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ACT THREE

SCENE: The same.

Time: Late that fall. The trees have turned. The sumach have put out the brilliant red flowers of autumn.

At Rise: WILL and DENNIS have just arrived, and are standing at fireplace, back. LEONIE comes in to greet them. SAM strolls in with her.

LEONIE—I'm so glad to see you! [She shakes hands with each of them warmly.] Will! How are you? [To DENNIS.] It's so good of you to come.

SAM—[Shaking hands with WILL.] Very glad to see you.

WILL—Thanks. [SAM shakes hands with DENNIS.]

LEONIE—Sam drove over for a few hours from Blue Hill to talk business to me. He hasn't had much luck so far. It's simply wonderful having you boys here—it's like old times. I didn't tell Paula. [To SAM.] I did all this on my own. It's a surprise for Paula.

DENNIS—She'll be overcome when she sees me. Maybe you should prepare her.

WILL—Where is Paula?

LEONIE—Isn't it provoking! She and Kenneth went for a walk. They should have been back long before this. [Turning back to them.] Paula hasn't been at all herself, Will. I thought you would cheer her up.

DENNIS—I will be glad to do what I can, of course. Several very stubborn cases have yielded to my charm.

LEONIE—I'm sure! Do sit down. [She sits.]

DENNIS—[Taking out his pipe.] Do you mind? [WILL sits.]

LEONIE—Oh, please—I can't tell you how I appreciate your coming—

DENNIS—[The harassed business man.] Well, as a matter of fact, Leonie, it wasn't easy to get away from the office—

LEONIE—Are you in an office?

DENNIS—Sometimes as many as fifteen in a day. [LEONIE laughs.] But when I got your appealing letter—and the return tickets—I'm chivalrous at heart, you know, Leonie—

LEONIE—I know you are!

SAM—How's town?

WILL—Very hot.

SAM—I'm just on my way down. Stopped by to go over several things with Leonie—

LEONIE—Poor Sam's been having an awful time with me. He keeps putting things in escrow. Where is escrow?

DENNIS—It's where squirrels put nuts in the winter-time.

LEONIE—I see! Dennis is much more lucid than you, Sam.

DENNIS—I have a knack for making the abstruse translucent. Especially in economics. Now, would you like to know why England went off gold?

LEONIE—No, I wouldn't.

DENNIS—I shall yield to your subconscious demand and tell you.

LEONIE—[To others.] Help!

DENNIS—I see that there is no audience for my peculiar gift.

LEONIE—You know, Will, I've thought perhaps you were angry with us.

WILL—Why?

LEONIE—You haven't been here for so long. [To SAM.] Since Granny died—none of them have been here. Did Paula write you about Granny's funeral?

WILL—No. She didn't.

LEONIE—Of course I hate funerals—I can't bear them—but this was so—natural. Mother wanted to live till the fall and she did. It was a dreaming blue sky and there was that poignant haze over the hills and over the bay, and the smell of burning wood from somewhere. Burning wood never smells at any other time the way it does in Indian summer. And the colors that day! Did you ever, Sam, see such a day?

SAM—It was beautiful.

LEONIE—They say the colors of autumn are the colors of death, but I don't believe that. They were in such strength that day. I cried—but not on account of Mother—that kind of day always makes me cry a little bit anyway. You couldn't cry over consigning anyone you loved to an earth like that—on a day like that. I put some blazing leaves over her, but when I passed there the other day, they were withered and brown—

SAM—[Chiding her.] Now Leonie—

LEONIE—Sam thinks I shouldn't talk about Mother. But I don't see why. She doesn't depress me. I think of her with joy. She had a wonderful life.

SAM—She was a wonderful woman.

LEONIE—[To WILL.] Imagine, Will—when Sam was here last time—you were here that week-end—she knew. She asked Sam to be executor of her will.

SAM—[Very annoyed at her for bringing this up.] Leonie—

LEONIE—Why didn't you tell me, Sam, then?

SAM—Seemed no point.

LEONIE—She didn't want me to know, did she?

SAM—No. She didn't want to distress you. [A moment's pause.]

LEONIE—What can be keeping Paula? [She glances out of the window.] Sam, do you want to talk business to me some more?

SAM—I'd like to talk to Will a minute.

LEONIE—Oh—yes. Well, Dennis, wouldn't you like me to show you to your room? [She rises, goes to door into hallway. DENNIS follows.]

DENNIS—Thanks. I've got to answer a chain letter.

LEONIE—I've given you a room you've never had. The tower room.

DENNIS—Is it ivory? I won't be comfortable if it isn't ivory.

LEONIE—Well just this once you're going to be uncomfortable—and like it! [She goes out.]

DENNIS—[Tragically.] And for this I gave up a superb view of the gas-house on 149th Street. [He goes out.]

SAM—[Rises and goes up toward fireplace.] Will—

WILL—Yes, Mr. Frothingham.

SAM—Oh—call me Sam.

WILL—All right.

SAM—I'll have to be pushing off in an hour or so. I rather wanted to talk to you.

WILL—Yes—

SAM—[Wipes his forehead.] Gosh, Leonie's a difficult woman to talk business to. [Sits.]

WILL—I can imagine that. She's not interested in business.

SAM—She—is—not!!!

WILL—What do you want to speak to me about?

SAM—Paula.

WILL—What about Paula?

SAM—As I'm her father—I hope you won't think me—

WILL—Of course not—

SAM—It's not altogether easy—

WILL—Do you want me to help you?

SAM—Yes. I wish you would!

WILL—You're worried about Paula and me, aren't you? So was her grandmother. You think me irresponsible. Less responsible for example—[As if making a random comparison] than Dr. Rice?

SAM—Well, as a matter of fact, I've rather gotten to know Dr. Rice, and in many respects, he's a pretty sound feller. [Rising and going to stand above WILL.] Hang it all, Will, I like you, and I don't like to preach to you, you know.

WILL—Go on.

SAM—Well, there are—from my point of view at least—a lot of nonsensical ideas knocking about. I'd like to point out just one thing to you. Your radicalism and all that—Well, the point is this—if you marry Paula—and I hope you do, because I like you—and, what is more important, Paula likes you—you'll have responsibilities. Paula will be rich. Very rich. Money means responsibility. Now, I shouldn't, for example, like you to start radical magazines with it. I shouldn't like you to let the money drift through your fingers in all sorts of aimless, millennial directions that won't get anywhere.

WILL—Who told you that was my intention?

SAM—A little bird.

WILL—With a black moustache?

SAM—Does that matter?

WILL—No.

SAM—[Putting hand on WILL'S shoulder.] As a matter of fact, I'm not worried about you at all. Money, I expect, will do to you what getting power does to radical opposition, once it gets office—

WILL—Emasculate me, you mean?

SAM—Well, hardly. Mature you. Once you're rich yourself, I have no doubt you'll be—

WILL—Sound.

SAM—Yes. Sound. But your friends—this McCarthy boy—

WILL—Well, I can easily cut Dennis—all my poor and unsound friends—

SAM—[Quietly.] I'm sorry you're taking this tone with me, Will. I'm the last person in the world to ask you to drop anybody. I'd be ashamed of you if you did. Only—

WILL—Only?

SAM—I must tell you that I am in position—by virtue of the will left by Mrs. Wyler—to keep Paula's money from being used for any purpose that might be construed as—subversive.

WILL—From whose point of view?

SAM—[Quietly.] From mine.

WILL—I see.

SAM—Possibly you may not believe this—but I trust you, Will. Mrs. Wyler trusted you.

WILL—You needn't worry. Paula seems to have other interests apparently.

SAM—What do you mean?

WILL—Sounder interests—[DENNIS enters, through door back.]

DENNIS—The tower room lets in light on four sides, but nothing to look at. Just the sea and the landscape.

SAM—What did you do with Leonie?

DENNIS—She's gone to her mother's room to potter around.

SAM—Maybe I can get her attention while she's pottering. Excuse me. [SAM goes out.]

DENNIS—Poor Leonie—she's the last of the lovely ladies. The inheritance taxes'll get 'em soon. You know we were by way of getting our magazine from Leonie when Dr. Rice spiked our guns. So I'm leaving. My time is too valuable. But the Healer won't last forever, and when he goes, I shall return. Take heart, my good man. I know you feel a little tender about doing this, but remember, my lad, it's the Cause that counts. Remember what Shaw says: "There is no money but the devil's money. It is all tainted and it might as well be used in the service of God." [A moment—WILL is obviously thinking of something else.] What's the matter?

WILL—Nothing.

DENNIS—[Bringing down chair to sit left of WILL he imitates RICE'S manner.] Now you must speak, young man—how can I sublimate your subconscious troubles, if you won't speak? Are you unhappy about Paula, my lad? [No answer.] Tell me what's happened between you—relieve your soul, and, as a reward, I may make you co-editor of our magazine. [No response. He rises and walks to opposite side of table.] No? Assistant editor you remain. I may even fire you. Yes, I think I will fire you. [Crossing in front of WILL to fireplace.] Dexter—you're through. Go upstairs and get your check. [Rubs his hands together in glee.] God, it gives me a sense of power to fire a man—especially an old friend! [PAULA and KENNETH come in door right from the garden.]

PAULA—[Amazed to see them.] Will! But how—! Dennis!

WILL—[Rather coolly.] Hello, Paula.

DENNIS—We came to surprise you. Now that we have surprised you, we can go home.

WILL—Leonie asked me to come.

PAULA—Oh. Well, it's very nice to see you.

WILL—Thanks.

PAULA—When I wired you to come a few weeks ago, you were too busy. It takes Leonie, doesn't it?

DENNIS—You should have tried me, Paula. Hello, Dr. Rice. How's business? Any suppressions today?

KENNETH—[Significantly.] Apparently not.

DENNIS—Well, come on up to my room, Doctor, and we'll play Twenty Questions. [He goes out.]

WILL—Hello, Dr. Rice.

KENNETH—How are you?

PAULA—Will—I'm awfully glad to see you. I was just going to write you to thank you for the sweet letter you sent me after Granny died.

KENNETH—I'm afraid it's my fault, Dexter. I do my best to keep Paula so busy that she finds no time to write letters.

WILL—I was sure I could count on you, Doctor. [WILL goes out.]

PAULA—You enjoy hurting Will, don't you?

KENNETH—When there is an obstacle in my path, I do my best to remove it.

PAULA—What makes you think it is only Will that stands between us—That if left to myself I—

KENNETH—Because it is true. Were it not for the squids of idealistic drivel spouted around you by Will and his friends, there would be no issue at all between us. I resent even an imputed rivalry with someone I despise.

PAULA—Rivalry?

KENNETH—Paula—There's no reason any longer why I shouldn't tell you the truth.

PAULA—What is it, Kenneth?

KENNETH—[After a moment—slowly.] Do you know what I feel like? I feel like a man on a great height, irresistibly tempted to jump over. Do you want the truth really? [She says nothing. Somehow his words, his voice, his attitude make her feel that really now he may reveal something which before he wouldn't have revealed. He is in a trance-like state almost; she feels it; she is rather horribly fascinated—somehow, though she distrusts him utterly, some instinct tells her that, at this moment actually he is tempted by a force, disruptive to himself, to tell her the truth.] Don't you know it? Don't you feel it? [Pause.] Haven't you known it? Haven't you felt it? [A moment's pause.] I love you.

PAULA—What?

KENNETH—I love you. [A pause. She is too stupefied to speak. She too is under a spell. She is fascinated by him—by the enormity of this. She rises, walks away from him to stand by sofa.]

PAULA—I suppose I should be afraid of you. I'm not afraid of you.

KENNETH—I am afraid of you. You tempt me to venture the impossible. That is impractical. And I have always been eminently practical.

PAULA—I'm sure you have. [She feels herself talking automatically, as if out of a hypnotic state—at the same time some vanity and shrewdness keeps pounding inside her: "See how far he will go—see how far he will go!"]

KENNETH—I have lived by a plan. The plan has matured. But I have yearned for a face that would give me joy, for the voice that would soothe me. It is your face. It is your voice. [PAULA is fighting not to scream; at the same time she is caught in a nightmarish fascination.]

PAULA—[Very faintly.] Don't you love Mother?

KENNETH—No. [A moment's pause.] You are the youth I have never had, the security I have never had—you are the home I have hungered for. [Moves toward her—stands over her and a little back.] That I am standing near you now, that I have achieved a share in your life, that you are listening to me, that you are thinking of me and of what I am, to the exclusion of everything else in the whirling universe—this is a miracle so devastating, that it makes any future possible—Paula—

PAULA—What?

KENNETH—Paula!

PAULA—What is it!

KENNETH—[Bending over her.] Paula . . . [It is as if he got a sexual joy from saying her name.] I love your name. I love to say your name.

PAULA—I am afraid of you. I'm sorry for you.

KENNETH—Do you think me insane?

PAULA—Yes.

KENNETH—Because I am ambitious, because I am forthright, because I deal scientifically with the human stuff around me—you think me insane. Because I am ruthless and romantic, you think me insane. This boy you think you love—who spends his time sniveling about a system he is not strong enough to dominate—is he sane?

PAULA—I don't expect you to—

KENNETH—When I hear the chatter of your friends, it makes me sick. While they and their kind prate of co-operative commonwealths, the strong man takes power, and rides over their backs—which is all their backs are fit for. Never has the opportunity for the individual career been so exalted, so infinite in its scope, so horizonal. House-painters and minor journalists become dictators of great nations. [With puckish humor—leaning on arm of her chair.] Imagine what a really clever man could do! See what he has done! [He smiles, makes a gesture of modest self-assertion, indicating the room as part of his conquest. She laughs, rather choked and embarrassed. He goes on.] And this I have done alone. From an impossible distance—I have come to you, so that when I speak, you can hear. What might we not do together, Paula—you and I—[To her surprise, PAULA finds herself arguing an inconceivable point. She loathes the strange fascination she feels in this man, and yet is aware that it might turn to her advantage.]

PAULA—We don't want the same things.

KENNETH—You want what everyone wants who has vitality and imagination—new forms of power—new domains of knowledge—the ultimate sensations.

PAULA—You are romantic, aren't you?

KENNETH—Endlessly. And endlessly—realistic. [Staring at her.] What are you thinking?

PAULA—[Shrewd against him—against herself.] I keep thinking—what you want now—what you're after now?

KENNETH—[Moving toward her.] You don't believe then—that I love you?

PAULA—[Leaning back in chair—not looking at him.] You are a very strange man.

KENNETH—I am simple really. I want everything. That's all!

PAULA—And you don't care how you get it.

KENNETH—Don't be moralistic, Paula—I beg you. I am directly in the tradition of your own marauding ancestors. They pass now for pioneers—actually they fell on the true pioneers, and wrested what they had found away from them, by sheer brutal strength. I am doing the same thing—but more adroitly.

PAULA—Why are you so honest with me?

KENNETH—[With his most charming smile.] Perhaps because I feel that, in your heart, you too are an adventurer. [A pause. During these half-spell-bound instants a thought has been forming slowly in PAULA'S mind that crystallizes now. This man is the enemy. This man is infinitely cunning, infinitely resourceful. Perhaps—just the possibility—he really feels this passion for her. If so, why not use this weakness in an antagonist so ruthless? She will try.]

PAULA—I shouldn't listen to you—[A moment. He senses her cunning. He looks at her.]

KENNETH—You don't trust me?

PAULA—Have I reason to trust you?

KENNETH—What reason would you like? What proof would you like?

PAULA—Aren't you going to marry Mother?

KENNETH—Only as an alternative.

PAULA—Will you—tell her so? Will you give up the alternative?

KENNETH—And if I do?

PAULA—What shall I promise you?

KENNETH—Yourself.

PAULA—[Looks at him—speaks.] And if I do?

KENNETH—Then . . .

PAULA—[Taking fire.] You say you love me! If you feel it—really feel it—You haven't been very adventurous for all your talk! Taking in Mother and Sam! Give up those conquests. Tell her! Tell Mother! Then perhaps I will believe you.

KENNETH—And then?

PAULA—Take your chances!

KENNETH—[Quietly.] Very well.

PAULA—You will?

KENNETH—I Will.

PAULA—You'll tell Mother—you love me?

KENNETH—Yes.

PAULA—[Going to the foot of the stairs, calls:] Mother! Mother!

LEONIE—[Offstage.] Yes, Paula. I'm coming right down! I've the most marvelous surprise for you! Wait and see! [PAULA walks to end of sofa—looking at KENNETH. LEONIE comes in. She is wearing an exquisite old-fashioned silk wedding-dress which billows around her in an immense shimmering circle. She is a vision of enchantment.]

LEONIE—[In a great flurry of excitement.] Children, look what I found! It's Mother's. It's the dress she was married in. I was poking around in Granny's room while Sam was talking to me about bonds, and I came upon it. Do you like it, Kenneth? Isn't it adorable? Have you ever . . . What's the matter? Don't you like it?

PAULA—It's very pretty.

LEONIE—[Overwhelmed by the inadequacy of this word.] Pretty! Pretty! [She hopes for more from KENNETH.] Kenneth . . .?

KENNETH—It's exquisite.

LEONIE—Isn't it? [She whirls around in the dress.] Isn't it? Yes. Exquisite. Can you imagine the scene? Can you imagine Granny walking down the aisle—and all the august spectators in mutton-chop whiskers and Prince Alberts? We've lost something these days—a good deal—oh, I don't miss the muttonchops—but in ceremony, I mean—in punctilio and grace. . . .

PAULA—[Cutting ruthlessly through the nostalgia.] Mother!

LEONIE—What is it, Paula?

PAULA—Kenneth has something to tell you.

LEONIE—Kenneth?

PAULA—Yes. He has something to tell you.

LEONIE—Have you, Kenneth?

KENNETH—Yes.

LEONIE—What is it?

KENNETH—[Quietly.] I love Paula. I want to marry Paula. [A pause. Granny's wedding-dress droops.]

LEONIE—Do you mean that, Kenneth?

KENNETH—Yes.

LEONIE—[Piteously.] This isn't very nice of you, Paula.

PAULA—I had nothing to do with it. I loathe Kenneth. But I wanted you to know him. Now you see him, Mother, your precious Lothario—there he is! Look at him!

LEONIE—These clothes are picturesque, but I think our modern ones are more comfortable. I think—I feel quite faint—isn't it ridiculous? [She sways.]

PAULA—I'm sorry, Mother. I had to. But I love you. I really do.

LEONIE—[Very faint.] Thank you, Paula.

PAULA—You'd better go up and lie down. I'll come to you in a moment.

LEONIE—Yes. I think I'd better. Yes. [She begins to sob; she goes out, hiding her face in the lace folds of her dress. PAULA, having gone with her to the door, rings bell for ROBERT, turns to KENNETH.]

PAULA—I suppose you're going to tell me this isn't cricket. Well, don't, because it will only make me laugh. To live up to a code with people like you is only to be weak and absurd.

KENNETH—[His voice is low and even but tense with hate.] You, Miss Frothingham, are my last miscalculation. I might even say my first. Fortunately, not irreparable! [ROBERT enters.]

PAULA—Robert.

ROBERT—Yes, Miss Frothingham.

PAULA—[Still staring fixedly at KENNETH.] Dr. Rice is leaving. Will you see that his bags are packed, please?

ROBERT—Yes, Miss. [He goes out.]

KENNETH—Forgive me—for having over-estimated you. [He goes out door right. PAULA comes slowly down and sits on sofa. She gets a reaction herself now from all she has been through; this game hasn't been natural to her; she is trembling physically; she is on the verge of tears. WILL comes in.]

PAULA—Will—Will darling—[She clings to WILL.]

WILL—[Worried.] Paula!

PAULA—Put your arms around me, Will—hold me close—[WILL obeys.]

WILL—What's happened?

PAULA—I've tricked him. I made him say in front of Mother that he loved me, that he wanted to marry me. Poor Leonie! But it had to be done! And do you know, Will—at the end I felt—gosh, one has so many selves, Will. I must tell you—for the—well, for the completeness of the record—

WILL—[Curious.] What?

PAULA—At the end I felt I had to do it—not only to save Leonie—but to save myself. Can you understand that? I felt horribly drawn to him, and by the sordid thing I was doing—But it's over. Thank God it's over. Will, darling, these six weeks have been hell without you. When I got your letter about Granny, I sat down and cried. I wanted to go right to New York to be with you. And yet I couldn't. How could I? But now, Will—I don't want to wait for you any longer. I've done what I can. It's cost me almost—Will—I need you terribly—

WILL—And I you, Paula. But listen, darling—I've decided during the weeks I've been away from you—I can't marry you now—I can't face what I'd become—

PAULA—But Will, I—[Springing up.] But Will, I'll give up the money. I'll live with you anywhere.

WILL—I know that, Paula. But I mustn't. You mustn't let me. I've thought it all out. You say you'd live with me anywhere. But what would happen? Supposing I didn't get a job? Would we starve? We'd take fifty dollars a week from your grandmother's estate. It would be foolish not to. Taking fifty, why not seventy-five? Why not two hundred? I can't let myself in for it, Paula. [A long pause.] Paula, darling—do you hate me?

PAULA—No.

WILL—Supposing you weren't rich? Is it a world in which, but for this, I'd have to sink? If it is, I'm going to damn well do what I can to change it. I don't have to scrabble for the inheritance of dead men. That's for Kenneth—one robber baron—after the lapse of several generations—succeeding another. I don't want this damn fortune to give me an unfair advantage over people as good as I am who haven't got it. [Torn with pity for her.] Paula—my dearest—what can I do?

PAULA—I see that you can't do anything. I quite see. Still—

WILL—I love you, Paula, and I'll be longing for you terribly, but I can't marry you—not till there's somebody for you to marry. When I've struck my stride, I won't care about Sam, or the money, or anything, because I'll be on my own. If you feel the way I do, you'll wait.

PAULA—[Very still voice.] Of course, Will. I'll wait.

WILL—[Overcome with gratitude and emotion—seizes her in his arms passionately.] Darling—darling—[LEONIE comes in. WILL, overcome with emotion, goes out.]

LEONIE—It's easy to say "lie down." But what happens then? Thoughts assail you. Thoughts . . .

PAULA—Mother . . .

LEONIE—Kenneth's going. He's leaving. I suppose you're happy. It's the end—the end of summer.

PAULA—[Herself shaken with emotion.] Mother—[She wants to talk to LEONIE, to tell her what has happened, but LEONIE is lost in her own maze.]

LEONIE—It's cold here. I hate this place. I'm going to sell it. [She sits, in chair, right of fireplace.] I've always wanted things around me to be gay and warm and happy. I've done my best. I must be wrong. Why do I find myself this way? With nothing. With nothing.

PAULA—[Running to her mother and throwing herself on her knees beside her.] Mother—Mother darling—

LEONIE—[Not responding, reflectively.] I suppose the thing about me that is wrong is that love is really all I care about. [A moment's pause.] I suppose I should have been interested in other things. Good works. Do they sustain you? But I couldn't somehow. I think when you're not in love—you're dead. Yes, that must be why I'm . . . [Her voice trails off rather. PAULA drops her head in her mother's lap and begins to cry.]

LEONIE—[Surprised.] Paula—what is it? What's the matter? Are you sorry? It's all right, child.

PAULA—[Through her tears.] It's Will—

LEONIE—Will?

PAULA—He's going away.

LEONIE—Why don't you go with him?

PAULA—He doesn't want me.

LEONIE—That's not true. It must be something else.

PAULA—The money.

LEONIE—Oh, the money. Yes, the money. The money won't do anything for you. It'll work against you. It's worked against me. It gives you the illusion of escape—but always you have to come back to yourself. At the end of every journey—you find yourself.

PAULA—What shall I do, Mother?

LEONIE—You and Will want the same things. In the end you will find them. But don't let him find them with someone else. Follow him. Be near him. When he is depressed and discouraged, let it be your hand that he touches, your face that he sees.

PAULA—[Breathless.] Mother—you're right—he told me last summer—"you must have a shoulder to lean on"—

LEONIE—Let it be your shoulder, Paula; follow him. Be near him.

PAULA—Thank you, Mother.

LEONIE—[Ruefully.] I am telling you what I should do. It must be bad advice.

PAULA—[Gratefully.] Darling! [DENNIS and WILL come in.]

DENNIS—Here you are! We're off to the boat! Thirty minutes! Why don't you and Paula come too? What do you say, Leonie?

LEONIE—You know, all these years I've been coming up here, and I've never been on the Bar Harbor boat.

DENNIS—It may be said, Mrs. Frothingham, if you have never been on the Bar Harbor boat, that you have not lived!

LEONIE—Really! I'd always heard it was poky.

DENNIS—Poky! The Normandie of the Kennebec poky! Mrs. Frothingham!

LEONIE—It's fun, is it? But doesn't it get into New York at some impossible hour?

DENNIS—At seven A.M.

LEONIE—Seven! [She shudders.]

DENNIS—[The brisk executive.] Seven! Yes, sir! At my desk at nine! All refreshed and co-ordinated and ready to attack my South American correspondence.

LEONIE—I must learn not to believe him, mustn't I?

DENNIS—I am my own master, Leonie. All day for nine mortal hours I grind out escape fiction for the pulp magazines. But one day I shall become famous and emerge into the slicks and then I doubt very much whether I shall come here.

LEONIE—I shall miss you.

DENNIS—Then I'll come.

LEONIE—I hate to have you go, Dennis. You cheer me up. Why don't you stay?

DENNIS—Impossible, Leonie. I must go to New York to launch the magazine. But for the moment, good-bye, Leonie. As a reward for your hospitality I shall send you the original copy of one of my stories. Would you like to escape from something?

LEONIE—[Smiling wanly.] I would indeed!

DENNIS—Think no more about it. You're as good as free. The story is yours, typed personally on my Underwood. Those misplaced keys—those inaccuracies—how they will bemuse posterity! [He goes out.]

WILL—[Awkwardly.] Good-bye, Leonie.

LEONIE—Good-bye, Will. [He goes out without looking at PAULA. In pantomime, LEONIE urges PAULA to go after him. PAULA kisses her quickly and runs out after WILL. Left alone, LEONIE walks to the chair in which her mother sat so often—she looks through the glowing autumn at the darkening sea. KENNETH comes in. There is a pause.]

KENNETH—Leonie—

LEONIE—Yes, Kenneth.

KENNETH—I don't expect you to understand this. I shall not try to make you understand it.

LEONIE—Perhaps I'd better not.

KENNETH—Really I am amused at myself—highly entertained. That I should have almost had to practice on myself what hitherto I have reserved for my patients—that I who have made such a fetish of discipline and restraint so nearly succumbed to an inconsistency. I must revise my notion of myself.

LEONIE—And I too.

KENNETH—Why? Why you?

LEONIE—I seem to be a survival—Paula's directness—and your calculations—they are beyond me.

KENNETH—Nevertheless, it's curious how you and Paula are alike—no wonder that, for a moment at least, you seemed to me—interchangeable.

LEONIE—Did you know it from the beginning—that it was Paula?

KENNETH—I was attracted by her resemblance to you—for exercising this attraction I hated her. She felt it too—from the beginning and she must have hated me from the beginning. Between us there grew up this strange, unnatural antagonism—

LEONIE—What?

KENNETH—This fused emotion of love and hate. It had to be brought out into the open. It's a familiar psychosis—the unconscious desire of the daughter to triumph over the mother.

LEONIE—But I don't understand—

KENNETH—There is so much in these intricate relationships that the layman can't understand—

LEONIE—You mean that you—felt nothing for Paula?

KENNETH—No, I don't mean that at all. But I saw that what I felt for her was some twisted reflection of what I felt for you. And I saw there was only one way out of it—to let her triumph over you. I told her that I loved her. But this was not enough. I must repeat it in front of you. You must witness her triumph. I made it possible. I gave her her great moment. Well, you see what it's done. It freed her so beautifully that she was able to go to Will. They've gone away together. Perfect cure for her as well as for myself. [A moment's pause.]

LEONIE—It all sounds almost too perfect, Kenneth.

KENNETH—I said I didn't expect you to understand it—you have lived always on your emotions. You have never bothered to delve beneath them. You are afraid to, aren't you?

LEONIE—I know this, Kenneth. I heard you say that you loved Paula. I heard your voice. No, I can't accept this, Kenneth! It's not good enough. I've never done that before. I'd only think now that everything you did, everything you said, was to cover what you felt. And I'd end by telling myself that I believed you. I'd end by taking second best from you. No, I must guard myself from that. I felt this a month ago—that's why I sent for Will.

KENNETH—Some day, Leonie, you will learn that feeling is not enough.

LEONIE—But I trust my instinct, Kenneth.

KENNETH—That, Leonie, is your most adorable trait—

LEONIE—What?

KENNETH—That trust—that innocence. If it weren't for that, you wouldn't be you—and everyone wouldn't love you—

LEONIE—Oh, no, Kenneth—[DENNIS comes in.]

DENNIS—Oh, excuse me. But I left my brief-case. Oh, here it is. [He picks it up.] Without my brief-case I am a man without a Destiny. With it I am—

KENNETH—A man with a brief-case.

LEONIE—[Crossing rather desperately to DENNIS—this straw in the current.] What's in it—your stories?

DENNIS—Stories—no, that wouldn't matter. I am fertile; I can spawn stories. But the plans for the magazine are in here—the future of Young America is here—

LEONIE—Will you stay and have a whiskey and soda?

DENNIS—Thanks, but if I do, I shall miss the boat.

LEONIE—Suppose you do?

KENNETH—Leonie—that would delay the millennium one day.

DENNIS—The doctor's right. That would be selfish.

LEONIE—Be selfish. Please stay.

DENNIS—No. Once you are enlisted in a cause, you can't live a personal life. It is a dedication.

LEONIE—Kenneth is leaving. I shall be lonely, Dennis. I can't bear to be alone.

KENNETH—Your need for people is poignant, isn't it, Leonie?

LEONIE—Stay for dinner. After dinner we can talk about your magazine.

DENNIS—Oh, well—that makes it possible for me to stay. Thank you, Kenneth. [He goes to sofa, sits, busying himself with briefcase. She goes to console to make highball.]

KENNETH—Send me your magazine, Dennis. I shall be honored to be the first subscriber.

DENNIS—I'll be glad to. Your patients can read it in the waiting-room instead of the National Geographic.

KENNETH—Your first subscriber—and very possibly your last. [He crosses to door and turns back.] Good-bye, Leonie. Good luck, Dennis. We who are about to retire—salute you. [She does not look at him. He bows formally to DENNIS'S back, makes a gesture of "good luck" and exits.]

DENNIS—Trouble with that fellow is—he lives for himself. No larger interest. That's what dignifies human beings, Leonie—a dedication to something greater than themselves.

LEONIE—[Coming down to hand him his highball.] Yes? Here's your whiskey and soda. I envy you, Dennis. I wish I could dedicate myself to something—something outside myself.

DENNIS—[Rising to sit beside her.] Well, here's your opportunity, Leonie—it's providential. You couldn't do better than this magazine. It would give you a new interest—impersonal. It would emancipate you, Leonie. It would be a perpetual dedication to Youth—to the hope of the world. The world is middle-aged and tired. But we—

LEONIE—[Wistfully.] Can you refresh us, Dennis?

DENNIS—Refresh you? Leonie, we can rejuvenate you!

LEONIE—[Grateful there is some one there—another human being she can laugh with.] That's an awfully amusing idea. You make me laugh.

DENNIS—[Eagerly selling the idea.] In the youth of any country, there is an immense potentiality—

LEONIE—You're awfully serious about it, aren't you, Dennis?

DENNIS—Where the magazine is concerned, Leonie, I am a fanatic.

LEONIE—I suppose if it's really successful—it'll result in my losing everything I have—

DENNIS—It'll be taken from you anyway. You'll only be anticipating the inevitable.

LEONIE—Why—how clever of me!

DENNIS—Not only clever but graceful.

LEONIE—Will you leave me just a little to live on—?

DENNIS—Don't worry about that—come the Revolution—you'll have a friend in high office. [LEONIE accepts gratefully this earnest of security. They touch glasses in a toast as the curtain falls.]

Index     1     2-I     2-II     3