Index     1     2     3

ACT TWO

SCENE: The same.

That evening. After dinner.

The curtains are now drawn back from the glass rear wall, revealing a deep panorama of night and stars.

CLAY—[Lost in admiration of the Vermeer] My God, it's exquisite! What do you say, Baird?

JIM—[To nettle him] Very nice.

CLAY—Very nice! Hardly adequate.

ROBERT—All right, sir?

CLAY—[Pats him on the back] Fine, Robert, fine.

ROBERT—Thank you, sir. [He goes out.]

CLAY—Evidently, Baird, these things don't mean much to you or you wouldn't describe this as very nice. I think it's the finest Vermeer I've ever seen. [It is his turn to needle JIM] My dealer in Rome got it for me. From a Nazi general, I imagine, who was hard up.

JIM—Interesting source!

CLAY—That's not the point. The point is—I've got it! [After a moment, rather cajoling JIM] You know, Baird, you baffle me in a way.

JIM—Do I?

CLAY—Yes. You're impervious to my charm.

JIM—I am not impervious to it, Mr. Rainier.

CLAY—You are—Hurts my vanity.

JIM—[Equally charming, smiles back at him] It's not that I am impervious to it, Mr. Rainier, it's that I see through it!

CLAY—[Decides to pass it off] Very good! Well, let's have it then. What were your observations on your trip North? [As he catches sight of ZELDA, on the terrace] Hello, Zelda, come right in.

ZELDA—Don't you want to talk to Jim?

CLAY—I'm talking to him. Stay and listen. Pick up some esoteric facts on international relations. You don't mind, do you, Baird?

JIM—If you don't.

CLAY—Where's Ferne?

ZELDA—[As she sits on sofa] Sitting by the pool.

CLAY—Oh, is she? What were you saying, my boy? You were telling me—What were you telling me?

JIM—I wasn't telling you anything. I hadn't begun.

CLAY—I thought you had! Freshen up my drink, will you, Zelda?

ZELDA—[She complies—takes his glass to the bar, and brings it back to him] Do you think you should?

CLAY—Certainly. Did you notice how abstemious I was at dinner? I obey the doctor's prohibitions on what I eat, never on what I drink. Now, then, my boy, let's have it. Let's have the worst.

JIM—Well, the legality of your claim to these water-rights is unquestioned. The local politicos signed them over to you years ago when you first came here. But the farmers on the upper river don't understand these technicalities. All they know is you've choked off their irrigation-project. They're water-starved. They feel resentment. Now—the imponderables of the situation—

CLAY—[Cutting in] Ah! The imponderables! I knew somehow in my bones, I knew that word would come up. The imponderables! I love that word. A mystic word. A marvelous escape word for those who've never had to meet a payroll. How I wish, my dear Baird, how wonderfully easy life would be if, in all my enterprises, I could pay my men with imponderables. The workers, however, are more realistic than the idealists who worry about them. They want cash.

JIM—You asked me for the facts. These are the facts.

CLAY—[His aim is to make JIM ridiculous in ZELDA'S eyes; he includes her in his argument] Ah, but I want you to appreciate my problem, Mr. Baird—that is, if you can spare the time. I see that the agitators up North have made an impression on you. Now, we crass businessmen have our problems too. In the industrial world you can't stand still. My mine here needs more money. I've got to put in more or call it off. I had to make a decision. [As ZELDA turns, away] I'm afraid you find this awfully boring, Zelda.

ZELDA—Not at all. I'm very interested.

CLAY—If this agitation is going to be prolonged and tedious, I'll simply transfer my investment somewhere else—that's all. Our Embassy here, which our taxpayers support, sometimes gets bogged down in those delicious imponderables. Meantime, as a poor Babbitt administrator—I have to either expand my investment to meet competition or I have to quit, which would kill this village dead. To the imaginative idealist, Zelda, the troubles of the invisible are more acute than the livelihood of those right at hand.

JIM—[Doggedly] They are invisible only because you choose not to see them, Mr. Rainier. But I saw them. I talked to them.

CLAY—I'm sure you did. I know how they worked on your sympathies. At the same time I am up against a fact, not a theory. I felt it necessary, therefore, to hurry things up a little. I went to the State Department in Washington with my Senator. They told us to go ahead. You don't mind?

JIM—[Smiles] If you don't mind my counter-measures, Mr. Rainier.

CLAY—You're going to send in an adverse report, are you?

JIM—I am sending in a report.

CLAY—Based on imponderables?

JIM—Yes.

CLAY—What do you think will happen to it?

JIM—According to precedent there is a good chance it will be filed and forgotten.

CLAY—And that'll be that?

JIM—That'll be that. Unless—

CLAY—Unless—[This little ambush bothers him, but he covers up by handing his glass to ZELDA] A little dividend, darling. Just a small one.

ZELDA—I'll report you to Dr. Livermore.

CLAY—Ah, you and Baird are a couple of conspirators. You won't let me live, either of you. [Turning to JIM] What were you saying, Baird? Unless—

JIM—You see, Mr. Rainier, I have two obligations down here. One, as you correctly state, is to protect American interests. The other is to improve our relations with Mexico. If I am faithful to the first I file my report and shut up. If I am concerned about the second, I make a hell of a stink. We idealists have our dilemmas too, Mr. Rainier, and there is one imponderable of which we both are perfectly aware and which neither of us has mentioned. Quite properly, as it's rather ugly. Now, if you don't mind, I'll join Ferne by the pool. [He starts up toward the terrace.]

CLAY—[Follows him] Oh, Baird!

JIM—Yes?

CLAY—[Very ingratiating] Extraordinary thing, Baird, but I still have the feeling—I can't get rid of the feeling that behind these large abstractions of yours there is a personal antagonism to me. Isn't that so?

JIM—[Equally charming] As I am your guest, Mr. Rainier, your question is embarrassing.

CLAY—[Playfully] Don't be embarrassed, my boy. I can take it. Why? Why don't you like me?

JIM—You can't be liked by everybody, Mr. Rainier. That would take up too much of your time.

CLAY—But with you I've made an effort.

JIM—And you can't imagine it failing?

CLAY—[Smiles] No—not when I make an effort.

JIM—Mr. Rainier, you are dazzled by your own identity. Will you excuse me? [He goes out through terrace door. CLAY stands looking after him.]

CLAY—[To ZELDA, lightly] You know, Zelda, if a man of size had said that, I'd consider it impertinent. Look at him! Look how he walks. Why doesn't he straighten up?

ZELDA—What did he mean?

CLAY—About what?

ZELDA—He said something about something of which you were both aware, and which—

CLAY—Don't ask me to fathom the meanderings of that amiable, but fuzzy, mind. It's beyond me. [ZELDA sits in armchair. CLAY comes down and sits on arm of ZELDA'S chair] How are you, darling? I've hardly had a chance to talk to you. How are you?

ZELDA—Not so hot.

CLAY—Really, I'm distressed to hear that. What is it, Zelda? What's troubling you?

ZELDA—I feel—

CLAY—What?

ZELDA—Useless.

CLAY—Seems to be an epidemic in this house. What an odd word to apply to yourself—of all people!

ZELDA—Well, what use am I? To anybody?

CLAY—[Genuinely] Now, that hurts me. [Puts his arm around her shoulders] You are lovely. You are sensitive. You are civilized. You are everything I could possibly want my daughter to be. You are a rare person, Zelda.

ZELDA—I sometimes get a little tired of being rare all by myself. Oh, Dad! I get awfully—

CLAY—Tell me, darling.

ZELDA—It'll sound awfully childish, I'm afraid.

CLAY—What's wrong with that? Remember when you were a little child how you used to always come running to me and sit on my knee and pour out your troubles? I'm still here, Zelda. There's nothing you can't tell me.

ZELDA—[After a moment] I'm terribly afraid of one day—

CLAY—What of, dear?

ZELDA—Of finding myself—

CLAY—What, baby?

ZELDA—Unwanted!

CLAY—Unwanted—What a fantastic idea! Truly fantastic—[ZELDA gets up and turns away from him.]

ZELDA—That's how I feel though.

CLAY—Obviously, one day, the right man will come along and you'll get married. Though, as one who's been married three times, I must warn you that it may not rid you of that highly gratuitous feeling.

ZELDA—You know, Dad—whatever you may say about Jim—this I do know—he's got integrity—he's absolutely sincere.

CLAY—Sincerity, I am afraid, is not enough. In fact, it is very often—excessive.

ZELDA—When I first met Jim—six weeks ago—I thought I was in love with him—I feel I ought to tell you, Dad—[She stumbles on, embarrassed] It wasn't just—I was—I was everything to him—I was—

CLAY—[Finds this revelation very disagreeable. Clamps down on her] Please, Zelda! Don't confess to me.

ZELDA—But I want you—

CLAY—You're grown up, Zelda. Your personal life is your own. I don't want to hear about it. I'm not a censor.

ZELDA—[Kneeling beside him] But the point is, Dad, somehow—it cooled off. I'm always like that. [As she buries her head in his lap] It worries me terribly.

CLAY—Oh, my baby!

ZELDA—It does, though.

CLAY—[Stroking her head] Listen, Zelda, when the right man comes along, you won't come worrying me about it. You'll just wake up one morning —and—there he is!

ZELDA—[Looks at him, pleading for sustenance] Do you think so?

CLAY—[Strongly] I know it.

ZELDA—[Holding on to his arm] When I'm with you I feel so good.

CLAY—And why not? But always remember—you're a Rainier. For me, you can do no wrong. But one thing, Zelda, I implore you—

ZELDA—What, darling?

CLAY—Don't marry out of your class.

ZELDA—[Shyly] You did.

CLAY—[Smiles] Yes, I did. Is it possible to communicate the benefit of experience? Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I think that we learn from just about everything—except experience.

ZELDA—[Jumps up—kisses him] Oh, Daddy!

CLAY—But this I do know, Zelda. If you did marry this Baird fellow, he'd never hold you. Did you watch him just now, when he was talking to me? Sullen, taciturn. Why, that fellow hates himself. And I must say, he is quite justified. I want you to marry, Zelda, but not to a footnote. Men like myself are hobbled constantly by these little snivelings who are obscurely jealous of us, because we perform while they whittle down, we contribute while they hamper, we add to the sum total of things, while they—

ZELDA—[Involuntarily, carried along with him] Subtract.

CLAY—Exactly. [Kisses her] I blame myself for this and for your mood. I've been so burdened.

ZELDA—I know, darling.

CLAY—But, from now on, I'll devote myself to you. Tell you what—how would you like to fly around the world with me?

ZELDA—Really?

CLAY—Why not? We'll make a trip around the world to find you a husband.

ZELDA—[Amused] Matrimonial, global shopping-tour!

CLAY—Right! We may pick up a Maharajah—in India, a light-skinned one. [She begins to laugh] A Commissar in Russia.

ZELDA—Isn't that going a bit too far?

CLAY—Oh, I don't know. You don't think these Russian big-wigs take their ideology too seriously, do you?

ZELDA—[Laughing, a bit hysterically] Wouldn't it be funny if I wound up as Mrs. Kremlin?

CLAY—[Sweeping her along with him in his fantasy] A great artist in France—a youthful Picasso. An exquisite young Lord in England—not too dehydrated—

ZELDA—I feel gay suddenly.

CLAY—With the whole world to pick from—why shouldn't you be? [Goes to her, suddenly serious] And please promise me you won't worry about this Baird fellow.

ZELDA—I promise.

CLAY—He'll probably spend his life writing reports. Shall I improvise his epitaph?

ZELDA—[Cheerfully] Well, it seems a little premature!

CLAY—[Improvising, holding his highball glass aloft as if toasting with it]

Here lies Baird, Jim
The Embassy files are full of him
Now he's lived three score and ten
It was high time to file him then.

ZELDA—[Laughing] Oh, Dad!

CLAY—You see I didn't cut him off before his prime!

ZELDA—[Carried away] You're the most charming man in the world.

CLAY—[Mock-boastfulness] I know it!

ZELDA—It's awful! It must be that unconsciously I compare the men I meet to you and they just don't match up.

CLAY—[Continuing to tease her] How possibly could they! [They both laugh. FERNE comes in from the garden. She wears a gold dress. Her mood is a little exalté.]

FERNE—Clay! Zelda! Why do you stick indoors? It's heavenly by the pool. Come out and look at the stars in the pool.

ZELDA—[A little miffed at having her stimmung with her father broken into] What's wrong with the stars where they are?

FERNE—They're nearer in the pool. Jim's crying for you, Zelda.

ZELDA—You're lovely in that dress, Ferne. Isn't she, Dad? She's never worn it before. What restraint!

FERNE—[Looks at CLAY, smiles] I am trying to be devastating!

CLAY—You succeed. A slim, golden column. You could be a caryatid holding up the roof of some exquisite Greek temple. Couldn't she, Zelda?

ZELDA—Tiring work, I imagine. [As she starts out through terrace doors] Well, I'm going out to fish for stars in the pool. Come along. Bring your nets.

FERNE—We'll be out in a minute. [ZELDA goes. A moment's pause between CLAY and FERNE. She is radiant, emotionée, aware of the fullness and fragility of life. CLAY feels something new in her which pleasurably provokes him. She beckons him out] Come on, Clay. It's a magical night. Let's go out and sit. Say nothing—just fold up in the silence and sit.

CLAY—[Close to her] Like Indians?

FERNE—Like Indians.

CLAY—What have you been thinking about? Sitting out there?

FERNE—Oh, I was thinking—a multitude of thoughts. Little winds of thoughts, springing up and dying down. Don't ask me, Clay. Just come out and sit with me.

CLAY—[Taking her hands in his] Why shouldn't I ask you? Are they illicit thoughts?

FERNE—I feel such a fullness of life, Clay. Is it because I am thirty standing on a little ridge, looking backward and forward over the decades? Sitting out there I began to feel that if I thought another minute—if the silence deepened ever so little, I should come to that understanding we're always on the verge of and never quite reach. Don't make me talk, Clay. Please—If I talk, I'll sound silly. If I'm quiet, I'll sound O.K.

CLAY—You are mystic, I'm afraid, like your friend Jim.

FERNE—Is that mystic?

CLAY—Well, maybe it's just Irish!

FERNE—[Still urging him outside] Come on out where I can be Irish in the darkness and it won't bother you—

CLAY—[Points to the Vermeer] Ferne—look—Your birthday present!

FERNE—[Looks at it; overcome] Clay!

CLAY—[As she goes toward it] Look at it! Who is it? Three guesses. Who is it?

FERNE—[Breathless] It's simply—

CLAY—[Following her] Who painted it?

FERNE—[A little scared] Is it—is it—

CLAY—Don't be frightened. You can only guess wrong.

FERNE—[Taking the plunge, but quite unsure] Vermeer? Is it Vermeer?

CLAY—[Delighted, claps his hands] Good girl!

FERNE—Did I make it?

CLAY—Right on the nose.

FERNE—What luck! You know, Clay, I didn't come by this knowledge lightly. When I married you I thought—Good heavens, I've got to get up on pictures. I remembered your terrific collection in Oak Lawn. After you proposed to me I got hold of one of your catalogues and studied my head off. I think I've got the patter all right—the chiaros—curo of Rembrandt—the livid gauntness of El Greco—

CLAY—[Playing along with her] The stark realism of Goya—

FERNE—The springtime freshness of Botticelli. What is the phrase for Vermeer? It slipped my mind.

CLAY—[Goes close to picture, blows speck of dust from it, murmurs] As you recognize the signature, it doesn't matter about the patter. My God, it's exquisite!

FERNE—[Stands close behind him] Don't you ever get tired of beautiful pictures, Clay? [She puts her arms around him.]

CLAY—[Still looking at the Vermeer—drily] It will be the last of my appetites, I imagine, to go. At least I hope so. It's so serene. That's it.

FERNE—What's the good of serenity in a frame?

CLAY—What's the good, my dear?

FERNE—It sounds awfully Philistine I know—but I'd rather have it—the serenity I mean—inside.

CLAY—[Backs away a few steps—still looking at the picture] Ah! That's more difficult. That's even too difficult. That's why it's such a relief to get it—where it has been exquisitely composed for us.

FERNE—[Holds her hands out to him in an access of feeling] Clay—

CLAY—[Takes her hands in his—holds her at arm's length and looks at her as though she were a picture] I've never seen you lovelier than you are tonight. Very proud of you.

FERNE—[Moved] Thank you, Clay!

CLAY—[Recites]

What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?

Thank you. Hadn't remembered that in years. Thank you very much for reminding me. [He kisses her.]

FERNE—[With a little laugh] This is so sudden!

CLAY—[Holds her at arm's length, still looks at her like a collector at a valued item] Any apparition is sudden. Any flash of beauty is sudden.

FERNE—The shift of your moods is certainly sudden. I wish I knew where I stood with you!

CLAY—[Elusive] Isn't it more amusing not knowing—exactly?

FERNE—No. Not at all. I don't find it so. In fact, I hate it. No. Not at all.

CLAY—You have no gift for mystery.

FERNE—I don't believe mystery belongs in marriage.

CLAY—[Ironically] Where if not in marriage?

FERNE—I must tell you, Clay—I won't live in this twilight zone any longer. I won't.

CLAY—I sense in you tonight a singular mixture of allure and threat. I find it very stimulating.

FERNE—[Warm, passionate, pleading] The thing is, Clay—you're not happy either. I see a look in your eyes so restless—so—You're always rushing about. Clay—

CLAY—Yes, Ferne.

FERNE—Why don't we have a child?

CLAY—It would take you away from me.

FERNE—It might be the thing. It might tie us together.

CLAY—[Smiles at her] I am egocentric, you know. It would divide your interest. It might even—and this I should frankly hate—it might even make you self-sufficient.

FERNE—[Returns his smile] He might be a boy and there would be another Rainier.

CLAY—He might be a girl and then I'd simply have another daughter.

FERNE—Take a chance! After all, it's fifty-fifty. [She laughs—takes his hand in hers] Oh, Clay, why won't you let us be happy?

CLAY—[The discussion is becoming too fundamental for him] After things are settled down a bit, I'll take you around the world. Would you like that?

FERNE—[Understands his maneuver] Yes—

CLAY—Wouldn't you?

FERNE—Of course.

CLAY—You don't sound enthusiastic.

FERNE—It sounded like a promise you didn't mean to keep.

CLAY—How suspicious you are!

FERNE—I don't want to go on a world cruise to find contentment. If it's anywhere—for us—it's here—and now!

CLAY—Now I feel the allure flicker out and the threat showing naked. It's unbecoming.

FERNE—[Her voice rises] What if it is?

CLAY—Please, Ferne, don't be shrill! It's so easy for you to be exquisite, why won't you?

FERNE—[Hurt] I hate that word. Damn it! I hate it. It's always on your lips—exquisite. I hate it.

CLAY—Well, it's a little late in life for me, Ferne, to alter my vocabulary.

FERNE—[Suddenly hopeless] I came in here—in such a wonderful mood—I came in here . . .

CLAY—Why relinquish? I loved it.

FERNE—[Almost to herself] I don't know which way to turn—[Desperately trying to retrieve the earlier mood] Let's go outside, Clay. It's a magical night. Please!

CLAY—Now you're yourself again, you're exquisite again—excuse me—the forbidden word. You're enchanting again. Is that better?

FERNE—[Smiles] I'll accept that!

CLAY—There you are. Give and take. That's what saves marriage. Compromise.

FERNE—[Her gaiety a little forced—they start out toward terrace] Not compromise. Hope. I feel I've made a gain. A slight gain. I don't mean to lose this hard-won ground! [Just as they reach the terrace MIGUEL comes down stairs. His expression is tense and determined. He carries a suitcase. They look at him, astonished.]

CLAY—Miguel, what's the matter? Where are you going?

MIGUEL—I must leave!

CLAY—Leave! Leave for where?

MIGUEL—For that mos' horrible local hotel. [He strides off into hall to pick up a sweater he has left there. He comes back with it, kneels to open suitcase and puts the sweater in suitcase. FERNE and CLAY watch him with increasing astonishment.]

CLAY—This is extremely sudden, Miguel. Why? What's come over you? Aren't you comfortable here?

MIGUEL—[From the hall] I am restrict.

CLAY—What restricts you?

MIGUEL—[As he comes back, carrying sweater] My conscience. Oh! That summer in England. That summer in England. [He shakes his head woefully.]

CLAY—[Very interested] What has your summer in England got to do with your leaving my house, Miguel?

MIGUEL—Till I go to England I am happy man.

CLAY—Really?

MIGUEL—Absolute fact. [FERNE looks at him; she is suspicious.]

FERNE—Now, Miguel, haven't I got troubles enough without your—

MIGUEL—Troubles we cannot avoid in life, lovely Ferne, except we seize them by the horn—

CLAY—Is there really a relation between a summer you spent in England and your departure from my house this minute?

MIGUEL—Relation mos' intimate. [Mournfully, as he takes his pipe from mantelpiece and puts it in suitcase] It was in England I first hear mention the word cad.

CLAY—You will forgive me, Miguel, for being slow-witted. But I fail to see why this small addition to your vocabulary should cause you to leave my house like this.

MIGUEL—[Has finished packing—stands up] It is in England that I hear that if a man is guest of another man and makes love to his wife then he is instant cad.

FERNE—Miguel, what are you up to? [CLAY shushes her.]

MIGUEL—On the other hand, honored patron, if he leaves the house of the friend and goes to hotel or club and makes love from distance, that is all right—tradition. But not while he is houseguest. That makes him automatic cad.

FERNE—Miguel!

CLAY—[Lightly, amused] Have you been making love to Ferne, Miguel? Have you really? [Turns to FERNE] Well, why not? [Turns back to MIGUEL] From a man with an eye like yours, I take it as rather a compliment.

MIGUEL—Oh, no, no, no, Señor Rainier. You mistake. This is the point on the nail. I have not. But I mos' powerfully wish. Therefore I move. Before I go to England I would not have give this a thought. But there I acquire the quaint Anglo-Saxon notion. To be a cad I have the inhibition, so quite simple, I move to the hotel. From there I operate with clear conscience. [He beams at both of them. FERNE has moved forward—stares at him.]

FERNE—Miguel—!

MIGUEL—I am frank—open.

FERNE—What's come over you?

CLAY—[Quizzically] But you're married, Miguel!

MIGUEL—What of? So is your wife.

CLAY—Congratulations, Ferne!

FERNE—Is this a device, Miguel?

MIGUEL—[Blandly] How you mean—device?

FERNE—If it is, I'm afraid in spite of your sophistication, you're quite naive.

MIGUEL—[Innocent] I? Sophisticate? I am simple peasant. I announce formal—how you gringos say?—my sombrero is in the circle.

FERNE—Miguel, device or no device, I don't think this is very nice of you. [Almost weeping] You're not even drunk!

MIGUEL—Oh, my lovely Ferne, I am here now three weeks. We talk and we gaze in the eye. You mean to state you do not know I am in love with you, quite mad with heels and head? Señor Rainier, how I persuade her? How I make her believe?

CLAY—[Playing along with him] Give me time, Miguel, I'll think of a way.

FERNE—Clay!

MIGUEL—[Fervent gratitude] You are mos' gracious. I never forget this. Farewell. [Picks up suitcase. Makes formal announcement] I call tomorrow, by appointment, from hotel. [He starts to go out.]

CLAY—[Stops him] Miguel! Why go to a dreary hotel? Operate from here.

FERNE—Are you so sure of me, Clay?

CLAY—Dear Ferne, there are no certainties in life. If it is to be—it is to be.

FERNE—You are almost too much the fatalist!

MIGUEL—What it means fatalist? Women always say this to me: "Miguel,"—they say to me—"I am a fatalist." They say it as if is something mos' revealing. But what means it?

CLAY—It means what will be will be.

MIGUEL—But, that means exactly nothing.

CLAY—In that how does it differ from most conversation?

MIGUEL—[Ruminating aloud] No—second thought—it does mean something. [He sits beside FERNE, who is on the sofa, and pours out to her impassioned explanation. MIGUEL'S face is close to FERNE'S] When a woman looks you in the eye profound, and whispers: "I am fatalist," full stop, she does mean something. She means: "Miguel! If, before long, I sleep with you it's not I that's doing it, it's fate that's doing it."

FERNE—I never told you I was a fatalist, thank God! [CLAY stands behind them where they sit on sofa, leans forward, and gently separates them.]

CLAY—Excuse me! Miguel, from your own analysis, the caddishness comes from the secrecy. As you say, you've been frank-open. Did you ever notice, Ferne, that Miguel often says the same thing twice? I'd much rather have you here in the house, Miguel, where I can keep an eye on you. Besides, the constant hazard rather piques me.

MIGUEL—[Concedes his point, to FERNE] He has logic!

CLAY—My God, that English tradition is powerful. It almost tamed you, Miguel!

FERNE—[Rises, walks away] I don't know, Miguel, whether to laugh at you or be angry with you. I think it's both.

MIGUEL—[Rises, follows her] This love-affair with me is wonderful for you.

FERNE—[Tartly] It's not quite a fait accompli, Miguel!

MIGUEL—[To CLAY, as if asking permission] I take my time. No?

CLAY—[Magnanimously] Oh, certainly!

FERNE—[Almost wailing] And to think that all I wanted in life was to go out there and sit quietly by the pool. [Holding out her hands to CLAY] Clay, please!

CLAY—Isn't this much more amusing? [Goes to bar and pours himself a drink.]

FERNE—I'll never forgive you, Miguel.

MIGUEL—It is not your forgiveness I desire, beloved Ferne.

CLAY—[Comes back to them, highball glass in hand] Let's all go out to the pool and discuss this—man to man! With you between us, Ferne.

FERNE—[Miffed] No, the mood is broken!

CLAY—Then join us. It'll give you a chance to adjust yourself to this new romantic vista. Come to a decision perhaps. [FERNE shoots him a hurt look] By the way—did you know, Miguel, that I am a frustrated artist myself? Yes. Went to Paris when I was young, got myself a studio on the left bank. All the apparatus. All the atmosphere. Had everything but the talent. So I became a collector. [Turns to FERNE] And that decanter isn't a bad idea. Have Robert bring it out, will you, Ferne? [Puts his arm through MIGUEL'S, propelling him toward terrace] Come along, my Indian rival. We'll go out by the pool and look at the stars, which will tell us nothing, and spin sad stories of the deaths of kings. [As MIGUEL hangs back] I see you want to stay. Of course. Well, bring Ferne out with you. I seem unable to persuade her. [He goes out into the garden.]

MIGUEL—[Coming back a step. To FERNE] He is not easy man to disturb. But, if I fail to make him less sure of you, perhaps I succeed to make you more sure of yourself. You know, beloved, just now I say before your husband, "I love you," but as the words pass my lips I realize like revelation it is true. Oh, Ferne, why waste on a struggle which intuition tells me is without hope? Come with me to my house in Cuernavaca. Why no?—and we will live there happy forever after—at least part of the time. [As he sees JIM crossing the terrace, he goes out to join CLAY. FERNE is in a mixed mood. Bewildered, peculiarly frustrated. She felt she had CLAY in her hands, her happiness on the verge of recapture, but the moment slipped out of her hands. And she realizes that it is not MIGUEL'S odd declaration that did it—it was CLAY who did it, used it, cleverly and subtly, to slip out from under. She is, so to say, stumped. In this mood, JIM finds her as he comes in. He smiles rather wryly at her.]

JIM—Well, Ferne, how are you?

FERNE—Did you ever have a horrid dream of trying to climb a mountain with a shining, slippery surface—and you can't get a foothold? You keep slipping back all the time. Well, that's how I am. How is it with you?

JIM—I've given up trying to climb.

FERNE—No, Jim, you mustn't give up—you, at least. [ZELDA comes in from terrace. She is angry.]

ZELDA—[To JIM] That was extremely rude.

JIM—Was it?

ZELDA—Just as Dad came to the pool, you got up to go. Rather pointed.

JIM—I just got tired of sitting by that goddamned pool.

ZELDA—You're bad for me, Jim. Jim depresses me, Ferne.

FERNE—Do you, Jim? Why do you?

JIM—As she goes high for no discernible reason, she gets depressed for no discernible reason. Don't ask me to explain it.

FERNE—[Suddenly, with fervor—it is a reflection of her own "now or never" mood—about herself] Listen to me. I have a sudden clear conviction. You know what I think you ought to do, you two? You know what I think? I think you should both get into a car, drive like mad to the nearest Justice of the Peace and come back here married. [They are both a little startled.]

ZELDA—And live unhappily forever after!

FERNE—Come on—take a chance!

JIM—[Suddenly—making the leap] I'm in a barrel and the inside of the barrel is spiked with nails and the barrel is being carried in a rushing stream over the highest falls on earth. But I'll leap them. I'm willing. I'll take a chance. What do you say, Zelda? Now or never, Zelda. We're incompatible. We're from the opposite ends of the earth. I don't agree with you about anything. What do you say?

FERNE—[Urging them on] What do you say, Zelda?

ZELDA—You're incurably romantic, Ferne!

FERNE—I feel this, Zelda, I feel it deep down inside me. You love Jim. You'll never find anyone like him. Left to yourself, you'd love Jim.

ZELDA—[Furious at this because she feels it is true] What did you say? What do you mean by that, Ferne? "Left to myself." What do you mean by that?

FERNE—Don't ask me what I mean. I just feel it. Left to yourself! Don't cross-examine me. But do it, Zelda. If you don't now, you never will.

ZELDA—[Very bitchy suddenly] How can you advise other people? Have you been so successful yourself? What did you mean by: "Left to myself"? What did you mean by that?

JIM—[Very cold and steely] I know what she meant. And if you had the capacity for telling yourself the truth, which you haven't got, you'd know what she meant, too. Ferne, I'm out of the barrel. Thank God, I'm safe.

ZELDA—Perhaps you want to get me out of the way, Ferne. Well, I understand that. But can't you think of some less vulgar way of doing it? [She runs upstairs. A considerable pause. JIM emits a long whistle.]

JIM—Whew! What I escaped! I'd have done it then. I had an insane impulse to do it. What I escaped!

FERNE—[Looking after ZELDA—very moved by her] There's something about that girl that breaks my heart.

JIM—She'll manage!

FERNE—What will become of her?

JIM—You know damn well what'll become of her. Increasingly promiscuous. Increasingly jaded. Vulgar solution! The odd thing about these people is, whatever they do is never vulgar. It's fast. It's experimental. It's abandoned. It's bohemian, it's complicated, it's psychopathic—but it's never vulgar—no sir.

FERNE—The odd thing is—if you'd done it—

JIM—Yes—The odd thing is, if I'd done it—[with a sudden ironic turn] it would probably have been a disaster! Somebody said you're never sorry a few years after about the girls you didn't marry. Who said it? Maybe it was I—just now!

FERNE—[After a moment] Jim?

JIM—Yes, Ferne?

FERNE—What is at the bottom of your feeling against Clay? I'm in a kind of crisis and it's terribly important for me to know.

JIM—I beg off.

FERNE—No. No. Don't beg off. Tell me.

JIM—Listen, Ferne. I'm a bull in a china shop around here. With Zelda, with her father, with the State Department. I've encouraged the farmers up North to take a delegation to Mexico City to state their case against your husband. Probably I've exceeded my prerogatives. I'm going down to Mexico City to hand in my resignation.

FERNE—Why?

JIM—Because what they want are agreeable young men in striped trousers who butter up Americans like the Rainiers—and Mexicans like the Rainiers. Underpaid snobs making up to the rich snobs in every capital to which they're assigned. I'm no good at it and I'm quitting.

FERNE—What made you go in the first place?

JIM—Starry-eyed. Thought I could do something.

FERNE—Well, why don't you?

JIM—Too much for me.

FERNE—That's weak. That's defeatist.

JIM—Right! It's weak and it's defeatist!

FERNE—And yet you criticize Clay. He's strong—whatever you may say about him.

JIM—Yes, he's strong all right.

FERNE—Jim—you're a big disappointment to me.

JIM—My disappointment with myself is sensational.

FERNE—Always kidding yourself. Easy way to avoid responsibility.

JIM—You see through me, Ferne. I'm helpless before that merciless intuition.

FERNE—If you think Clay is doing an injustice here, why don't you fight him? Don't worry. You won't topple him easily. Fight him. Otherwise, how are you any better than the snobs in striped trousers? Go after what you want. Fight Clay. Fight the State Department. Do something.

JIM—That would be a departure the State Department wouldn't understand!

FERNE—What of it? Make them. Get fired but make a fuss. Don't just ooze out. Or have you a reservation in back of your mind to cling to your little career? Is that it?

JIM—Look out or I'll forget to be gallant.

FERNE—I don't want you to be gallant. I want you to stop grousing about Clay when he's a bigger man than you are, a stronger man than you are, a man in fact.

JIM—The skin is the skin of Esau but the voice is the voice of Jacob.

FERNE—Not at all. Clay has his faults. I'm married to him and I know them better than anybody. I suffer from them. But at least he's got stature. You're caught up in your little complications. If you're not careful—you'll end up with nothing but complications.

JIM—To what do I owe this fierce analysis?

FERNE—Because I know you long enough and I'm fond enough of you to tell you the truth.

JIM—[Pretty hot] Have you ever tried the rather risky experiment of telling yourself the truth?

FERNE—[Beating up, a broken defense] I don't think I—

JIM—I bet you haven't. And I don't blame you either.

FERNE—I know what you think. You think I married Clay to slither out of my personal tragedy. That's not true. I loved him. I still love him. He's somebody, with all you may think about him, a woman can love. [She breaks down suddenly, turns away from him; finds herself crying.]

JIM—[Goes to her, feels an impulse to take her in his arms, to comfort her—controls it] O.K. Love-match. Well, good luck with it. May you be happy forever after. [He starts to go out.]

FERNE—[Without turning—calls to him] Jim! Please. Jim!

JIM—[Stops] Well, what?

FERNE—Don't go like this, Jim. Please.

JIM—What do you want me for?

FERNE—Don't leave me alone, Jim.

JIM—Surrounded by love, immersed in luxury—joined to a tower of strength—what can you possibly want with a weakling like me?

FERNE—I said harsh things to you—but it wasn't out of—you know how very much—

JIM—Maybe there's plenty of truth in what you say.

FERNE—[Goes to him] Oh, Jim! Oh, Jim! Oh, Jim! [She puts her head on his shoulder, takes the handkerchief from JIM'S lapel pocket—and dabs her eyes with it] Besides—I have a message for you from Clay.

JIM—Really?

FERNE—He offers you a job in one of his companies.

JIM—When did this happen?

FERNE—Before dinner. He says he believes in your ability.

JIM—[Overcome by the perfection of it] Another bribe! Well—shall I take it? My God, Ferne, it's delicious.

FERNE—[Shrewdly] Your position must be stronger than you think! [Puts handkerchief back in his pocket.]

JIM—The pattern is so beautiful—it's classical! You're right, Ferne. My position must be much stronger than I think!

FERNE—[Hope shooting through her] Oh, Jim, darling, if you were strong, if you could defeat him once!

JIM—[A sudden hope shoots through him also—that she will really leave CLAY. He realizes suddenly that he wants that very much] You want him defeated, Ferne? By me?

FERNE—Desperately. I can't tell you how wonderful that would be for me.

JIM—For you? Why for you?

FERNE—One defeat—and it might humanize him.

JIM—[Sees the whole thing—his hope dashed] It's for him then—that you want me to do this? For him?

FERNE—Well, of course. For him and for me. I'm his wife, Jim.

JIM—My God, he's lucky! [ZELDA comes back. She goes to FERNE.]

ZELDA—Ferne, I came back to apologize to you. I was unbearable. Forgive me.

FERNE—Zelda, please don't apologize to me. There's nothing to apologize for.

ZELDA—[Very tremulous] No matter what I say to you, Ferne—you know, don't you, that I think you're wonderful.

FERNE—I love you, Zelda. [CLAY and MIGUEL come in from terrace. CLAY carries a highball glass in his hand. He is talking very affably to MIGUEL.]

CLAY—You know, it's extraordinary to me, Miguel, that a man of your intelligence—but you're by way of being a communist, aren't you?

MIGUEL—I am communist only theoretical. Actually, I hate all governments. What I am real—philosophical, is anarchist. Meantime I am communist theoretical, just as, theoretical, you, my dear Señor Rainier, are Christian.

FERNE—[Cutting in sharply] Clay, Jim has been making certain accusations against you. He wants to discuss them with you.

CLAY—I can tell you in advance every word he'll say. The whole routine. Shall I? The rhetoric of the soap box! They all sound alike. Shall I?

FERNE—I want Jim to say it.

JIM—As nothing I can say will possibly affect your husband, I see no point.

FERNE—What Jim says in effect is that in using this water power for your mine here, you are denying life to thousands and thousands of starving farmers up the river.

CLAY—My God, this is disgusting. This sentimentality is disgusting. It makes me vomit.

JIM—Does it?

CLAY—Here we are—men like me all over America—doing the best job of production that ever has been done in history—we've won the war for them.

JIM—Didn't the G.I.'s give you some assistance—

CLAY—Heckled by fellows like this—

FERNE—Is there any truth in it?

CLAY—Truth in it! Maybe there's truth in it. There's truth in every canard if you look for it. But I'm not a social philosopher. I'm a practical—

FERNE—Is it true that they're starving up there, Clay?

CLAY—What if they are? Can I help that? There are people starving in China, in India, all over the world. What can I do about it? I'll send them a box-car of corn. I'll send them two box-cars of corn. But don't expect me to remake the world. Don't expect me to feed the world. Tell me what to send them, Baird, and I'll send it.

JIM—They don't want your charity.

CLAY—No—what do they want?

JIM—They want to be on their own. They want their soil. They want their lives. And they want it on their terms. Not on your terms. They want autonomy and dignity—not handouts.

CLAY—Is it what they want or what you want? These people just want to lie in the sun and fellows like you come along and give them ideas. They're unfit!

JIM—[Decides to go into it] How did you get your rights to this power, Mr. Rainier?

CLAY—How?

JIM—You tell them how.

CLAY—You know damn well how. In the accepted manner. Legally. From the local government.

JIM—And the local government was corrupt.

CLAY—Then why, my dear Mr. Baird, don't you reform the local government? Why do you devote yourself to reforming me? The truth is that the Mexican Government urged me to come down here. Well, I came. I give employment here to 900 people. If I quit, this village will shrivel up.

JIM—You got these rights by bribery. Conventional method enough—a little outmoded—but traditional. But up North they know it and they're sore. You give employment here to 900 people. That's all right as far as it goes. But up the river there are thousands of farmers starving and the river belongs to them, after all. That is the ugly imponderable of the situation that vitiates all your arguments. To hear you tell it you're an altruist!

CLAY—[Suavely] Mr. Baird, you're the altruist.

JIM—Not at all. I'm worried about the situation here for selfish reasons. For hard, practical reasons. I'm worried because for these people down here you have become a symbol of the Colossus of the North, the gringo who's depriving them of the water of life. They hate you and in hating you, they hate all Americans.

CLAY—I'll survive it! [He takes a cigar from humidor on mantel.]

JIM—You may personally, but we won't. [He turns to the others —embracing them in his plea] Unfortunately, at just this minute, to scatter hate is dangerous. We live in a time when one warped individual with a grievance, provided he has the knowledge and provided he has the power, can destroy the world. Strong as we are, he can even destroy us.

CLAY—[Lights his cigar] Then it's up to us to do the destroying first, Mr. Baird.

JIM—[Quietly] Here, in miniature, is the whole terrible swamp of our lives. The curse we can't seem to shake off. In other words, what you want is not to create good will. Not to be human. But to get in first at the kill. You—you discourage me, Mr. Rainier.

CLAY—So do you me, Mr. Baird. You live in Utopia. I live in the actual world.

JIM—But the actual world isn't worth living in. In fact, in the late unpleasantness, millions were blown out of it. However, I don't expect to convince you. Life is amusing for you and the hell with the rest. [As he starts out] I told you, Ferne, this was useless. [There is a silence after JIM goes out. CLAY breaks it.]

CLAY—More than ever, Ferne, I want this boy in my Company. To teach him how impractical he is. Did you speak to him?

FERNE—Yes.

CLAY—What did he say? [FERNE does not answer] What did he say? Don't hesitate. Come, out with it! You don't think anything that silly boy said would affect me, do you? What did he say?

FERNE—He said: Another bribe!

CLAY—Did he?

FERNE—[Quietly] That's what he said.

CLAY—[His voice rises] And what do you bet me he takes it? What do you bet? [He is aware that his voice has risen. He mustn't sound angry. He becomes suave again] I don't think you presented it to him properly, Ferne. I'll catch up with him. I'll offer him some extra—imponderables. [He goes out after JIM.]

MIGUEL—My pesos are on the Jim. [He goes upstairs. FERNE sits on sofa. Neither FERNE nor ZELDA speaks for a moment.]

ZELDA—[Finally] Ferne. Ferne, darling—didn't you feel just now when Jim was talking— Didn't you feel that Jim was right, that Jim was true, that Jim was strong? Jim's the future. [FERNE looks at her with compassion but doesn't answer. ZELDA turns half away] You're too loyal to Dad to say it. But I felt it. I've lost Jim. I've let him go.

FERNE—Listen, Zelda—if you feel that way—

ZELDA—[Goes to FERNE and kneels beside her] I've let him go.

FERNE—[Cradling ZELDA'S head] Jim's out there—why don't you go out and tell him?

ZELDA—The same thing would happen. I'd only lose him again.

FERNE—But why, just now, when everything was possible for you, why didn't you go with him?

ZELDA—I don't know—

FERNE—But you must know. You're not a child. You must know.

ZELDA—Dad made him seem ridiculous. Somehow he manages to do that with every man I get interested in.

FERNE—Listen, Zelda. I can't leave your father. I'm married to him. But you—why can't you—

ZELDA—[Secretly] I hate Father sometimes. I hate him now. Isn't it awful to say that? I don't know what it is. I'm devoted to him and he is to me. But somehow—

FERNE—What, Zelda?

ZELDA—I feel I've got to get away from him—I feel I've just got to!

FERNE—But you can—why can't you? You can! [CLAY comes back. ZELDA starts up.]

CLAY—[As he pours a drink] That silly boy walked out on me—clad in a huff. He looked so damn stupid. But my bet stands. It still stands.

ZELDA—[Cuts in on him. Her hatred of him flares out nakedly] I'm afraid you'll lose it, Father. Anyway, I sincerely hope you do.

CLAY—[Shocked] Zelda!

ZELDA—Yes. I passionately hope you do! I hope more than that. I hope—I hope—[Her anger chokes her. She can't go on. She is on the verge of sobbing. She runs upstairs. CLAY looks after ZELDA, astonished. He is pained, but he quickly decides that it is FERNE who has turned ZELDA against him. He turns to FERNE accusingly.]

CLAY—[Steely] What have you been saying to Zelda?

FERNE—I told her to marry Jim.

CLAY—Did you?

FERNE—I begged her to marry Jim.

CLAY—Well, I wish you'd stop.

FERNE—They quarrel, but underneath it, I believe they love each other. They should get married.

CLAY—What is this mania in people that makes them want to join the incompatible!

FERNE—Zelda should get married—

CLAY—Not to Mr. Baird!

FERNE—Why not?

CLAY—Because I won't have it.

FERNE—You've hypnotized Zelda. She's not herself. She's not anybody. You've done it to her. You won't do it to me.

CLAY—Is it for yourself you are speaking or for Zelda?

FERNE—For both of us.

CLAY—If Zelda's broken with this mealy-mouthed sentimentalist, it's for reasons of her own.

FERNE—It's not for reasons of her own. It's for reasons of your own. What are they? What's wrong with Jim?

CLAY—He's common!

FERNE—Jim and I come from exactly the same social layer! [There is a pause. CLAY realizes he has made a misstep. To get away from it he goes to the piano and starts playing, improvising brilliant chords and runs.]

CLAY—Anyway, you won't succeed. [FERNE looks at him. She decides she must find out, once and for all, what the truth is behind the impasse between her and CLAY. She follows him to the piano—stands behind him while he plays.]

FERNE—Tell me something, Clay. Will you tell me something?

CLAY—[Still playing] Why not?

FERNE—Will you answer honestly?

CLAY—I don't mind telling you—I'm a bit tight. But ask away. I love this early stage of being drunk. I feel simultaneously the capacity to be extremely precise—[Executing an arpeggio]—and extremely reckless. [Another arpeggio] Ask away. [A final arpeggio.]

FERNE—[Sits on piano bench beside him—pulls his hands away from piano] Clay! Why do you wish to destroy instead of to love?

CLAY—My dear Ferne!

FERNE—Why?

CLAY—Surely, Ferne—you are intelligent—surely you don't believe in this universal love-myth hypocritically promulgated by the vested religions? [Strikes a few more chords] There are so many emotions more powerful.

FERNE—For example?

CLAY—I name you two. [Plays two grandiose chords—gets up—faces her] Acquisitiveness and revenge.

FERNE—Revenge against what? Revenge against whom?

CLAY—[Smiles] I can think of so many objectives. [Goes to bar. Pours himself another drink.]

FERNE—Now you are being cautious rather than reckless.

CLAY—Not as tight as I thought. Stay with me. I'll improve. Of all experience that of power is perhaps the most continuously satisfying. I've sampled all the emotions—well, I won't boast—nearly all—and I always come back to that. Now that we Americans are the most powerful people in the world—the taste will catch on. Then look out for us! [He smiles at the prospect.]

FERNE—Haven't you security enough? Haven't you power enough?

CLAY—There is no such thing as enough power. There is no such thing as security. Even when you are at the top you feel beneath you the bulb of defeat pressing up to destroy you. This has to be pressed back into the earth, pressed down deep where it can't get at you.

FERNE—[MIGUEL'S phrase coming back to her, she quotes it automatically] Some men are so possessive they can't give up even what they don't want. [FERNE has begun to feel something like terror; she feels increasingly that what she will find behind the impasse will destroy her.]

CLAY—The real need of most people is to be possessed.

FERNE—Yes, when they are fulfilled. But you take from everyone, from me, from Zelda, these Indians, these lands, these people. You only take from them. You give them nothing. You even want to possess Jim. Why do you want him?

CLAY—I want to teach Jim the facts of life. These idealists forget that the world is after all composed of human beings, and they forget what human beings are.

FERNE—Are they so hopeless, these pitiful human beings?

CLAY—[With a charming smile] I can only judge by myself. I look into my heart. I shudder. I turn away. I know myself, Ferne. But these fellows—they don't know themselves nor anybody else either. I'll tell you something the politicians haven't the courage to tell you. The mass is an animal that can be led in only two ways—a feed bag in front, a stick from behind. Power can't be distributed. Who do you think has it in Russia? The superior few. They'll always have it. I don't care what the system is. I have it. I mean to keep it.

FERNE—I have a different theory about you, Clay—less flattering. A kind of perverse game that you derive amusement from—Heaven help me because I've defended you to other people. But in my heart I've always known—

CLAY—What's your theory? Any theory interests me especially a theory about myself.

FERNE—It's a kind of gambling, a kind of diabolical psychological gambling—To see how far you can go with people. How far you can dominate them, how far you can confuse them, how subtly you can maltreat them, frustrate their real desires—and still hold them.

CLAY—That's very shrewd of you, Ferne.

FERNE—But, what you haven't learned is that you can hold people best by making them love you.

CLAY—But it's deeper even than that. What you say about me has something in it. But it goes deeper even than that.

FERNE—Does it?

CLAY—Yes. Has it ever occurred to you, my dear, that perhaps all our theories are cockeyed? The historians write their books on the principle that there is an unending impulse to be good, a kind of perpetual motion of virtue. They don't reckon with the impulse of evil. They underestimate the perpetual motion of evil. People shocked because now that the war is over everybody's at each other's throat again. Where do they expect them to be? That's human nature. They'll always be at each other's throat. I'll tell you why they're shocked. Because they've been brought up on pap. On idealistic lies. On love-myths such as you appear to cherish. On sentimental gush.

FERNE—[Passionately denying] I don't believe that. No one can believe in evil as a way of life.

CLAY—Why not?

FERNE—Because it's unnatural. What's really in back of it all? [Suddenly clutching at a possible explanation] Is it fear? Fear of losing your power? Fear of losing your possessions? Fear of losing me because I am one item in the inventory of your possessions? Is that it? I believe it is. If you lose one thing you're afraid you'll lose another, and the whole structure will come tumbling down. Is that it?

CLAY—Your logic is irrefutable.

FERNE—[Still desperately probing] Clay?

CLAY—More questions?

FERNE—Just one more—

CLAY—I have a distinct feeling, my dear, that what, in my alcoholic candor, you extract from me now, you will hold against me tomorrow.

FERNE—Why did you marry me?

CLAY—[Lightly] You are taking advantage of my condition!

FERNE—Why?

CLAY—Refuse to answer on advice of counsel.

FERNE—Why did you marry me? You're not faithful to me. Not even for a minute.

CLAY—Do I censor you, my dear?

FERNE—[Intense] I hate it! What you really are—the complete answer to what drives you—I can't grasp it—but I feel that if I did I should hate it. And I'm sick of struggling to find out! I wish—I wish I'd never seen you! [She has moved away, and sits on hassock, her back to him. He is standing at the piano looking at her.]

CLAY—You're quite primitive. That's your charm. It might be amusing—[He comes down, stands directly behind her] It might be amusing if you were unfaithful to me for a change. [He leans over her shoulder—his face close to hers] Has it ever occurred to you? [Horrified, she averts her face] Does that shock you? Why? I thought we were going to be frank with each other. Or was the frankness to be only on my side? Hasn't it ever occurred to you? I'm certain it's occurred to you. Be unnatural if it—[Suddenly he feels desire for her. He puts his arms around her. She wrenches herself free of him.]

FERNE—You're drunk!

CLAY—[Embraces her fiercely] What's that got to do with it? I love you, Ferne. Ferne—[Reaches for her mouth.]

FERNE—[Revolted, tears away from him] No! [He stands looking at her. He hates her for having rejected him.]

CLAY—[Quietly] For a girl whose father died in jail you're awful proud! [A moment's pause. He turns to go upstairs] I'm tired—guess I'll go up to bed.

FERNE—[Finding her voice at last] I'm through—I'm through.

CLAY—[Stops on the stairs. Looks back at her] Always remember this, Ferne—I won't let you go. Not ever.

FERNE—[Her voice louder] I'm through!

CLAY—[Casually] Don't underestimate my tenacity.

Curtain

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