Rises—with an answering bow.] Thank you! [SLADE also rises.]

KINNICOTT—[Giving her his hand.] Auf wiedersehen.

MARION—Auf wiedersehen. Ich kann es kaum erwarten!

KINNICOTT—[Pretending to understand.] Yes, oh, yes, yes, of course! [To SLADE.] Come, Slade. [He goes to hall-door.]

SLADE—All right, dad. [To NOLAN.] Coming—Bunny?

NOLAN— Well, yes—I'm coming.

SLADE— [To NOLAN.] You want to stay. Why don't you?

KINNICOTT—[Quickly marshaling his little following with a military precision.] I think Leander had better come with us—

SLADE—[To MARION.] Good-bye, Marion.

MARION—[To SLADE.] Good-bye, Slade. [They shake hands.] Come to see me.

SLADE—Thanks, I will.

KINNICOTT—[Smiles at MARION.] Miss Froude! [Bows to MARION who returns his bow.] Come, daughter. Come, Leander. [To KURT.] Good-bye, young man. No hard feelings. [KURT glares at him. KINNICOTT again bows to MARION.] Miss Froude! [MARION is startled into still a third bow. He calls without looking back.] Come, Slade! Leander!!

SLADE—Bunny! [As she exits.]

NOLAN—[Lingers an instant then crosses to MARION.] I'll be back.

MARION—When?

NOLAN—In a few minutes. All right?

MARION—I'll be in. [He goes out quickly. MARION is in wonderful spirits. She runs to KURT and throws her arms around him.] Oh, Dickie. That Orrin! That Orrin!

KURT—What did you say to him that put him in such good spirits?

MARION—Everything I said put him in good spirits. I can't wait for tomorrow evenin'. I can't wait for that dinner. It'll probably consist entirely of roughage—just imagine! He's the quaintest man I ever met in my life. He's too good to be true. [Sits right of KURT.]

KURT—Well, he may be quaint to you but to me he's a putrescent old hypocrite and I don't see how you can bear to have him come near you, say less go to dinner with him!

MARION—[Sobered by his intensity.] You're so merciless in your judgments, Dickie. You quite frighten me sometimes—you do really.

KURT—And so do you me.

MARION—I do! That's absurd!

KURT—You do. It's like thinking a person fastidious and exacting and finding her
suddenly . . .

MARION—Gross—indiscriminating?

KURT—[Bluntly.] Yes!

MARION—You know, Dickie, I adore you and I'm touched by you and I love you but I'd hate to live in a country where you were Dictator. It would be all right while you loved me but when you stopped. . . .

KURT—It wouldn't make any difference if I stopped—I shouldn't be that kind of a
Dictator . . .

MARION—[Glances at him. Almost sadly.] I see you've thought of it. . . .

KURT—[Inexorably.] What did you say to Kinnicott?

MARION—Your manner is so—inquisitorial. I haven't been able to get used to it.

KURT—[Angry and jealous.] I heard you tell Nolan to come back too . . . How do you think I feel?

MARION—Dickie!

KURT—When Nolan sat there and told me he had been your lover, I felt like socking him. Even when we're alone together, I can't forget that . . . yet you encourage him, and Kinnicott—My God, Marion, you seem to like these people!

MARION—I certainly like Slade.

KURT—Well, I don't. She's conceited and over-bearing Thinks she can have anything she likes because she's Orrin Kinnicott's daughter.

MARION—That's where you're wrong. She's a nice girl—and she's unhappy.

KURT—[Bitterly.] Maladjusted, I suppose!

MARION—Dickie, Dickie, Dickie! Studying you, I can see why so many movements against injustice become such absolute—tyrannies.

KURT—That beautiful detachment again. . . . [He is white with fury. He hates her at this moment.]

MARION—[With a little laugh.] You hate me, don't you . . .?

KURT—Yes! Temporizing with these . . .! Yes. . . .! I hate you. [She says nothing, sits there looking at him.] These people flout you, they insult you in the most flagrant way. God knows I'm not a gentleman, but it horrifies me to think of the insufferable arrogance of their attitude toward you . . . as if the final insult to their pride and their honor could only come from the discovery that this stuffed shirt Nolan had once been your lover! The blot on the immaculate Tennessee scutcheon! Why, it's the God-damndest insolence I ever heard of. And yet you flirt and curry favor and bandy with them. And you're amused—always amused!

MARION—Yes. I am amused.

KURT—I can't understand such . . .!

MARION—Of course you can't. That's the difference—one of the differences—between 25 and 35!

KURT—If the time ever comes when I'm amused by what I should hate, I hope somebody shoots me. What did you tell Kinnicott?

MARION—Nothing. Simply nothing. I saw no point in having a scene with him so I inquired into his favorite subject. He gave me health hints. He thinks tomorrow night he will cajole me—through the exercise of his great personal charm—into giving up my plan to publish.

KURT—Well, why didn't you tell him right out that you wouldn't.

MARION—Because I wanted to avoid a scene.

KURT—You can't always avoid scenes. That's the trouble with you—you expect to go through life as if it were a beautifully lit drawing-room with modulated voices making polite chatter. Life isn't a drawing-room . . .!

MARION—I have—once or twice—suspected it.

KURT—[Rises.] What the devil are you afraid of, anyway? I had a scene today in the office and I was prepared for one here—until you let me down—

MARION—[Lightly.] Prepared? I think you were eager. . . .

KURT—What if I was! It's in your behalf, isn't it?

MARION—Is it? But you forget, Dickie. You're a born martyr. I'm not. I think the most uncomfortable thing about martyrs is that they look down on people who aren't. [Thinks—looks at him.] As a matter of fact, Dickie, I don't really understand. Why do you insist so on this story? Why is it so important—now wouldn't it be better to give it up?

KURT—Give it up!

MARION—Yes.

KURT—You'd give it up!

MARION—Why not?

KURT—[Obeying a sudden manic impulse.] After all this—after all I've—! Oh, yes, of course! Then you could marry Nolan and live happily forever after. And be amused. Good-bye! [He rushes up center, grabs his hat from the stand as he passes it, and continues on out the door.]

MARION—[Rises and runs after him.] Dickie!

KURT—[Going out the door.] Good-bye!

MARION—Dickie! Dickie! [The door slams. MARION walks back into the room. A pause. She stands still for a moment; she shakes her head. . . . She is very distressed and saddened and a deep unhappiness is gnawing in her heart, an awareness of the vast, uncrossable deserts between the souls of human beings. She makes a little helpless gesture with her hands, murmuring to herself.] Poor Dickie! Poor boy! [In its Italian folder the manuscript of her book is lying on the piano before her. She picks it up—she gives the effect of weighing the script in her hand. Slowly, as if in a trance, she walks with the script to the Franklin stove downstage left and sits before it on a little stool. She opens the manuscript and then the isinglass door of the stove. The light from behind it glows on her face. She looks again down on her manuscript, at this morsel of her recorded past. She tears out a page or two and puts them into the fire. A moment and she has put the entire script into the stove and she sits there watching its cremation. The door-bell rings. As MINNIE comes in to answer it, she shuts the door of the stove quickly.]

MARION—It's probably Mr. Nolan. [MINNIE goes out. MARION makes a visible effort to shake herself out of her mood. NOLAN comes in followed by MINNIE who crosses stage and goes in the bedroom Left. NOLAN is excited and distrait.]

NOLAN—Hello, Marion. . . .

MARION—Hello, Bunny dear.

NOLAN—[Sparring for time.] Excuse me for rushing in on you like this . . . I . . .

MARION—I've been expecting you.

NOLAN—That's right! I told you I was coming back, didn't I? . . .

MARION—You did—yes.

NOLAN—I must have known—I must have felt it—what would happen. . . . Marion . . .

MARION—Bunny dear, you're all worked up. Won't you have a highball?

NOLAN—No, thanks. Marion. . . .

MARION—Yes, Bunny . . .

NOLAN—I've done it!

MARION—You've done what?

NOLAN—I've broken with Slade. I've broken with Kinnicott. I've broken with all of them.

MARION—You haven't!

NOLAN—Yes! I have!

MARION—Oh—oh Bunny!

NOLAN—[Sits.] When Orrin told me what you'd done—that you were going to give up the story. . . .

MARION—But I—

NOLAN—He said he was sure he could get you to do it. It all came over me—your generosity—your wonderful generosity.

MARION—[Beyond words.] Oh Bunny! [Sits. She is in a sort of laughing despair. He hardly notices her attitude. He rushes on.]

NOLAN—I realized in that moment that in all this time—since I'd been seeing you—I'd been hoping you wouldn't give up the story, that you would go through with it, that my career would go to smash. . . .

MARION—[Faintly.] Bunny. . . .

NOLAN—I saw then that all this—which I'd been telling myself I wanted—Slade, a career, Washington, public life—all of it—that I didn't want it, that I was sick at the prospect of it—that I wasn't up to it, that I was scared to death of it. I saw all that—and I told her—I told Slade. . . .

MARION—You did!

NOLAN—Yes.

MARION—What did she say?

NOLAN—She said she knew it. She's clever that girl. She's cleverer than I am. She's cleverer than you are. I'm afraid of her cleverness. I'm uncomfortable with it. Marion, I know I seem stupid and ridiculous to you—just a Babbitt—clumsy—but I love you, Marion. I always have—never anyone else. Let me go with you wherever you go—[Lest she think it a "proposition."] I mean—I want to marry you.

MARION—I'm terribly touched by this, Bunny darling, but I can't marry you.

NOLAN—Why not?

MARION—If I married you it would be for the wrong reasons. And it wouldn't be in character really—neither for me—nor for you. Besides that, I think you're wrong about Slade. She's very nice, you know. I like her very much.

NOLAN—I don't understand her. I never will.

MARION—If you did you'd like her. You better have another try. Really, Bunny, I wish you would.

NOLAN—Letting me down easy, aren't you?

MARION—It's Slade's manner that shocks you—her modern-gestures. If you really understood me—as you think you do—I'd really shock you very much, Bunny.

NOLAN—I'll risk it. Marion, my dearest Marion, won't you give me some hope? . . .

MARION—[Sees she must tell him.] Besides,—I'm in love.

NOLAN—[Stunned.] Really! With whom?

MARION—Dickie . . . You see, Bunny . . . [He can't get over this. There is a considerable pause.] You see, Bunny . . .

NOLAN—[Slowly.] Do you mean that you and he—you don't mean that . . .?

MARION—Yes, Bunny.

NOLAN—[Dazed.] Are you going to marry him?

MARION—No.

NOLAN—[He passes his hand over his forehead.] This is a shock to me, Marion.

MARION—[Gently.] I thought it only fair to tell you.

NOLAN—[In a sudden passion.] You—you. . . . [He feels like striking her, controls himself with difficulty.] Anybody else but him. . . .!

MARION—You see, Bunny.

NOLAN—[After a moment—rises.] Sorry! Funny, isn't it? Joke, isn't it?

MARION—I'm terribly fond of you, Bunny. [Takes his hand.] I always will be. That kind of tenderness outlasts many things.

NOLAN—[Blindly.] I'll go on, I suppose.

MARION—Of course you will! [NOLAN crosses to model-stand and gets his hat. KURT comes in. There is a silence. NOLAN forces himself to look at him. KURT does not meet his glance. KURT is white and shaken—not in the least truculent.] Good-bye, Bunny dear. Bunny!

NOLAN—Yes, Marion.

MARION—Will you do me a favor?

NOLAN—Yes.

MARION—Will you please tell Mr. Kinnicott for me—that as I've been called out of town suddenly—I can't dine with him tomorrow night. You will see him, won't you, and you'll tell him?

NOLAN—Yes. [NOLAN leaves. A silence again. . . . Suddenly KURT goes to her, embraces her with a kind of hopeless intensity.]

KURT—[In a whisper, like a child.] Please forgive me. . . .

MARION—Yes.

KURT—These moods come over me—I can't control myself—afterwards I hate myself—it's because I love you so much—I can't bear to. . . .

MARION—I know, dear—I know. . . .

KURT—I'm torn up all the time—torn to bits.

MARION—I know, dear . . .

KURT—When this is all blown over—could we—do you think . . .

MARION—What, dear?

KURT—If we could only go away together, the two of us—somewhere away from people, by ourselves?

MARION—Why not, Dickie? We can go now, if you want to. . . .

KURT—Now? But you're crazy. How can we possibly leave now—with the book. . . .

MARION—Dickie—I must tell you. . . .

KURT—You must tell me what?

MARION—You must be patient—you must hear me out for once—you must try to understand my point of view. [She leads him to sofa left and sits beside him.]

KURT—What do you mean?

MARION—You know, Dickie, I've been very troubled about you. I've been sad. I've been sad.

KURT—I was angry . . . I didn't mean . . . It was just that . . .

MARION—No, you don't understand—it wasn't your anger that troubled me. It was ourselves—the difference between us—not the years alone but the immutable difference in temperament. Your hates frighten me, Dickie. These people—poor Bunny, that ridiculous fellow Kinnicott—to you these rather ineffectual, blundering people symbolize the forces that have hurt you and you hate them. But I don't hate them. I can't hate them. Without feeling it, I can understand your hate but I can't bring myself to foster it. To you, this book has become a crusade. It couldn't be to me. Do you know, Dickie dear—and this has made me laugh so to myself—that there was nothing in the book about Bunny that would ever have been recognized by anybody. It was an idyllic chapter of first-love—that's all—and there was nothing in it that could remotely have been connected with the Bunny that is now. . . .

KURT—So much the better—! Think of the spectacle they'll make of themselves—destroyed by laughter. . . .

MARION—I don't believe in destructive campaigns, Dickie . . . outside of the shocking vulgarity of it all—I couldn't do it—for the distress it would cause. . . . .

KURT—You've decided not to publish then. . . .

MARION—I've destroyed the book, Dickie.

KURT—You've destroyed it!

MARION—Yes. I'm sorry.

KURT—You traitor!

MARION—It seemed the simple thing to do—the inevitable thing.

KURT—What about me? You might have consulted me—after what I've . . .

MARION—I'm terribly sorry—but I couldn't possibly have published that book.

KURT—[In a queer voice.] I see now why everything is this way. . . .

MARION—I couldn't . . .!

KURT—Why the injustice and the cruelty go on—year after year—century after century—without change—because—as they grow older—people become—tolerant! Things amuse them. I hate you and I hate your tolerance. I always did.

MARION—I know you do. You hate my essential quality—the thing that is me. That's what I was thinking just now and that's what made me sad.

KURT—Nothing to be said, is there? [Rises.] Good-bye.

MARION—[Rises.] All right! [KURT starts to go. She calls after him, pitifully.] Won't you kiss me good-bye?

KURT—All right. [MARION goes up after him. They kiss each other passionately.]

MARION—[Whispering to him.] I would try to change you. I know I would. And if I changed you I should destroy what makes me love you. Good-bye, my darling. Good-bye, my dearest. Go quickly. [KURT goes up stage and exits without a word. He is blinded by pain.] Dickie. . . .! [MARION is left alone. She is trembling a little. She feels cold. She goes to the stove and sits in front of it, her back to it, trying to get warm. She becomes aware that her eyes are full of tears. As MINNIE comes in, she brushes them away.]

MINNIE—Are you worried from anything, Marion?

MARION—No, Minnie. I'm alright.

MINNIE—I tink maybe dot telegram bring you bad news.

MARION—Telegram? What telegram?

MINNIE—Dot telegram I bring you.

MARION—Of course—I haven't even—where is it?

MINNIE—[Gets telegram from table rear of sofa left and hands it to MARION.] There it is!

MARION—Thank you, Minnie. [Opens telegram and reads it.] This is from heaven! Minnie, I want you to pack right away. We're leaving! [She springs up.]

MINNIE—Leaving? Ven?

MARION—Right away. Tonight! This is from Feydie! Listen! [Reads telegram aloud to MINNIE.] "Can get you commission to paint prize-winners Motion Picture Academy—wire answer at once. Feydie." [Hysterically grateful for the mercy of having something to do at once, of being busy, of not having time to think.] Something always turns up for me! Pack everything, Minnie. I want to get out right away. [She rushes up-stage right, picks up her hat and coat and then runs to the stairs left.]

MINNIE—Don't you tink you better vait till tomorrow?

MARION—No, Minnie. Once the temptation to a journey comes into my head I can't bear it till I'm on my way! This time, Minnie, we'll have a real trip. From Hollywood we'll go to Honolulu and from Honolulu to China. How would you like that, Minnie? [She starts up the stairs.]

MINNIE—[For her, enthusiastic.] Fine, Marion! [Calls after her as she runs up-stairs.] Dot crazy Kurt he goes vit us?

MARION—[As she disappears into her bedroom.] No, Minnie—no one—we travel alone!

[QUICK CURTAIN]

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