SNBehrman.com: End of Summer

ACT ONE

SCENE: The verandah-living room of the Frothingham estate. Bay Cottage in Northern Maine. It is a charmingly furnished room with beautiful old distinguished pieces. A chintz couch and chairs give the room an air of informality. Beyond the door back you see a spacious, more formal room. Through the series of glass windows over the curving window seat on the right wall you see the early budding lilac and sumach. Woodbine and Virginia creeper are sprawling over the fence of native stone. Silver birch and maple are beginning to put out their leaves. The tops of red pine and cedar are visible over the rocks which fall away to the sea.

Time: The present. A lovely afternoon in May.

At Rise: MRS. WYLER, a very old lady and WILL DEXTER, an attractive, serious boy, are engaged in conversation. MRS. WYLER is knitting.

WILL—When you were a young girl in Cleveland, did you see much of Mr. Rockefeller?

MRS. WYLER—Not much. Of course my husband saw him every day at the office. But he never came to our house. We were young and worldly. He was strict and religious.

WILL—Did you suspect, in those days, how rich you were going to be?

MRS. WYLER—Mercy no! We debated a long time before we moved up to Cleveland from Oil City. My mother thought Oil City was no place to bring up a young girl. She finally persuaded my father to let us move up to Cleveland. But there was a lot of talk about the expense.

WILL—Was Oil City lively?

MRS. WYLER—[Demurely.] It was pretty rough! I remember the celebration when they ran the first pipe-line through to Pittsburgh. That was a celebration!

WILL—The oil just poured, didn't it? Gushed out of the ground in great jets, and the people swarmed from everywhere to scoop it up.

MRS. WYLER—I remember we had a gusher in our backyard. We put a fence around it to keep the cows from lapping up the oil.

WILL—Were you excited?

MRS. WYLER—Not by the oil.

WILL—I should think you would have been!

MRS. WYLER—[Dryly.] We weren't. Oil was smelly. We wanted to get away from it. We discovered bath-salts.

WILL—You didn't know it was the true fountain of your—dynasty?

MRS. WYLER—We left it to the men—as I look back over my life the principal excitement came from houses—buying and building houses. The shack in Oil City to the mansion on Fifth Avenue. We had houses everywhere—houses in London, houses in Paris, Newport and this—and yet, it seemed to me, we were always checking in and out of hotels.

WILL—It seems strange to think—

MRS. WYLER—What?

WILL—This golden stream—that you stumbled on so accidentally—it's flowing still—quenchless—and you on it—all you dynastic families—floating along in it—in luxurious barges!

MRS. WYLER—When I read these books about the early days of oil—these debunking books, you call them—they make me smile.

WILL—Do they? Why? I'd like to know that.

MRS. WYLER—They're so far from the truth.

WILL—Are they?

MRS. WYLER—Of course they are!

WILL—Why?

MRS. WYLER—Because they're written from a foreign point of view—not our point of view. We did as well as anybody could have done according to our lights.

WILL—Yes, but what sort of lights were they?

MRS. WYLER—[Tolerantly.] There you are!

WILL—How lucky you were!

MRS. WYLER—[Teasing him.] Our young men didn't moon about. They made opportunities for themselves!

WILL—Or did the opportunities make them? All you had to do was pack your week-end bag and pioneer.

MRS. WYLER—Is the world quite exhausted then?

WILL—Possibly not, but our pioneering might take a form you would find—unpalatable.

MRS. WYLER—Yes, yes. [Benevolently.] I suppose you're one of those young radicals our colleges are said to be full of nowadays. Tell me, what do you young radicals stand for?

WILL—I haven't decided exactly what I'm for, but I'm pretty certain what I'm against.

MRS. WYLER—[Pumping him.] Most young people are bored by the past. You're full of curiosity. Why is that?

WILL—[Not committing himself.] I'm interested.

MRS. WYLER—At my age to be permitted to talk of one's youth is an indulgence. Ask me anything you like. At my age also one has no reason for restraint. I have had the bad judgment to survive most of my contemporaries.

WILL—I love talking to you, Mrs. Wyler. I think you're very wise.

MRS. WYLER—[With a sigh.] Go on thinking so—I'll try not to disillusion you! [A moment's pause.] Are you staying on here at Bay Cottage?

WILL—Oh, no, I have to go back to Amherst to get my degree.

MRS. WYLER—And after that?

WILL—[Humorously.] The dole! [The old lady laughs.]

MRS. WYLER—My daughter tells me she's invited your father here.

WILL—Yes.

MRS. WYLER—I shall be so glad to meet him. He's an inventor, isn't he?

WILL—He's a physicist. Specializes in—

MRS. WYLER—Don't tell me—in spite of my great wisdom I can't keep up with science. Whenever anybody makes a scientific explanation to me I find there are two things I don't know instead of just one.

WILL—[Cheerfully.] Anyway, Dad's been fired.

MRS. WYLER—I am very sorry to hear that.

WILL—He's been working on a method for improving high-speed steel.

MRS. WYLER—Did he fail?

WILL—He succeeded. [MRS. WYLER is surprised.] They decided that his discovery, if perfected and marketed, might increase the technological unemployment. They have decided therefore to call a halt on scientific discovery—especially in those branches where it might have practical results. That is one of the differences, Mrs. Wyler, between my day—and yours—in your day, you put a premium on invention—we declare a moratorium on it. [The old lady gives him a shrewd look.]

MRS. WYLER—Yes, yes. I am perfectly sure that you're in for a hard time, Will.

WILL—[Lightly, shrugging his shoulders.] As I have been elected by my class as the one most likely to succeed, I am not worrying, Mrs. Wyler. All I have to do is bide my time.

MRS. WYLER—[Amused.] I am perfectly certain you'll come out! Paula tells me you and your friend, Dennis McCarthy, want to start some kind of magazine.

WILL—Yes. A national magazine for undergraduate America. You see, Mrs. Wyler, before the rift in our so-called system, college men were supposed to live exclusively in a world of ukuleles, football slogans, and petting-parties—College Humor sort of thing. But it was never entirely true. Now it is less true than ever. This magazine—if we can get it going—would be a forum for intercollegiate thought. It would be the organ of critical youth as opposed—to the other.

MRS. WYLER—What other?

WILL—The R.O.T.C., the Vigilantes and the Fascists—the Youth Movement of guns and sabres—

MRS. WYLER—I see. Well, I wish you luck, Will.

WILL—Thank you [PAULA FROTHINGHAM comes in, a lovely young girl in gay summer slacks.]

PAULA—[To WILL.] Aren't you swimming? Hello, Granny.

WILL—Your grandmother and I have been discussing life.

PAULA—With a capital L, I suppose?

WILL—Enormous! I've been getting data on the pioneer age. Your grandmother thinks the reason we're in the condition we're in is because we're lazy.

MRS. WYLER—[Mildly.] Lazy? Did I say that?

WILL—In a way.

MRS. WYLER—If I said it, it must be so. Everybody over seventy is infallible!

PAULA—[Nestling to her.] Darling!

MRS. WYLER—Survival is quite a knack. You children don't realize it.

WILL—Oh, don't we though! It's getting harder every day.

MRS. WYLER—Nonsense! At your age you can't help it.

WILL—In your stately opulence that's what you think, Mrs. Wyler. You just don't know!

MRS. WYLER—Nonsense! Do you think your generation has a monopoly on hard times?

WILL—Now please don't tell me we've had depressions before?

MRS. WYLER—[Rising to go.] Paula, your young man is impertinent. Don't have anything to do with him. [She goes out.]

PAULA—What a conquest you've made of Granny! Way and ahead of all my beaus!

WILL—That undistinguished mob! Who couldn't?

PAULA—As long as you admit there is a mob . . .

WILL—Why wouldn't there be? Everybody loves you for your money!

PAULA—[Confidently.] I know it! And of all the fortune-hunters I've had dangling after me you're easily the most . . .

WILL—Blatant!

PAULA—That's it! Blatant! Like my new slacks?

WILL—Love 'em.

PAULA—Love me?

WILL—Loathe you.

PAULA—Good! Kiss? [They kiss quickly.]

WILL—Funny thing about your grandmother . . .

PAULA—Now I won't have you criticising Granny . . .

WILL—I'm crazy about her. You feel she's been through everything and that she understands everything. Not this though. Not the essential difference between her times and ours.

PAULA—Oh, dear! Is it the end of the world then?

WILL—The end of this world.

PAULA—[Goes to window seat right, with a sigh.] Such a pretty world. [She points through windows at the garden and sea beyond.] Look at it! Too bad it has to go! Meantime before it quite dissolves let's go for a swim. [She starts for door.]

WILL—[Abstracted.] All right. . . . [Following her to window seat.]

PAULA—[She turns back.] What's on your mind?

WILL—Wanted to speak to you about something. . . .

PAULA—What?

WILL—[Embarrassed slightly.] Er—your mother. . . .

PAULA—What's Mother gone and done now? Out with it. Or is it you? My boy-friends are always in love with Mother. I've had to contend with that all my life. So if it's that you needn't even mention it . . . come on.

WILL—No, but really, Paula. . . .

PAULA—Well then, out with it! What is it!

WILL—This. [He gives her note.] Found it on my breakfast tray this morning in a sealed envelope marked "Confidential."

PAULA—[Reading note aloud, rather bewildered.] "To give my little girl a good time with. Leonie Frothingham."

WILL—And this! [He hands her check. PAULA takes it and looks at it.]

PAULA—A hundred dollars. Does Mother think her little girl can have a good time with that? She doesn't know her little girl!

WILL—But what'll I do with it? How'll I get it back to her?

PAULA—Over my dead body you'll get it back to her! You'll spend it on Mother's little girl. Now come on swimming!

WILL—Does your mother put one of these on every breakfast tray?

PAULA—Argue it out with her?

WILL—I can't. It would seem ungracious. You must give it back to her for me.

PAULA—Catch me! Don't take it too seriously. She slips all the kids something every once in a while. She knows my friends are all stony. You overestimate the importance of money, Will—it's a convenience, that's all. You've got a complex on it.

WILL—I have! I've got to have. It's all right to be dainty about money when you've lots of it as you have. . . .

PAULA—Rotten with it is the expression, I believe. . . .

WILL—I repudiate that expression. It is genteel and moralistic. You can't be rotten with money—you can only be alive with it.

PAULA—You and the rest of our crowd make me feel it's bad taste to be rich. But what can I do? I didn't ask for it!

WILL—I know. But look here . . . I've got a brother out of college two years who's worked six weeks in that time and is broke and here I am in an atmosphere with hundred-dollar bills floating around!

PAULA—[With check.] Send him that!

WILL—Misapplication of funds!

PAULA—[Warmly.] Mother would be only too . . .

WILL—I know she would—but that isn't the point. . . . You know, Paula—

PAULA—What?

WILL—Sometimes I think if we weren't in love with each other we should be irreconcilable enemies—

PAULA—Nothing but sex, eh?

WILL—That's all.

PAULA—In that case—[They kiss.]

WILL—That's forgiving. But seriously, Paula—

PAULA—Seriously what?

WILL—I can't help feeling I'm here on false pretences. What am I doing with a millionaire family—with you? If your mother knew what I think, and what I've let you in for in college—she wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole. And you too—I'm troubled about the superficiality of your new opinions. Isn't your radicalism—acquired coloring?

PAULA—I hope not. But—so is all education.

WILL—I know but—!

PAULA—What are you bleating about? Didn't I join you on that expedition to Kentucky to be treated by that sovereign state as an offensive foreigner? My back aches yet when I remember that terrible bus ride. Didn't I get my name in the papers picketing? Didn't I give up my holiday to go with you to the Chicago Peace Congress? Didn't I?

WILL—[Doubtfully.] Yes, you did.

PAULA—But you're not convinced. Will darling, don't you realize that since knowing you and your friends, since I've, as you say, acquired your point of view about things, my life has had an excitement and a sense of reality it's never had before. I've simply come alive—that's all! Before then I was bored—terribly bored without knowing why. I wanted something more—fundamental—without knowing what. You've made me see. I'm terribly grateful to you, Will darling. I always shall be.

WILL—You are a dear, Paula, and I adore you—but—

PAULA—Still unconvinced?

WILL—This money of yours. What'll it do to us?

PAULA—I'll turn it over to you. Then you can give me an allowance—and save your pride.

WILL—I warn you, Paula—

PAULA—What?

WILL—If you turn it over to me, I'll use it in every way I can to make it impossible for anyone to have so much again.

PAULA—That's all right with me, Will.

WILL—Sometimes you make me feel I'm taking candy from babies.

PAULA—The candy is no good for the baby, anyway. Besides, let's cross that bridge when we come to it. [ROBERT, the butler, enters.]

ROBERT—I beg your pardon, Miss Frothingham.

PAULA—Yes, Robert?

ROBERT—Telephone for you.

PAULA—Thank you, Robert. [She crosses to table back of sofa for telephone. At phone.] Yes—this is Paula—Dad!—Darling!—Where are you? . . . but how wonderful . . . I thought you were in New York . . . well, come right over this minute. . . . Will you stay the night? . . . Oh, too bad! . . . I'll wait right here for you. Hurry, darling! Bye! [She hangs up.] Imagine, dad! He's motoring up to Selena Bryant's at Murray Bay—I'm dying to have you meet him. He's the lamb of the world.

WILL—Not staying long, is he?

PAULA—No. He wants to see Mother he says. I wonder . . . oh, dear!

WILL—What?

PAULA—I was so excited I forgot to tell him. . . .

WILL—What?

PAULA—That a new friend of Mother's is coming.

WILL—The Russian?

PAULA—The Russian's here. He dates from last winter. You're behind the times, Will.

WILL—Who's the new friend?

PAULA—I'm not sure about it all yet. Maybe Mother isn't either. But I've had some experience in watching them come and go and my instinct tells me Dr. Rice is elected.

WILL—Who is Dr. Rice?

PAULA—Psychoanalyst from New York. [Burlesquing slightly.] The last word, my dear—[At this point the object of PAULA'S maternal impulse comes in, running a little and breathless, like a young girl. LEONIE FROTHINGHAM, as she has a daughter of nearly twenty, must be herself forty, but, at this moment, she might be sixteen. She is slim, girlish, in a young and quivering ecstasy of living and anticipation. For LEONIE, her daughter is an agreeable phenomenon whom she does not specially relate to herself biologically—a lovely apparition who hovers intermittently, in the wild garden of her life. There is something, for all her gaiety, heartbreaking about LEONIE, something childish and child-like—an acceptance of people instantly and uncritically at the best of their own valuation. She is impulsive and warmhearted and generous to a fault. Her own fragile and exquisite loveliness she offers to the world half shyly, tentatively, bearing it like a cup containing a precious liquid of which not a drop must be spilled. A spirituelle amourease she is repelled by the gross or the voluptuary; this is not hypocrisy—it is, in LEONIE, a more serious defect than that. In the world in which she moves hypocrisy is merely a social lubricant but this myopia—alas for LEONIE!—springs from a congenital and temperamental inability to face anything but the pleasantest and the most immediately appealing and the most flattering aspects of things—in life and in her own nature. At this moment, though, she is the loveliest fabrication of Nature, happy in the summer sun and loving all the world.]

LEONIE—My darlings, did you ever know such a day?

WILL—[He is a shy boy with her.] It's nice!

LEONIE—Nice! It's . . . [Her gesture conveys her utter inadequacy to express the beauties of the day.] It's—radiant! It knows it's radiant! The world is pleased with herself today. Is the world a woman? Today she is—a lovely young girl in blue and white.

WILL—In green and white.

LEONIE—[Agreeing—warmly.] In green and white!—It depends where you look, doesn't it? I'm just off to the station to meet Dr. Rice. Will, you'll be fascinated by him.

PAULA—[Cutting in—crisply.] Sam telephoned.

LEONIE—Sam!

PAULA—Your husband. My father. Think back, Leonie.

LEONIE—Darling! Where is he?

PAULA—He's on his way here. He telephoned from Miller's Point.

LEONIE—Is he staying?

PAULA—No.

LEONIE—Why not?

PAULA—He's going on to Selena Bryant's.

LEONIE—What is this deep friendship between Sam and Selena Bryant?

PAULA—Now Leonie, don't be prudish!

LEONIE—[Appealing for protection to WILL.] She's always teasing me. She's always teasing every. body about everything. Developed quite a vein. I must warn you, Paula—sarcasm isn't feminine. In their heart of hearts men don't like it. Do you like it, Will? Do you really like it?

WILL—I hate it!

LEONIE—[In triumph to PAULA.] There you see! He hates it!

PAULA—[Tersely.] He doesn't always hate it!

LEONIE—[Her most winning smile on WILL.] Does she bully you, Will? Don't let her bully you. The sad thing is, Paula, you're so charming. Why aren't you content to be charming? Are you as serious as Paula, Will? I hope not.

WILL—Much more.

LEONIE—I'm sorry to hear that. Still, for a man, it's all right, I suppose. But why are the girls nowadays so determined not to be feminine? Why? It's coming back you know—I'm sure of it—femininity is due for a revival.

PAULA—So are Herbert Hoover and painting on china.

LEONIE—Well I read that even in Russia . . . the women . . . [She turns again to WILL whom she feels sympathetic.] It isn't as if women had done such marvels with their—masculinity! Have they? Are things better because women vote? Not that I can see. They're worse. As far as I can see the women simply reinforce the men in their—mistakes.

WILL—[To PAULA.] She has you there!

LEONIE—[With this encouragement warming to her theme.] When I was a girl the calamities of the world were on a much smaller scale. It's because the women, who, after all, are half of the human race, stayed at home and didn't bother. Now they do bother—and look at us!

PAULA—Well, that's as Victorian as anything I ever—

LEONIE—I'd love to have been a Victorian. They were much happier than we are, weren't they? Of course they were.

PAULA—[Defending herself to WILL.] It's only Mother that brings out the crusader in me— [To LEONIE.] When you're not around I'm not like that at all. Am I, Will? [But WILL is given no chance to answer because LEONIE is holding a sprig of lilac to his nostrils.]

LEONIE—Smell. [WILL smells.] Isn't it delicious?

WILL—It's lovely.

LEONIE—Here . . . . [She breaks off a sprig and pins it into his lapel. While she is doing it she broaches a delicate subject quite casually to PAULA] Oh, by the way, Paula . . .

PAULA—Yes, Mother?

LEONIE—Did you mention to Sam that—that Boris—

PAULA—I didn't, no. It slipped my mind.

LEONIE—It doesn't matter in the least.

PAULA—Father isn't staying anyway . . .

LEONIE—Well, why shouldn't he? You must make him. I want him to meet Dr. Rice. He's really a most extraordinary man.

PAULA—Where'd you find him?

LEONIE—I met him at a party at Sissy Drake's. He saved Sissy.

PAULA—From what?

LEONIE—From that awful eye-condition.

PAULA—Is he an oculist too?

LEONIE—[To WILL.] She went to every oculist in the world—she went to Baltimore and she went to Vienna. Nobody could do a thing for her—her eyes kept blinking—twitching really in the most unaccountable way. It was an ordeal to talk to her—and of course she must have undergone agonies of embarrassment. But Dr. Rice psychoanalyzed her and completely cured her. How do you suppose? Well, he found that the seat of the trouble lay in her unconscious. It was too simple. She blinked in that awful way because actually she couldn't bear to look at her husband. So she divorced Drake and since she's married to Bill Wilmerding she's as normal as you or me. Now I'll take you into a little secret. I'm having Dr. Rice up to see Boris. Of course Boris mustn't know it's for him.

PAULA—What's the matter with Boris?

LEONIE—I'm not sure. I think he's working too hard.

WILL—What's he working at?

LEONIE—Don't you know? Didn't you tell him, Paula? His father's memoirs. He's the son, you know, of the great Count Mirsky!

WILL—I know.

LEONIE—I must show you the photographs of his father—wonderful old man with a great white beard like a snow-storm—looks like Moses—a Russian Moses—and Boris is sitting on his knees—couldn't be over ten years old and wearing a fur cap and boots—boots!—and they drank tea out of tall glasses with raspberry jelly in—people came from all over the world, you know, to see his father . . .!

WILL—Isn't it strange that Count Mirsky's son should find himself in this strange house on this odd headland of Maine—Maine of all places!—writing his father's life? It's fantastic!

PAULA—[With some malice.] Is Dr. Rice going to help you acclimate him?

LEONIE—I hope so. You and Paula will have to entertain him—you young intellectuals. Isn't it a pity I have no mind? [She rises and crosses to table right to arrange lily-of-the-valley sprigs in a vase.]

PAULA—[To WILL.] She knows it's her greatest asset. Besides she's a fake.

WILL—[Gallantly.] I'm sure she is.

LEONIE—Thank you, my dears. It's gallant of you. [She crosses to PAULA—embraces her from behind.] But I'm not deceived. I know what Paula thinks of me—she looks down on me because I won't get interested in sociology. There never were any such things about when I was a girl. The trouble is one generation never has any perspective about another generation.

WILL—That's what your mother was saying to me just a little while ago.

LEONIE—Was she? [She sits left of WILL.] I'm sure though Mother and I are much closer—that is, we understand each other better than Paula and I. Don't you think so, Paula?

PAULA—[Considering it.] Yes. I do think so.

LEONIE—I knew you'd agree. Something's happened between my generation and Paula's. New concepts. I don't know what they are exactly but I'm very proud that Paula's got them.

PAULA—[Laughing helplessly.] Oh, Mother! You reduce everything to absurdity!

LEONIE—[Innocently.] Do I? I don't mean to. At any rate it's a heavenly day and I adore you and I don't care about anything so long as you're happy. I want you to be happy.

PAULA—[Helplessly.] Oh dear!

LEONIE—What's the matter?

PAULA—You're saying that!

LEONIE—Is that wrong? Will—did I say something wrong?

PAULA—You want me to be happy. It's like saying you want me to be eight feet tall and to sing like Lily Pons.

LEONIE—Is it like that? Why? Will . . .

WILL—[Gravely feeling he must stand up for PAULA, but hating to.] Paula means . . . [Pause.]

LEONIE—Yes . . .?

WILL—[Miserable.] She means—suppose there isn't any happiness to be had? Suppose the supply's run out?

LEONIE—But, Will, really . . .! On a day like this! Why don't you go swimming? [Rises.] Nothing like sea-water for—morbidity! Run out indeed! And today of all days! Really! [Gets gloves.] I'm disappointed in you, Will. I counted on you especially . . .

WILL—[Abjectly.] I was only fooling!

LEONIE—Of course he was. [Sits on arm of sofa beside WILL.] Will, I rely on you. Don't let Paula brood. Can't she drop the sociology in the summer? I think in the fall you're much better—braced—for things like that. Keep her happy, Will.

WILL—I'll do my best now that—thanks to you—I have the means.

LEONIE—Oh. . . . . [Remembering.] Oh, you didn't mind, did you? I hope you didn't mind.

WILL—[Embarrassed.] Very generous of you.

LEONIE—Generous! Please don't say that. After all—we who are in the embarrassing position nowadays of being rich must do something with our money, mustn't we? That's why I'm helping Boris to write this book. Noblesse oblige. Don't you think so, Will? Boris tells me that the Russians—the present Russians—

WILL—You mean the Bolsheviks?

LEONIE—Yes, I suppose I do. He says they don't like his father at all any more and won't read his works because in his novels he occasionally went on the assumption that rich people had souls and spirits too. You don't think like that too, do you, Will—that because I'm rich I'm just not worth bothering about at all— No, you couldn't! [The appeal is tremulous. WILL succumbs entirely.]

WILL—[Bluntly.] Mrs. Frothingham, I love you!

LEONIE—[Rises from arm of sofa and sits in sofa beside WILL. To PAULA.] Isn't he sweet? [To WILL.] And I love you, Will. Please call me Leonie. Do you know how Mother happened to name me Leonie? I was born in Paris, you know, and I was to be called Ruhama after my father's sister. But Mother said no. No child of mine, she said, shall be called Ruhama. She shall have a French name. And where do you think she got Leonie?

WILL—From the French version of one of those Gideon Bibles.

LEONIE—[As breathless as if it happened yesterday.] Not at all. From a novel the nurse was reading. She asked the nurse what she was reading and the nurse gave her the paper book and Mother opened it and found Leonie!

WILL—What was the book?

LEONIE—Everyone wants to know that . . . But I don't know. Mother didn't know. She kept the book to give to me when I grew up. But one day she met M. Jusserand on a train—he was the French Ambassador to Washington, you know—and he picked up the book in Mother's compartment and he read a page of it and threw it out of the window because it was trash! You see what I've had to live down.

WILL—Heroic!

LEONIE—I hope you stay all summer, Will. I won't hear of your going anywhere else.

WILL—Don't worry. I have nowhere else to go!

LEONIE—Tell me—that magazine you and Dennis want to start—will it be gay?

WILL—Not exactly.

LEONIE—Oh, dear! I know. Columns and columns of reading matter and no pictures. Tell me—your father is coming to dine, isn't he? I am so looking forward to meeting him. I love scientific men. They're usually so nice and understanding. Now, I've really got to go. [Rises and starts out.]

PAULA—Dennis will be on that train.

LEONIE—Oh, good! I like Dennis. He makes me laugh and I like people around who make me laugh, but I do wish he'd dress better. Why can't radicals be chic? I saw a picture of Karl Marx the other day and he looks like one of those advertisements before you take something. I'll look after Dennis, Will—save you going to the station—[To PAULA.] And Paula, tell Sam—

PAULA—Yes?

LEONIE—[Forgetting the message to SAM.] You know, I asked Dr. Rice if he would treat me professionally and he said I was uninteresting to him because I was quite normal. Isn't that discouraging? Really, I must cultivate something. Good-bye, darlings. [She runs out.]

WILL—But what was the message to Sam? [He sits.]

PAULA—[Helplessly.] I'll never know. Neither will she. [WILL laughs.] What can you do with her? She makes me feel like an opinionated old woman. And I worry about her.

WILL—Do you?

PAULA—Yes. She arouses my maternal impulse.

WILL—[Who feels he can be casual about LEONIE now that she is gone.] She relies rather too much on charm!

PAULA—[Turning on him bitterly.] Oh, she does, does she! [Goes over to sofa and sits right of WILL.] You renegade. You ruin all my discipline with Mother. You're like a blushing schoolboy in front of her . . .

WILL—[Protesting sheepishly.] Now, Paula, don't exaggerate!

PAULA—You are! I thought in another minute you were going to ask her to the frat dance. And where was all that wonderful indignation about her leaving you the check? Where was the insult to your pride? Where was your starving brother in Seattle? Where? Where?

WILL—I don't know but somehow you can't face your mother with things like that. It seems cruel to face her with realities. She seems outside of all that.

PAULA—[Conceding that.] Well, you're going to be no help to me in handling Mother, I can see that!

WILL—[Changing subject—a bit sensitive about having yielded so flagrantly to LEONIE.] This Russian—

PAULA—What about him?

WILL—[Gauche.] Platonic, do you suppose?

PAULA—Don't be naïve! [Enter SAM FROTHINGHAM, PAULA'S father, a very pleasant-faced, attractive man between forty-five and fifty.]

SAM—Oh, hello. [WILL rises.]

PAULA—[Flying to him.] Darling!—

SAM—[They meet center and embrace.] Hello, Paula. Delighted to see you.

PAULA—This is Will Dexter.

SAM—[Shaking hands with WILL.] How do you do?

WILL—I'm delighted to meet you.

PAULA—[To WILL.] Wait for me at the beach, will you, Will?

WILL—No, I'll run down to the station and ride back with the others.

PAULA—Okay. [SAM nods to him. WILL goes out.]

SAM—[Crosses to front of sofa.] Nice boy. [Follows her.]

PAULA—Like him?

SAM—Do you?

PAULA—I think so.

SAM—Special?

PAULA—Sort of.

SAM—Very special?

PAULA—[Sits right end of sofa.] Well—not sure.

SAM—Wait till you are. You've lots of time.

PAULA—Oh, he's not exactly impulsive.

SAM—Then he's just a fool.

PAULA—How are you, darling?

SAM—Uneasy.

PAULA—With me!

SAM—Especially.

PAULA—Darling, why?

SAM—I'll tell you. That's why I've come.

PAULA—Everything all right?

SAM—Oh, fine.

PAULA—[Mystified.] Then . . . ?

SAM—[Switching off.] How's Leonie?

PAULA—Fine. Delighted you were coming.

SAM—Was she?

PAULA—She really was. She's off to Ellsworth to meet a doctor.

SAM—Doctor?

PAULA—Psychoanalyst she's having up to massage her Russian's complexes.

SAM—[Laughing.] Oh—[With a sigh.] What's going to happen to Leonie?

PAULA—Why? She's on the crest!

SAM—She needs that elevation. Otherwise she sinks.

PAULA—Well—you know Mother . . .

SAM—Yes. [A moment's pause.] Paula?

PAULA—Yes, dad.

SAM—The fact is—it's ridiculous I should feel so nervous about telling you—but the fact
is . . .

PAULA—What?

SAM—I've fallen in love. I want to get married. There! Well, thank God that's out! [He wipes his forehead, quite an ordeal.] Romance at my age. It's absurd, isn't it?

PAULA—Selena Bryant?

SAM—Yes.

PAULA—She has a grown son.

SAM—[Smiling at her.] So have I—a grown daughter.

PAULA—You'll have to divorce Mother.

SAM—Yes.

PAULA—Poor Leonie!

SAM—Well, after all—Leonie—you know how we've lived for years.

PAULA—Has Leonie hurt you?

SAM—Not for a long time. If this with Selena hadn't happened we'd have gone on forever, I suppose. But it has.

PAULA—You know, I have a feeling that, in spite of everything, this is going to be a shock to Leonie

SAM—Paula?

PAULA—Yes.

SAM—Do you feel I'm deserting you? [She turns her head away. She is very moved.]

PAULA—No—you know how fond I am of you—I want you to be . . .

SAM—[Deeply affected.] Paula . . . !

PAULA—Happy. [A silence. She is on the verge of tears.]

SAM—I must make you see my side, Paula.

PAULA—[Vehemently.] I do!

SAM—It isn't only that—you're so young—but somehow—we decided very soon after you were born, Leonie and I, that our marriage could only continue on this sort of basis. For your sake we've kept it up. I thought I was content to be an—appendage—to Leonie's entourage. But I'm not—do you know what Selena—being with Selena and planning with Selena for ourselves has made me see—that I've never had a home. Does that sound mawkish?

PAULA—I thought you loved Bay Cottage.

SAM—Of our various menages this is my favorite—it's the simplest. And I've had fun here with you—watching you grow up. But very soon after I married Leonie I found this out—that when you marry a very rich woman it's always her house you five in. [A moment's pause.]

PAULA—I'm awfully happy for you, Sam, really I am. You deserve everything but I can't help it I . . .

SAM—I know. [A pause.] Paula . . .

PAULA—Yes, dad?

SAM—You and I get on so well together—always have—Selena adores you and really—when you get to know her . . .

PAULA—I like Selena enormously. She's a dear. Couldn't be nicer.

SAM—I'm sure you and she would get on wonderfully together. Of course, Leonie will marry again. She's bound to. Why don't you come to live with us? When you want to . . .

PAULA—Want to!

SAM—All the time then. Leonie has such a busy life.

PAULA—It's awfully sweet of you.

SAM—Sweet of me! Paula!

PAULA—Where are you going to live?

SAM—New York. Selena has her job to do.

PAULA—She's terribly clever, isn't she?

SAM—She's good at her job.

PAULA—It must be wonderful to be independent. I hope I shall be. I hope I can make myself.

SAM—No reason you can't.

PAULA—It seems to take so much—

SAM—What sort of independence?

PAULA—Lonie's independent, but that independence doesn't mean anything somehow. She's always been able to do what she likes.

SAM—So will you be.

PAULA—That doesn't count somehow. It's independence in a vacuum. No, it doesn't count.

SAM—Maybe it isn't independence you want then?

PAULA—Yes, it is. I want to be able to stand on my own feet. I want to be—justified.

SAM—[Understandingly.] Ah! That's something else. [A little amused.] That's harder!

PAULA—I mean it, really I do—[Pause.] It's curious—how—adrift—this makes me feel. As if something vital, something fundamental had smashed. I wonder how Mother'll take it. I think—unconsciously—she depends on you much more than she realizes. You were a stabilizing force, Sam, in spite of everything and now . . .

SAM—[Seriously.] You are the stabilizing force, if you ask me, Paula . . .

PAULA—I don't know.

SAM—What's worrying you, Paula? Is it this Russian?

PAULA—Oh, I think he's harmless really.

SAM—What then?

PAULA—That one of these days—

SAM—What?

PAULA—That one of these days—now that you're going—somebody will come along—who won't be harmless.—You know, I really love Leonie. [LEONIE comes running in just ahead of DR. KENNETH RICE, DENNIS and WILL. LEONIE is in the gayest spirits. DR. RICE is handsome, dark, magnetic, quiet, masterful. He is conscious of authority and gives one the sense of a strange, genius-like intuition. DENNIS is a flamboyant Irishman, a little older than WILL, gawky, black-haired, slovenly, infinitely brash. SAM and PAULA rise. LEONIE comes down to center with KENNETH at her left. WILL remains back of sofa. DENNIS follows down to right center.]

LEONIE—Oh, Sam, how perfectly . . . This is Dr. Rice—my husband Sam Frothingham—and my daughter Paula! Sam, Dennis McCarthy.

DENNIS—How do you do? [No one pays any attention to him. DR. RICE shakes hands with SAM and PAULA. LEONIE keeps bubbling, her little laugh tinkling through her chatter.]

LEONIE—It's courageous of me, don't you think, Dr. Rice, to display such a daughter? Does she look like me? I'll be very pleased if you tell me that she does. Sit down, sit down, everybody.

DENNIS—[Holding up his pipe.] You don't mind if I—?

LEONIE—No, no, not at all—[She sits center chair, PAULA sits on right end sofa, DENNIS sinks into chair, right, by table.] Sam! How well you're looking! Are you staying at Selena's? How is Selena?

SAM—She's very well.

LEONIE—Dr. Rice knows Selena.

KENNETH—Yes, indeed!

LEONIE—I envy Selena, you know, above all women. So brilliant, so attractive and so self-sufficient. That is what I envy in her most of all. I have no resources—I depend so much on other people. [Turns to RICE.] Do you think, Dr. Rice, you could make me self-sufficient?

KENNETH—I think I could.

LEONIE—How perfectly marvelous!

KENNETH—But I shouldn't dream of doing it!

LEONIE—But if I beg you to?

KENNETH—Not even if you beg me to.

LEONIE—But why?

KENNETH—It would deprive your friends of their most delightful avocation.

LEONIE—Now that's very grateful. You see, Sam, there are men who still pay me compliments.

SAM—I can't believe it!

LEONIE—You must keep it up, Dr. Rice, please. So good for my morale. [To PAULA.] Oh, my dear, we've been having the most wonderful argument—[To DENNIS.] Haven't we?

DENNIS—Yes.

LEONIE—All the way in from Ellsworth—[To RICE.] Really, Doctor, it's given me new courage . . .

PAULA—New courage for what?

LEONIE—I've always been afraid to say it for fear of being old-fashioned—but Dr. Rice isn't afraid.

KENNETH—[Explaining to SAM.] It takes great courage, Mr. Frothingham, to disagree with the younger generation.

SAM—It does indeed.

PAULA—Well, what was it about?

LEONIE—Yes—what was it about, Dennis?

DENNIS—Statistics and theology. Some metaphysics thrown in.

SAM—Good heavens! [Sits.]

DENNIS—Statistics as a symbol.

WILL—Dr. Rice still believes in the individual career.

KENNETH—I hang my head in shame!

DENNIS—He doesn't know that as a high officer of the National Student Federation, I have at my fingers' ends the statistics which rule our future, the statistics which constitute our horizon. Not your future, Paula, because you are living parasitically on the stored pioneerism of your ancestors.

PAULA—Forgive me, Reverend Father!

DENNIS—I represent, Doctor, the Unattached Youth of America—

KENNETH—Well, that's a career in itself! [They laugh.]

DENNIS—[Imperturbable.] When we presently commit the folly of graduating from a benevolent institution at Amherst, Massachusetts, there will be in this Republic two million like us. Two million helots. [Leaning over LEONIE.] But Dr. Rice pooh-poohs statistics.

LEONIE—[Arranging his tie.] Does he Dennis?

DENNIS—He says the individual can surmount statistics, violate the graphs. Superman!

WILL—Evidently Dr. Rice got in just under the wire.

KENNETH—I'd never submit to statistics, Mr. Dexter—I'd submit to many things but not to statistics.

LEONIE—Such dull things to submit to—

DENNIS—You must be an atheist, Dr. Rice.

KENNETH—Because I don't believe in statistics?—the new God?

LEONIE—Well, I'm a Protestant and I don't believe in them either.

DENNIS—Well, Protestant is a loose synonym for atheist—and I, as an Irishman—and a—

KENNETH—Young man—

DENNIS—Yes?

KENNETH—Have you ever heard Bismarck's solution of the Irish problem?

DENNIS—No. What?

KENNETH—Oh, it's entirely irrelevant.

LEONIE—Please tell us. I adore irrelevancies.

KENNETH—Well, he thought the Irish and the Dutch should exchange countries. The Dutch, he thought, would very soon make a garden out of Ireland, and the Irish would forget to mend the dikes. [They laugh.]

LEONIE—That's not irrelevant—

DENNIS—It is an irrelevance, but pardonable in an adversary losing an argument.

KENNETH—[To PAULA.] Miss Frothingham, you seem very gracious. Will you get me out of this?

PAULA—No, I'm enjoying it.

LEONIE—Whatever you may say, Dennis, it's an exciting time to be alive.

DENNIS—That is because your abnormal situation renders you free of its major excitement—

LEONIE—And what's that, Dennis?

DENNIS—The race with malnutrition.

KENNETH—But that race, Mr.—?

DENNIS—McCarthy.

KENNETH—Is the eternal condition of mankind. Perhaps mankind won't survive the solution of that problem.

WILL—[With heat.] It's easy to sit in this living room—and be smug about the survival of the fittest—especially when you're convinced you're one of the fittest. But there are millions who won't concede you that superiority, Dr. Rice. There are millions who are so outrageously demanding that they actually insist on the right to live! They may demand it one day at the cost of your complacency.

LEONIE—Will! We were just chatting.

WILL—I'm sorry! The next thing Dr. Rice'll be telling us is that war is necessary also—to keep us stimulated—blood-letting for the other fellow.

KENNETH—Well, as a matter of fact, there's something to be said for that too. If you haven't settled on a career yet, Mr. Dexter, may I suggest evangelism?

DENNIS—But Dr. Rice—!

KENNETH—And now, Mrs. Frothingham, before these young people heckle me too effectively, may I escape to my room?

LEONIE—[Rising.] Of course. Though I don't think you need be afraid of their heckling, Doctor. You say things which I've always believed but never dared say.

KENNETH—[As they walk out.] Why not?

LEONIE—I don't know—somehow—I lacked the—the authority. I want to show you your rooms myself. [Leaving the room, followed by RICE.] I'll be right back, Sam—[RICE nods to them and follows her out. As they go out she keeps talking to him.] I am giving you my father's rooms—he built the wing especially so that when he wanted to work he'd be away from the rest of the house—you have the sea and the garden—[They are off. A moment's pause.]

PAULA—Well, that's a new type for Leonie!

DENNIS—There's something Rasputinish about him. What's he doing in Maine?

WILL—What, for the matter of that, are you and I doing in Maine? We should be in New York, jockeying for position on the bread-line. Let's go to the beach, Dennis. Pep us up for the struggle.

DENNIS—In that surf? It looks angry. I can't face life today.

PAULA—Swim'll do you good.

DENNIS—[Starting for garden.] It's not a swim I want exactly but a float—a vigorous float. Lead me to the pool, Adonais—

WILL—All right. [As he starts to follow DENNIS, DR. DEXTER, WILL'S father, comes in ushered by ROBERT. He is a dusty little man with a bleached yellow Panama hat. He keeps wiping his perspiring face with an old handkerchief. He doesn't hear very well.]

DENNIS—Ah, the enemy—! [PAULA and SAM rise.]

WILL—Hello, dad. You remember Paula?

DEXTER—Yes . . . yes, I do.

WILL—[Introducing SAM.] My father—Mr. Frothingham.

SAM—Very glad to see you.

DEXTER—[Shaking hands.] Thank you.

DENNIS—[Pointing dramatically at DEXTER.] Nevertheless I repeat—the enemy!

PAULA—Dennis!

WILL—Oh, he's used to Dennis!

DEXTER—[Wipes his forehead.] Yes, and besides it was very dusty on the road.

PAULA—Won't you sit down? [DEXTER does so, in center chair. The others remain standing.]

WILL—How long did it take you to drive over, dad?

DEXTER—Let's see—left New Brunswick at two. . . .

WILL—[Looks at watch.] Three and one half hours—pretty good—the old tin Lizzie's got life in her yet.

DEXTER—You young folks having a good time, I suppose? [He looks around him absent-mindedly.]

PAULA—Dennis has been bullying us.

DEXTER—He still talking? [Mildly.] It's the Irish in him.

DENNIS—[Nettled.] You forgot to say shanty!

DEXTER—[Surprised.] Eh? Why should I say that?

WILL—Dennis is a snob. Wants all his titles.

DENNIS—You misguided children don't realize it—but here—in the guise of this dusty, innocent-seeming man—sits the enemy.

DEXTER—[Turning as if stung by a fly—cupping his hand to his ear.] What? What did he say?

DENNIS—The ultimate enemy, the true begetter of the fatal statistics—Science. You betray us, Paula, by having him in the house; you betray us, Will, by acknowledging him as a father.

DEXTER—[Wiping his forehead.] Gosh, it's hot!

SAM—[Sensing a fight and urging it on—solemnly.] Can all this be true, Dr. Dexter?

DEXTER—What be true?

SAM—Dennis's accusation.

DEXTER—I am slightly deaf and McCarthy's presence always fills me with gratitude for that affliction.

DENNIS—It's perfectly obvious. You've heard of technological unemployment. Well, here it sits, embodied in Will's father. Day and night with diabolical ingenuity and cunning he works out devices to unemploy us. All over the world, millions of us are being starved and broken on the altar of Science. We Catholics understand that. We Catholics repudiate the new Moloch that has us by the throat.

WILL—Do you want us to sit in medieval taverns with Chesterton and drink beer? [DEXTER turns to DENNIS; as if emerging suddenly from an absent-minded daze, he speaks with great authority, casually but with clarity and precision.]

DEXTER—The fact is, my voluble young friend, I am not the Moloch who is destroying you but that you and the hordes of the imprecise and the vaguely trained—are destroying me! I have, you will probably be pleased to learn, just lost my job. I have been interrupted in my work. And why? Because I am successful. Because I have found what, with infinite patience and concentration, I have been seeking to discover. From the elusive and the indeterminate and the invisible, I have crystallized a principle which is visible and tangible and—predictable. From the illimitable icebergs of the unknown I have chipped off a fragment of knowledge, a truth which so-called practical men may put to a use which will make some of your numbers unnecessary in the workaday world. Well—what of it, I say?—who decrees that you shall be supported? Of what importance are your lives and your futures and your meandering aspirations compared to the firmness and the beauty and the cohesion of the principles I seek, the truth I seek? None—none whatever! Whether you prattle on an empty stomach or whether you prattle on a full stomach can make no difference to anybody that I can see. [To PAULA abruptly, rising.] And now, young woman, as I have been invited here to spend the night, I'd like to see my room!

PAULA—[Crossing to him.] Certainly! Come with me. I'll have Robert show you your room. [They go to door back. She calls.] Robert! [ROBERT enters.] Will you take Dr. Dexter to his room? [DEXTER follows ROBERT out.]

SAM—Gosh! I thought he was deaf!

WILL—He can hear when he wants to! [To DENNIS.] Now will you be good!

DENNIS—I'm sorry—I didn't know he'd lost his job or I wouldn't have . . .

WILL—Oh, that's all right. Well, Dennis, how does it feel to be superfluous?

DENNIS—[Sourly.] The man's childish! [He goes out, door right through garden.]

PAULA—Isn't he marvelous? Don't you love Will's father?

SAM—Crazy about him. He's swell.

WILL—He's a pretty good feller. He seems absent-minded but actually he's extremely present-minded. If you'll excuse me, I'm going out to soothe Dennis. [He follows DENNIS out. A pause.]

SAM—That young man appears to have sound antecedents.

PAULA—Oh, yes—Will's all right, but—oh, Sam—!

SAM—What?

PAULA—With you gone—I'm terrified for Leonie. I really am! When I think of the foolish marriages Leonie would have made if not for you!

SAM—It's a useful function, but I'm afraid I'll have to give it up!

PAULA—[With new determination.] Sam . . .

SAM—Yes, Paula.

PAULA—If Leonie goes Russian—

SAM—Well?

PAULA—Or if she goes Freudian—?

SAM—In any case you and this boy'll probably be getting married.

PAULA—That's far from settled yet.

SAM—Why?

PAULA—Will's scared.

SAM—Is he?

PAULA—Of getting caught in Leonie's silken web.

SAM—That's sensible of him. [LEONIE comes back, half running, breathless.]

LEONIE—Well! Isn't Dr. Rice attractive?

SAM—[Rising.] Very.

PAULA—[Rising.] And so depressed about himself! [She goes out—door right.]

LEONIE—Isn't it extraordinary, Dr. Rice having achieved the position he has—at his age? He's amazing. And think of it, Sam—not yet forty.

SAM—Anybody under forty is young to me!

LEONIE—How old are you, Sam?

SAM—Forbidden ground, Leonie.

LEONIE—I should know, shouldn't I, but I don't. I know your birthday—I always remember your birthday . . .

SAM—You do indeed!

LEONIE—It's June 14. But I don't know how old you are.

SAM—Knowledge in the right place—ignorance in the right place!

LEONIE—[Meaning it.] You're more attractive and charming than ever.

SAM—You're a great comfort.

LEONIE—It's so nice to see you!

SAM—And you too! [He is not entirely comfortable—not as unself-conscious and natural as she is.]

LEONIE—Sometimes I think Paula should see more of you. I think it would be very good for her. What do you think of her new friends?

SAM—They seem nice.

LEONIE—They're all poor and they're very radical. They look on me—my dear, they have the most extraordinary opinion of me . . .

SAM—What is that?

LEONIE—I'm fascinated by them. They think of me as a hopeless kind of spoiled Bourbon living away in a never-never land—a kind of Marie Antoinette . . . [She laughs.] It's delicious!

SAM—Is Paula radical too?

LEONIE—I think she's trying to be. She's a strange child.

SAM—How do you mean?

LEONIE—Well, when I was a child I was brought up to care only if people were charming or attractive or . . .

SAM—Well-connected . . .

LEONIE—Yes . . . These kids don't care a hoot about that.

SAM—I think the difference between their generation and ours is that we were romantic and they're realistic.

LEONIE—Is that it?

SAM—I think so.

LEONIE—What makes that?

SAM—Changes in the world—the war—the depression. . . .

LEONIE—What did people blame things on before—the war?

SAM—[Smiling.] Oh, on the tariff and on the Republicans—and on the Democrats! Leonie—

LEONIE—Yes, Sam.

SAM—I—I really have something to tell you.

LEONIE—[Looks up at him curiously.] What? [Pause.]

SAM—I am in love with Selena Bryant. We want to get married.

LEONIE—[Pause—after a moment.] Human nature is funny! Mine is!

SAM—Why?

LEONIE—I know I ought to be delighted to release you. Probably I should have spoken to you about it myself before long—separating. And yet—when you tell me—I feel—a
pang. . . .

SAM—That's very sweet of you.

LEONIE—One's so possessive—one doesn't want to give up anything.

SAM—For so many years our marriage has been at its best—a friendship. Need that end?

LEONIE—No, Sam. It needn't. I hope truly that it won't.

SAM—What about Paula?

LEONIE—Did you tell Paula?

SAM—Yes. . . .

LEONIE—Did she . . . ?

SAM—[Rising.] Leonie . . .

LEONIE—[Pauses.] Yes, Sam.

SAM—A little while ago you said—you thought Paula ought to see more of me.

LEONIE—Yes . . . I did. . . . [She is quite agitated suddenly. The thought has crossed her mind that perhaps PAULA has told SAM that she would prefer to go with him. This hurts her deeply, not only for the loss of PAULA but because, from the bottom of her being, she cannot bear not to be loved.]

SAM—Don't you think then . . . for a time at least . . .

LEONIE—[Defeatist in a crisis.] Paula doesn't like me! [It is a sudden and completely accepted conviction.]

SAM—Leonie!

LEONIE—She'd rather go with you!

SAM—Not at all—it's only that . . .

LEONIE—I know what Paula thinks of me. . . .

SAM—Paula adores you. It's only that . . .

LEONIE—It's only that what—

SAM—Well, for instance—if you should get married—

LEONIE—What if I did?

SAM—[Coming to stand close to her left.] It would mean a considerable readjustment for Paula—wouldn't it? You can see that. . . .

LEONIE—[Rising.] But it would too with you and Selena.

SAM—[Taking step toward her.] She knows Selena. She admires Selena.

LEONIE—[Rising and walking down to front of sofa.] What makes you think she wouldn't admire—whomever I married?

SAM—[After a moment, completely serious now.] There's another aspect of it which I think for Paula's sake you should consider most carefully.

LEONIE—What aspect?

SAM—[Coming down to her.] Paula's serious. You know that yourself. She's interested in things. She's not content to be a Sunday supplement heiress—floating along—she wants to do things. Selena's a working woman. Selena can help her.

LEONIE—I know. I'm useless.

SAM—I think you ought to be unselfish about this.

LEONIE—Paula can do what she likes, of course. If she doesn't love me . . .

SAM—Of course she loves you.

LEONIE—If she prefers to live with you and Selena I shan't stand in her way. [Her martyrish resignation irritates SAM profoundly. He feels that really LEONIE should not be allowed to get away with it.]

SAM—You're so vain, Leonie.

LEONIE—[Refusing to argue.] I'm sorry. [This makes it worse. SAM goes deeper.]

SAM—After all, you're Paula's mother. Can't you look at her problem—objectively?

LEONIE—Where my emotions are involved I'm afraid I never know what words like that mean. [He blunders in worse, farther than he really means to go.]

SAM—[Flatly.] Well, this sort of thing isn't good for Paula.

LEONIE—[Very cold, very hurt.] What sort of thing? [A moment's pause. He is annoyed with himself at the ineptitude of his approach.] Be perfectly frank. You can be with me. What sort of thing?

SAM—Well—Leonie—[With a kind of desperate bluntness.] You've made a career of flirtation. Obviously Paula isn't going to. You know you and Paula belong to different worlds. [With some heat.] And the reason Paula is the way she is is because she lives in an atmosphere of perpetual conflict.

LEONIE—Conflict? Paula?

SAM—With herself. About you.

LEONIE—[Rising.] That's too subtle for me, I'm afraid.

SAM—Paula's unaware of it herself.

LEONIE—Where did you acquire this amazing psychological insight? You never used to have it. Of course! From Selena. Of course!

SAM—I've never discussed this with Selena.

LEONIE—No?

SAM—She's told me she'd be happy to have Paula but . . .

LEONIE—That's extremely generous of her—to offer without discussion. . . .

SAM—[She has him there; he loses his temper.] It's impossible for you to consider anything without being personal.

LEONIE—I am afraid it is. I don't live on this wonderful, rarefied, intellectual plane inhabited by Selena and yourself—and where you want to take Paula. I'm sorry if I've made Paula serious, I'm sorry she's in a perpetual conflict about me. I'm sorry I've let her in for—this sort of thing! I I'm sorry! [She is on the verge of tears. She runs out.]

SAM—Leonie . . .! [He follows her to door back, calling.] Leonie! [But it is too late. She is gone. He turns back into room.] Damn! [PAULA comes in—from beach, door right.]

PAULA—Where's Leonie?

SAM—She just went upstairs.

PAULA—I've been showing Dr. Rice our rock-bound coast.

SAM—What's he like?

PAULA—Hard to say. He's almost too sympathetic. At the same time—

SAM—What?

PAULA—At the same time—he is inscrutable! I can't tell whether I like him or dislike him. You say Selena knows him. What does she say about him?

SAM—Selena isn't crazy about him.

PAULA—Why not?

SAM—Brilliant charlatan, she says—also a charmer.

PAULA—I gather that, and I resent him. How'd you come out with Leonie?

SAM—I've made a mess of it. I'm a fool!

PAULA—My going with you, you mean?

SAM—Yes.

PAULA—Sam . . .

SAM—Yes?

PAULA—Will you mind very much . . .

SAM—What?

PAULA—If I don't go with Selena and you?

SAM—But I thought you said—and especially if she marries somebody—

PAULA—[Slowly.] That's just what I'm thinking of—

SAM—What's happened?

PAULA—There's no way out of it, Sam—I've got to stay.

SAM—But why?

PAULA—[Simply, looking up at him.] Somebody's got to look after Leonie. . . . [KENNETH enters.]

KENNETH—My first glimpse of Maine. A masculine Riviera.

PAULA—It's mild now. If you want to see it really virile—come in the late fall.

KENNETH—You've only to crook your little finger. I'll be glad to look at more of Maine whenever you have the time. [Sits, facing her.]

PAULA—Of course. Tomorrow?

KENNETH—Yes. Tomorrow. [To SAM.] You know, from Mrs. Frothingham's description—[Looking back at PAULA, intently.] I never could have imagined her. Not remotely. [ROBERT enters.]

SAM—What is it, Robert?

ROBERT—Mrs. Frothingham would like to see Dr. Rice in her study.

KENNETH—[Rising.] Oh, thank you. [He walks to door back.] Excuse me. [He goes upstairs. PAULA and SAM have continued looking front. As KENNETH starts upstairs they slowly turn and look at one another. The same thought has crossed both their minds—they both find themselves looking suddenly into a new and dubious vista.]

Curtain

Index 1 2-I 2-II 3