Index     I     II-1     II-2     III

ACT ONE

SCENE: The living-room of a duplex apartment of a studio- building on the West Side. The proscenium displaces the great windows typical of these apartments; midway up the rear wall is visible the railed landing of the stairs leading to the upper bedrooms. The great room is comfortably furnished, a slight preponderance of the "exotic" in furnishing. The walls are lined with bookshelves wherever convenient. There are books and magazines in profusion everywhere. On the right, near the fireplace, is a long, low, extremely comfortable looking armchair; leaning against it is an ordinary sewing board. On the other side of this chair is a low tabouret on which repose writing materials and a telephone. Not far from this armchair, also, just below the fireplace, is a small "portable" gramophone on a small stand.

AT RISE: MRS. KENDALL FRAYNE is discovered walking nervously about near the armchair. She is a tall, handsome, beautifully dressed woman, about thirty-five. She might be described as "majestic"; she has a fine face; her voice is beautifully modulated and restrained even when she speaks under the stress of deep feeling.

She is nervous and angry. Keeps looking at her watch. Takes up the manuscript of a story on the tabouret, and drops it when she sees she has already read it. Finally she makes up her mind to leave; grasps her fur wrap, lying on a chair. At the door she stops, returns to the telephone. Her voice is calm as she asks for the number.

KENDALL—[At the telephone] Gramercy 4304 please—yes—may I speak to Mr. Storey please?—I believe he lunched at the Club and I thought he might still be there—thank you so much—[She holds the receiver to her ear, sitting on the arm of the chair]—yes—about how long ago?—thank you.

[She takes up her wrap again with a sweeping gesture. This time she means really to go. She goes up-stage and disappears in the little hallway leading to the corridor. The telephone tinkles. She runs back, quite excited and answers the call.]

KENDALL—[At phone] Yes. Yes, the line was busy—who?—no, Mr. Storey is not in—this— this is a friend of his—is there any message?—oh, Miss Grey—this is Mrs. Frayne— how do you do?—yes—he was here but stepped out—he'll be back in a few minutes—I'm leaving now but I'll leave the message for him. Not at all. Good-bye.

[She hangs up again. She is thoroughly angry, humiliated. She writes out message. Starts up-stage. CLARK STOREY rushes in.]

STOREY—Awfully sorry.

KENDALL—I'm leaving.

STOREY—Oh, come! I'm not so late.

KENDALL—Only an hour.

STOREY—The distinguished Englishman insisted on my dropping into his hotel with him. We got to talking—I told him his heroines were all neurotic and his heroes—

KENDALL—I've got to go.

[She tries to cross him.]

STOREY—Honestly, Kendall, I rushed up here as fast as I could. Had a fight with one taxi-driver and it took me hours to find another. Please don't be angry. I'm full of things to tell you—

KENDALL—This always happens.

STOREY—Besides, I thought you'd be quite comfortable. I left my new story for you to read.

KENDALL—That took exactly fifteen minutes.

STOREY—Only that? Really, I must write a novel. Then I can be late with impunity. Great idea for a publisher's blurb: "This novel is so absorbing that a jealous woman, waiting for the author to keep an appointment, forgot all about him—"

KENDALL—Really, you've got to stop treating me like this!

STOREY—I swear I only stayed on so long because I thought it would amuse you to hear about the great English novelist. I kept saying to myself: "This will amuse Kendall—!"

KENDALL—Don't talk like that to me. It's all right for Monica Grey. It's transparent to me. She just telephoned you, by the way.

STOREY—What did she want?

KENDALL—You—It was humiliating. I had to say you had gone out. Of course she understood that I was waiting for you.

STOREY—Oh, well, everybody in town was at that luncheon. The great novelist is tall and thin and has a red beard. I suspect that if he shaved it would be discovered that he has no chin. And I was delighted to find what I had already suspected from reading his novels—he has no sense of humour.

KENDALL—Because he didn't find your flippancy amusing?

STOREY—It's as good a test as any.

KENDALL—He's a genius. It shows on nearly every page of his writing.

STOREY—I dare say he is a genius. Sad thing about geniuses—almost invariably lack humour. It's true. Genius is a sort of fanaticism—

[The telephone rings]

KENDALL—I'm going.

STOREY—Please—just a minute—[At phone] You're doing it—who is this?—oh, hello there, Austin—what about?—Monica again?—I thought you were all set—oh, you take her too seriously—I'm busy right now—Mrs. Frayne—oh, sure—say twenty minutes—bye-bye. [He hangs up] Austin Lowe. Wants to weep on my shoulder. All burned up about Monica Grey.

KENDALL—And she's burned up about you.

STOREY—Nonsense. A baby. Doesn't know what she wants.

KENDALL—I think she does. [Casually] Why don't you marry her?

STOREY—I have other plans.

KENDALL—Meaning?

STOREY—Meaning you.

KENDALL—Why should you want to marry me? Outside of the fact that—you love comfort and I am—rich.

STOREY—Outside of the fact that I love comfort—and that you are rich—I like you very much. I like you enormously. You're the most intelligent woman I know.

KENDALL—Not so intelligent. I discovered that— just—now—waiting for you?

STOREY—How come?

KENDALL—I was—jealous.

STOREY—[Wickedly] Of the celebrated English novelist? You misunderstand me, Kendall.

KENDALL—Jealous of your self-sufficiency. Your independence of me. I saw you there talking, enjoying yourself, reveling in your own fluency. I realized perfectly well that you must have forgotten me or, if you did think of me, that you must be saying: "Oh, she'll wait—" I was jealous, Storey.

STOREY—You too! My last hope is gone.

KENDALL—You see, Storey, you aren't in the least bit in love with me.

STOREY—I feel a much rarer, more stable emotion—friendliness and all sorts of affection and—

KENDALL—I know.

STOREY—I was hoping we—you and I—might demonstrate the triumph of the loveless marriage.

KENDALL—How old are you, Storey?

STOREY—What did I tell you last time you asked me?

KENDALL—I believe you said twenty-eight.

STOREY—I lied. I'm thirty.

KENDALL—I'm thirty-five.

STOREY—Delightful age.

KENDALL—When I'm forty-five you won't be any older than you are now.

STOREY—Won't I!

KENDALL—Suppose you fall in love?

STOREY—I'm through with that sort of thing.

KENDALL—You sound so young sometimes—so naive.

STOREY—But I've been through that sort of thing. I know.

KENDALL—I can't imagine you really in love.

STOREY—But I assure you I was. It lasted two years. I suffered. I agonized.

KENDALL—Who was she?

STOREY—No one you know. She's married now. Has children and a dull husband, a dull home. I see her occasionally. And I wonder at myself. Was it for her I felt that base emotion—jealousy? Was it for her I used to wait in a torment of anxiety and anticipation? It seems impossible now. Such a nice, unimaginative, plodding creature. I see her and I wonder.

KENDALL—It may happen again—without warning.

STOREY—I doubt it. I'm fed up with love. It's a mirage, an illusion, a sort of pathology, feeds on being unsatisfied, rejected. Attain love and it vanishes—vanishes into the thin air or solidifies into such things as comfort and affection—things which you and I would have from the start, my dear.

KENDALL—[Doubtfully] All this is very pretty—

[The phone rings]

STOREY—That damn telephone—[Taking it up] Yes—hello, Monica—how are you?yes, Mrs. Frayne told me—I'd just stepped out to buy her a magazine with a poem of mine in it—oh, a trifle—not one of my major works—you've got to see me?—Austin just called me and told me the same thing—what've you been doing to him?—now don't be a silly child—you're lucky to have him—it's no good you're coming to see me—I shan't coddle you—no, don't come; I shan't be here—I—[She has put down the receiver on him. In disgust.] Crazy kid!

KENDALL—Gracious! You are pursued by women!

STOREY—Now there's a case—Monica Grey! Poor as a church mouse. Mother at her wit's end to keep up the pretence of a conservative gentility. And here's Austin Lowe absolutely dotty about her. A millionaire and a great man to boot—

KENDALL—[Gently] He is dull, Storey.

STOREY—Dull! One of the most promising young chemists in America. Under thirty and he's actually discovered something new—a new way of doing something or other. He's an F.R.S.!

KENDALL—Yes. And a B-O-R-E.

STOREY—If there's one man on earth I envy it's Austin Lowe. If I had his money and his brain—the vices I'd encourage—the secrets I'd explore—!

KENDALL—In that case I'm glad you haven't his money and I'm certainly glad you haven't his brain.

STOREY—Just because he's not glib, like I am!

KENDALL—He never has anything interesting to say—

STOREY—I can talk, can't I? And that impresses you. But Austin's a great man who's made a contribution to science while I'm an imitative poet and a second-rate short-story writer.

KENDALL—You are a dear, Storey.

STOREY—Well, it's true!

KENDALL—I'll make a great sacrifice: Monica can have the great man. I'll take the second-rate short-story writer.

STOREY—You'll get your preference. Austin can't see anyone in the world but Monica.

KENDALL—She doesn't care much for him, though.

STOREY—She will. I'll let you in on a little secret—

KENDALL—Yes?

STOREY—Austin and Monica are engaged.

KENDALL—Really? It's not announced, is it?

STOREY—It just happened yesterday. Austin telephoned me in a perfect ecstasy.

KENDALL—I gather he's in less of an ecstasy today—

STOREY—Oh, Monica's a crazy kid. And being completely in love with her Austin's at her mercy.

KENDALL—Miss Grey is rather adorable. Likes to be—audacious — doesn't she?

STOREY—Really an innocent. A Tennysonian ingénue with a Freudian patter.

KENDALL—Something appealingly wistful about her.

STOREY—Actually she has all the picture-book illusions of a Saturday Evening Post heroine—but she's picked up the vocabulary of the intelligentsia. Don't let it deceive you.

KENDALL—Are you urging her to marry Austin?

STOREY—Urge her? My dear, I insist on it.

KENDALL—Why?

STOREY—Why? Because Austin'll make an admirable husband for her. She'll settle down and have babies and live in luxury. Her mother'll spend her old age in comfort. And—so shall I!

KENDALL—You're incorrigible.

STOREY—I have enormous respect for money. You can't appreciate it. It can only be felt by those whose past was poverty-stricken and whose present—is precarious.

KENDALL—You could make a fortune if you worked harder.

STOREY—I doubt it. I'm too intelligent to write commercial truck and incapable of writing great stuff. It's unfortunate. No, my dear. The only solution for me is to persuade you to marry me.

KENDALL—Would you want to marry me if I were poor?

STOREY—That would be presumptuous.

KENDALL—Presumptuous?

STOREY—Only the rich should offer to marry poor girls. They are the only ones who can afford it.

KENDALL—You're awfully mercenary.

STOREY—I'm mature. But I am honest as well as mercenary. If you do marry me—I promise—I absolutely promise—not to live above your income—

KENDALL—[Amused] I can't be angry with you.

STOREY—Why should you be angry with me?

KENDALL—Keeping me waiting an hour.

STOREY—At least I wasn't with another woman.

KENDALL—I suppose that will come too.

STOREY—I'll always come back to you.

KENDALL—You make me feel like a—

STOREY—Like a terminal?

KENDALL—Honestly, I wish I'd never met you.

STOREY—You don't mean that. Think of the nice times we've had together.

KENDALL—I feel you'll make me very unhappy.

STOREY—Only momentarily. And never wilfully.

KENDALL—Anyway, I wish I weren't in love with you.

STOREY—You won't be—long.

KENDALL—It's lasted now—three years.

STOREY—But most of that time your husband was alive.

KENDALL—[After a moment] Storey—outside of being in love with you—I'm very fond of you. I feel such fine things in you. If only you wouldn't waste yourself so, if only you'd make the effort to live up to the best in you—

STOREY—Oh, now, Kendall, don't you be fooled too. I'm living up to the best in me, right now.

KENDALL—But you potter so. You're not concentrated on anything.

STOREY—But I've a talent for pottering.

KENDALL—I feel you could do great work—

STOREY—Now don't you go on having illusions about me. I have a certain facility for turning out pretty stuff—

KENDALL—I'm sure you could do great things.

STOREY—You are mistaken. I know my limitations. Nor have I any craving for immortality. When I'm rich—when I'm married to you—I probably shan't write at all. I'll be—what I've always wanted to be—a prosperous dilettante.

KENDALL—I never can tell when you're joking—

STOREY—I assure you I'm perfectly serious now. What this country needs is a dilettante class, interested in art with no desire to make money out of it. Why shouldn't there be an amateur class in art, as there is in sport?

KENDALL—Is this a pose?

STOREY—I assure you it isn't. Quite the contrary. At least you can't say afterwards that I married you under false pretences. I tell you now I'm an adventurer—intellectually and morally—an arriviste with one virtue—honesty.

KENDALL—Well, I've got you on my hands. I suppose I'll have to make the best of you.

STOREY—You'd better—

[He rises—kisses her lightly—folds her coat about her.]

KENDALL—[Turns and watches him—amused] I gather you're dismissing me.

STOREY—Well, I have to do some work. [With a gesture toward the manuscript.]

KENDALL—[Laughing] What?

STOREY—I haven't touched that since this morning. And Austin's coming in—

KENDALL—And Miss Grey.

STOREY—You heard me tell her I wouldn't be home.

KENDALL—I heard her say she was coming.

STOREY—What can one do? It'll be a relief to me when these two are married off.

KENDALL—To me, too.

STOREY—Are you going out tonight?

KENDALL—I don't think so.

STOREY—Suppose I ring you — 5:30ish. You might dine here. I'll order dinner from downstairs.

KENDALL—All right. By the way, Storey—

STOREY—Yes?

KENDALL—It's—the end of the month. If you're a bit short —I might lend you a little.

STOREY—Ken, you demoralize me.

KENDALL—Here's a check. You can pay me when your ship comes in.

[She gives storey the check. He puts it on table.]

STOREY—You are a darling! I suppose it's dreadful to take money from a woman. But why it's worse than taking it from a man I don't know. Do you?

KENDALL—It all depends—

STOREY—Really, Kendall, you've got to marry me right away—to save my self-respect.

KENDALL—What do you want your self-respect for?

STOREY—I haven't the least idea—

KENDALL—[Slapping him] Half-wit . . .

STOREY—[Affectionately] Darling . . . [He walks out with her, returns a moment later. Goes to telephone.] Restaurant, please—Mr. Storey speaking—I want dinner for two for tonight—seven-thirty—up here. Oysters, small ones—clear soup—supreme of chicken with mushrooms—salad—yes—yes—thank you, Frederic—

[He hangs up, takes off his coat, puts on dressing-gown, an elaborate one, yellow silk-lined with wide sleeves and brilliant sash. Settles himself into the easy chair, puts the sewing board across its arms, making a bridge on which he puts the writing paper and starts to create. Inspiration is halting; he lights a cigarette. The lamp is too bright. He pins a piece of newspaper over it. Something in paper attracts his attention. He takes out the pin — leans back in chair and reads it. The doorbell rings. He gets up and goes to door admitting AUSTIN LOWE. Leaves him and comes back to his chair. AUSTIN is fattish, serious, woebegone, STOREY'S manner to him is extremely friendly.]

STOREY—[With a wave toward his work] I was in the middle of an immortal sentence . . .

AUSTIN—I'm sorry, old man. I had to see you.

STOREY—You look seedy.

AUSTIN—Didn't sleep a wink last night.

STOREY—Cocktail?

AUSTIN—[Miserably] Nothing.

STOREY—Do you good.

AUSTIN—I couldn't really. Couldn't even eat my lunch.

STOREY—What's the matter? Don't tell me that discovery you made turned out to be old stuff.

AUSTIN—It's nothing to do with that.

STOREY—There's an idea. Scientist works twenty years on a scent—finally gets it. Rushes to the Science Club or wherever scientists rush when they've found something. When he gets there the boss tells him: "Sorry, old man, but Professor Funkenwangler got this yesterday—here's his cable—"

AUSTIN—[Irritably] I tried to get you twenty times today. Last night, too. Where the devil've you been?

STOREY—Been? Let's see — where the devil have I been? Oh, last night I went to a party. Then on to Charmian Drew's. Know her?

AUSTIN—No.

STOREY—Very pretty girl. Got back at six this morning. Got up in time to go to lunch to meet Stryker Collins, the English novelist. Know his stuff?

AUSTIN—No.

STOREY—Vastly overrated, if you ask me. The heroines're always throwing things at the heroes. Never saw such nasty women.

AUSTIN—I'm awful low today, Storey, old man.

STOREY—[Affecting surprise] Low? Really? You seem so gay—

[AUSTIN gives him a woeful look.]

AUSTIN—It's about Monica.

STOREY—Monica?

AUSTIN—She's thrown me over.

STOREY—Nonsense.

AUSTIN—Says she won't marry me.

STOREY—You take that child too seriously, Austin.

AUSTIN—But she means it this time, Storey. Told me last night. Says it's all over. Gave me back—the ring. See. Here—

[Shows him the ring which he fumbles miserably.]

STOREY—[Looking critically at the ring] I'm glad she did. Never was crazy about that ring. Neither was Monica, I imagine. You can return it now and get her something less— conventional. I'll go with you to Cartier's. The other day I saw a stunning oblong emerald—

AUSTIN—But don't you see! She doesn't want my ring. Any ring. She doesn't want me.

STOREY—What's her reason? For suddenly—

AUSTIN—Said when she promised to marry me she yielded to outside pressure—

STOREY—Her little mother.

AUSTIN—Said she acted against her better nature. Now she says she realizes she doesn't love me—that she never could love me. What shall I do now, Storey?

STOREY—Leave her alone for a week and — try again.

AUSTIN—The worst of it is—

STOREY—What?

AUSTIN—She loves somebody else.

STOREY—She said so?

AUSTIN—Yes.

STOREY—Who?

AUSTIN—Wouldn't tell me.

STOREY—I don't believe it.

AUSTIN—Why not?

STOREY—She'd have told me.

AUSTIN—You think so?

STOREY—Certainly.

AUSTIN—She would, unless—

STOREY—Unless what?

AUSTIN—Unless the man she loves—is you.

STOREY—I? You're crazy, Austin.

AUSTIN—[Breathless] She likes you. She likes you better than me, that's plain. It's a wonder to me you don't marry her.

STOREY—Austin, you're losing your sense of humour. Fancy my being married to Monica. She'd leave me in six months. By which time I should certainly have left her.

AUSTIN—[Wanting to be contradicted] I don't see why.

STOREY—She's penniless, for one thing. She couldn't stand the poverty of my ménage and—neither could I.

AUSTIN—I can't understand it. You're not in love with her?

STOREY—There speaks the eternal lover. I think it strange you are in love with her. She's pretty—I grant you that. But, great Heavens, man—so young.

AUSTIN—[Rapt] She is young.

STOREY—And so full of spirits!

AUSTIN—Isn't she?

STOREY—Always laughing. Like the constant ringing of chimes.

AUSTIN—It is like chimes.

STOREY—You've certainly got it bad, Austin.

AUSTIN—I can't think of anything else. It—it—obsesses me.

STOREY—[A bit wickedly] After all, you have your science.

AUSTIN—You think that means anything to me now? When I've lost her? I tell you I can't work since I've known Monica.

STOREY—Your researches?

AUSTIN—They're all nothing. I can't do a thing. I don't give a damn. It's only—Monica.

STOREY—[Shaking his head] What an illusion that is about the cold mastery of scientific men! Look at you—helpless as a baby.

AUSTIN—And the worst of it is there's nothing to do. It's not like a problem—that you can work at. She just doesn't love me. And that's all there is to it. I'm sunk.

STOREY—If you want her—really want her—you can get her.

AUSTIN—That's what you always say. But it's not true.

STOREY—[Lighting a cigarette] No doubt about it. I'm sure.

AUSTIN—But she told me—last night—

STOREY—She doesn't in the least know what she wants. Won't till after she's married. That's up to you—

AUSTIN—But she's not attracted to me.

STOREY—She doesn't understand you. She has no appreciation of your intellectual gifts.

AUSTIN—[Sadly] That's true. My work means nothing to her.

STOREY—Why don't you make it mean something to her? Teach her to see how wonderful it is. Go on about the marvelous delicacy of your experiments.

AUSTIN—If I could only talk like you.

STOREY—That's easy.

AUSTIN—How?

STOREY—Cultivate superficiality.

AUSTIN—If she only understood me—as you do!

STOREY—She shall be made to.

AUSTIN—How?

STOREY—[Lighting another cigarette] Maternal pressure. I'll wager you anything a starved writer can pay that Mrs. Grey doesn't know Monica's refused you.

AUSTIN—What if she did?

STOREY—She'd raise hell. You see the old lady's dreadfully afraid—of guess what?

AUSTIN—What?

STOREY—That Monica will marry me.

AUSTIN—There, you see. Even she's noticed it.

STOREY—A good thing, too. Might be a fine thing to persuade Mrs. Grey that I want to marry Monica. She'll never rest then until Monica's married to you.

AUSTIN—What makes you think so?

STOREY—Monica's mother's perfectly cracked about the idea of having you for a son-in-law. Oh, it's not your scientific eminence. It's not even your family, though of course that has something to do with it. It's your money, my friend, your lucre, your multitudinous boodle—

AUSTIN—I can hardly believe—

STOREY—Sorry, but that's what it is. The Greys are mighty hard up. Monica's been dressing shamefully of late—

AUSTIN—[Truculently] She looks better—

STOREY—I know. Niftier in gingham than a fine lady in velvet.

AUSTIN—She looks wonderful in anything.

STOREY—How extraordinary that a little girl like Monica can make a man like you talk like a hack writer!

AUSTIN—[Bristling] Look here, I don't quite like your tone about Monica!

STOREY—Don't misunderstand me. Oh, I'm awfully fond of her. But she is a spoiled little minx, shallow as a platter. Her lack of appreciation of you proves that.

AUSTIN—[Pathetically] Well, she's only twenty. Sometimes I think I'm too old for her.

STOREY—You're only twenty-nine.

AUSTIN—It's not that alone. She's so gay, so full of fun. I can't—prattle, Storey. I don't follow her small talk.

STOREY—Her talk is not small. It is infinitesimal. Your microscopic training should help you.

AUSTIN—I don't do the things she likes—dance, play tennis—you know.

STOREY—[Regarding him judicially] You're not a jazz figure, Austin. But you'd better marry her anyway. If you don't she'll run away with a tenor or something.

AUSTIN—You keep telling me to marry her as if I didn't want to. Damn it, Storey, I'd give my soul—

STOREY—I don't think that will be necessary. But you might make some other sacrifices.

AUSTIN—I'll do anything—

STOREY—Take this thing more lightly, can't you? You've fallen in love like an awkward schoolboy— ot like a man of the world.

AUSTIN—But I'm not a man of the world.

STOREY—Can't you act the base rôle? When Monica's around you get positively tongue-tied. All you can do is silently register adoration.

AUSTIN—I know it. I can't help it. When I do think of something to say it sounds so inadequate to me that I don't say it.

STOREY—If you'd only remember that everything's on your side. You've so much to offer.

AUSTIN—I wish I thought so.

STOREY—If you persist, you'll win her, as the military men say, by attrition.

["Attrition" is a good word for future use. He makes notation on Ms.]

AUSTIN—She told me not to try to see her, not to call her on the telephone. I tell you, Storey, I don't know what to do with myself.

STOREY—[Shaking his head] You're a great argument against celibacy, Austin, old boy.

AUSTIN—You know, Storey, I used to think—before I met Monica—that I'd never marry a girl unless she wanted me as much as I wanted her. But that was before I wanted anybody —as I want Monica. [Passionately] I'd marry her on any terms, you understand? It's beyond—pride. You understand?

STOREY—Of course I understand. And I'll do everything I can to help you, believe me.

AUSTIN—[Fervently] You're a brick, Storey.

STOREY—Now, look here. I've got to do a little work. Why don't you go around the corner to the Chemist's Club, look over some of those fascinating magazines full of algebraic formulas and come back here to dine?

AUSTIN—That's awfully good of you, Storey, really. I hate to be alone.

STOREY—I know.

AUSTIN—You're the only person I can talk to.

STOREY—Come back—say twenty minutes. I'll order dinner from downstairs.

AUSTIN—You make it so easy for your friends to impose on you, Storey. You're swell.

STOREY—Don't deceive yourself, old boy. I get a sadistic pleasure out of watching you writhe. And your pathetic reliance on me gives me a sense of superiority.

AUSTIN—Always joking!

STOREY—It's the grim truth.

AUSTIN—You're the finest—

STOREY—[Hustles him to door] Come now, Austin, run along. See you in twenty minutes.

AUSTIN—[At door] Er—there's something else.

STOREY—Yes.

AUSTIN—I've been wanting to speak to you about it for some time.

STOREY—Well, spit it out.

AUSTIN—It's about money.

STOREY—My favourite subject.

AUSTIN—Er—your writing. Does it—I mean to say—does it bring you in very much?

STOREY—Not what it should. I'm caviare to the general, Austin.

AUSTIN—That's what I thought. Well—you see—I mean to say—you see—well, damn it all, I'm so rich, Storey. Won't you let me help you out occasionally?

STOREY—Of course I will.

AUSTIN—[Reaching eagerly into his pocket] That's fine—I—

STOREY—Oh, not now. I've got a check on the table now—I don't even know how much it is—[Goes to the table and unfolds check MRS. FRAYNE has left.] Five hundred.

AUSTIN—For a story?

STOREY—Yes.

AUSTIN—That's more than we chemists get—

STOREY—But next time I'm broke—it'll probably be next week—I'll let you know.

AUSTIN—Any time. It'll be a pleasure.

STOREY—It's a pleasure I shan't deny you. So long, Austin.

AUSTIN—Good-bye, old man. Awfully good of you to let me come back.

STOREY—Don't mention it. [AUSTIN goes out. STOREY goes to his armchair. There is a smile on his lips. After a moment of meditation he reaches for the telephone.] Regent 2772— please—Mrs. Frayne—Mr. Storey—hello, Ken—I've changed my mind about dining here—let's go out somewhere—yes, I did order it but I'm going to let two other people eat it—and—Kendall—will you call me up in about twenty minutes—never mind what I say—just phone me. Comedy, my dear—tell you later—I'll come to your place about six-thirty—shan't dress, no—yes, I'm working now—oh, pretty well—not many sentences but distinguished. Good-bye, Mrs. Frayne, see you later. [He hangs up, puts board across the arms of his chair, as before, begins to write. He sees "attrition" on his Ms. Goes to dictionary. Finds it. Goes back to his board, spelling it. Writes a few lines. Doorbell rings. He ignores it. It rings again, four short rings. Then, shouting:] Door's open!

MONICA—[Bursting in] Hello, darling. Working? [She is young, vibrant, utterly charming.]

STOREY—Trying to.

MONICA—Sorry I came?

STOREY—[Drily] Well—!

MONICA—I don't care in the least. I'm delighted to see you. [She puts her face against his cheek.]

STOREY—Don't muss me.

MONICA—Just had to see you, Storey. The one person in the world I wanted to see.

STOREY—Everybody's told me that today. I begin to feel like a Father Confessor.

MONICA—Glad to see me? Tell the truth.

STOREY—[Grumbling] Been trying to work all afternoon—

MONICA—You fib. You are glad. You know you are.

STOREY—[Writing] Oh, I don't mind you.

MONICA—I bet you're more than glad. I bet you're thrilled, excited.

STOREY—Modest creature.

MONICA—I'm confident you're in love with me, Storey, but you're too big a fool to tell me so.

STOREY—[Continuing writing] I thought we'd settled all that.

MONICA—You thought you did. You thought I'd quietly succumb and marry Austin.

STOREY—Oh, you're staying!

MONICA—But I'm not going to. Hear that, Storey? I'm not going to—

[He finishes a page and starts a fresh one, putting the finished one on the tabouret beside him.]

MONICA—[Taking finished page] Oh, may I?

STOREY—Be through in a minute.

MONICA—[Reading] Don't stop on my account.

STOREY—[Grimly] Oh, well, enough of creation—

[He throws down his pen.]

MONICA—[Absorbed] Oh, this is awfully interesting.

STOREY—[Same tone] Think so, do you?

[He sounds suddenly weary.]

MONICA—I love it. [She reads] "They had been dancing and he asked her to go outside with him. They stepped out through the open French windows, crossed the lawn and walked down a narrow path between high poplars. . . . The treetops made hedges in the sky between which the stars grew like buttercups. Buttercups. . . ." That's lovely.

STOREY—Go on.

MONICA—"It was a most curious moon, red-bronze in colour, wafer-thin, exquisitely curved, a shaving of a moon. Courtney allowed himself to speculate to the girl beside him. 'God,' he said. Oh, excuse me, 'God,' he said, 'must be a curious person to fashion such a moon, a butcher with artistic leanings. Or was he an artist suffering from a sadistic atavism?' Which did she think? The girl thought it was slightly chilly and hadn't they better go back to the ballroom?" Oh, I think that's wonderful. So—ironic!

STOREY—You think it's wonderful?

MONICA—I think everything you write is wonderful.

STOREY—I'm sorry I can't agree with you. Scented dishwater, that's what it is. Dishwater with eau de Cologne in it.

MONICA—What a funny mood you're in!

STOREY—It annoys me to have you keep prattling that my stuff's wonderful. What do you know about it? Have you ever read anything except movie magazines? Have you—?

MONICA—Oh, now, Storey, please don't scold me. Not today. Today I want you to be nice to me.

STOREY—[Rising] What's this about you and Austin?

MONICA—I can't go through with it, Storey. That's all.

STOREY—But you told me — you definitely told me — you'd made up your mind to marry him.

MONICA—[Whimpering a bit] You're not a bit nice today.

STOREY—You're such an awful dumbbell, Monica.

MONICA—I'm not. You're a dumbbell. Here—sit down and let me get comfy—and I'll tell you all about it . . . I'm going to sit on your lap.

[She does it.]

STOREY—[Groaning] You're the bane of my existence, Monica.

MONICA—Now, we'll talk.

STOREY—Well?

MONICA—Storey—tell the truth—wouldn't you rather have me sitting on your lap this way than Mrs. Frayne?

STOREY—Don't get fresh, Monica. Besides, the query is totally irrelevant.

MONICA—It isn't at all. It's got everything to do with everything. I can't imagine Mrs. Frayne sitting on anybody's lap. She's too—dignified.

STOREY—No one requires you to imagine that, my dear.

MONICA—[Defiantly] I don't like Mrs. Frayne.

STOREY—She likes you.

MONICA—I don't believe it. I'm sure she says nasty things about me.

STOREY—She doesn't discuss you. She thinks you're very pretty but adolescent.

MONICA—[With a wicked smile] I may be young but my thoughts are mature.

STOREY—[Pretending to be shocked] Monica!

MONICA—No, I don't like Mrs. Frayne. She's a bad influence on you.

STOREY—Will you please stop chattering about Kendall and tell me about you and Austin?

MONICA—You hate to have me criticize her. I know it.

STOREY—I'm really very busy, Monica.

MONICA—Busy! Bless your heart, you never do a thing.

STOREY—I might if you'd marry Austin and save me worrying about you.

MONICA—[Incredulously] Would you really let me marry him?

STOREY—Let you! My God! I pray for it.

MONICA—You'd go to church—and—watch it happen?

STOREY—Why not?

MONICA—And go home and rub your palms and say "That's that," I suppose.

STOREY—[Touched] Oh, now, Monica! You know I'll always be awfully fond of you.

MONICA—Fond—!

STOREY—Mighty lucky for you I'm not in love with you.

MONICA—Oh, I wish you were. I'd be awfully happy if you were.

STOREY—We'd probably marry and that would be the end of us. The end of you at any rate.

MONICA—Why? We'd be a charming couple.

STOREY—[Abruptly] Tell me about you and Austin.

MONICA—[Cuddling to him] I will.

STOREY—Well?

MONICA—Don't hurry me, darling. I'm going to stay here a long time.

STOREY—Unfortunately—

MONICA—[Putting her hand over his mouth] Unfortunately, nothing. I'm going to stay here and dine with you and then we'll have a long talk and after that—we'll take a walk—

STOREY—And after that?

MONICA—I'll come back with you if you like. Storey, if you ruin me will you make an honest woman of me?

STOREY—I won't marry you, Monica, no matter what you do.

MONICA—[Sighing] Gee, Storey, you're hard to get.

STOREY—You are a sweet child. I'm not as indifferent to you as I pretend.

MONICA—Aren't you?

STOREY—Of course I'm not.

MONICA—Don't you want to kiss me? [He does. She kisses him passionately.] Oh, Storey, I'm so unhappy.

[She buries her head on his shoulder, crying.]

STOREY—[Stroking her hair] Why, darling?

MONICA—[Muffled] Because nobody loves me.

STOREY—Austin loves you. He's crazy about you.

MONICA—[Getting up and stamping her foot] Oh, don't talk to me about Austin.

STOREY—Why shouldn't I?

MONICA—Because he bores me. He bores me to death. I never want to see him again.

[There is a pause.]

STOREY—Monica, I want to tell you something. Listen. [He draws her to him again.] Listen. I intend to be honest about Austin. You get me, don't you? He's so helpless—that I don't intend to take advantage of him. Besides, he's a fine fellow. Awfully sincere. Awfully honest—

MONICA—He bores me. I don't like him.

STOREY—He's inarticulate, but he's a fine brain.

MONICA—But I love you, Storey.

STOREY—Now don't be a silly child. What sort of life do you suppose we should have together?

MONICA—Cozy.

STOREY—And what'll we live on?

MONICA—I'll work.

STOREY—At what?

MONICA—I'll typewrite.

STOREY—What?

MONICA—Your stories. I'll go in the movies! I have a friend who's a director.

STOREY—Your mother would be delighted!

MONICA—By the way—I've told Mother.

STOREY—You've told Mother what?

MONICA—That I can't marry Austin because I'm in love with you.

STOREY—You didn't—!

MONICA—Mother despises you, Storey.

STOREY—[Very angry] And you're fool enough to tell her—!

MONICA—[Misunderstanding] It doesn't matter to me that she doesn't like you. It just makes me love you all the more—

STOREY—That's not the point. How dare you—

MONICA—Oh, that's not all I told her.

STOREY—It's quite enough—

MONICA—[In one breath] I told her you loved me too, and that you'd asked me to marry you and that I'd said yes. I intend to make quite a campaign, you see.

STOREY—I've a good mind to spank you!

MONICA—I thought that if I told Mother you'd asked me that you would be—sort of compromised. You see, I'm trying to get it spread around—that we're engaged.

[He starts to speak.]

STOREY—Now look here, Monica.

[She puts her hand over his mouth to stifle his protest.]

MONICA—For once don't talk and listen to me. The fact is that I'm doing all this for your good.

STOREY—Thank you!

MONICA—For your good, Mr. Storey.

STOREY—Would you mind telling me—!

MONICA—Of course I'll tell you. You see I know, I'm just certain—that way down deep it's me you love—and not Mrs. Frayne or anybody else. Since you love me you ought to marry me.

STOREY—You've been reading again.

MONICA—You admit that the only reason you don't ask me is because you're poor and you think I want all sorts of frivolous things. It's just like you—you're so splendid and always thinking of other people—

STOREY—[In despair] Good God!

MONICA—But you misjudge me, Storey. Honestly you do. I could be awfully happy on just what you have.

STOREY—Perhaps. But I couldn't.

MONICA—You ought to marry a poor girl, Storey. It would stimulate you, make you work harder.

STOREY—Are you quite through?

MONICA—Not quite. I just got an idea. I think I'll phone an announcement of our engagement to the newspapers.

STOREY—[Really frightened] You'll do no such thing.

MONICA—[Laughing joyously] I've got you, Storey — I've got you at last.

STOREY—Come here. Now, come here.

MONICA—No way out of it for you, Storey. You're cooked.

STOREY—Come here! [Leading her to sofa.] Now sit down like a lamb and concentrate on what I'm going to tell you.

MONICA—[Demurely] All right, teacher.

STOREY—How old are you, Monica?

MONICA—You know perfectly well. I'm twenty.

STOREY—Now listen—this is serious. I'm thirty-one.

MONICA—Nice age for a man.

STOREY—Eleven years older than you. Just think, when I'm forty-one—that's middle-aged, you know, Monica—

MONICA—I'll be thirty-one. Think how attractive I'll be.

STOREY—Of course you will. And I'll be—bald and wrinkled and—Oh, I know that's been said before.

MONICA—No, you won't. Your hair'll be just touched with grey. You'll look very distinguished.

STOREY—I'm too old for you, Monica.

MONICA—And yet you want me to marry Austin. He's as old as the hills.

STOREY—He's two years younger than I am.

MONICA—Well, he seems lots older. He's so correct—like an old deacon.

STOREY—You talk outrageously when he's around.

MONICA—I love to shock him. He's such a Puritan!

STOREY—You've got to stop reproaching me, before him, for not having an affair with you. It gets on my nerves.

MONICA—I believe I shock you, too, Storey.

STOREY—Not in the least. But I hate to see the poor fellow suffer.

MONICA—Austin's so literal. Absolutely no glimmering of humour. Oh! This will make you laugh—wait till I show you!

[She runs back to get her bag, dredges in it.]

STOREY—Nobody in love has a sense of humour!

MONICA—[Holding up magazine] Look what he sent me—

STOREY—[Taking the austerely covered pamphlet] Proceedings of the American Chemical Society—

MONICA—With an article by Austin in it—look—here—

STOREY—[Reading] "A new method of separating atoms and ions which are chemically similar but have different weights by diffusion—including the separation of radium from the
barium residues." Tells you what to expect, doesn't it?

MONICA—Now whatever do you think Austin—!

STOREY—[Intent on the article] This is very touching, Monica.

MONICA—I know, but—why, it's nearly all figures—it would take an expert to—

[He hasn't removed his eyes from the article; she stands looking at it with him.]

STOREY—Has a brilliant climax, this thing.

MONICA—Climax! Where?

STOREY—There. It's an equation—can't you see!

MONICA—Oh, Storey, come now! I don't believe you have the faintest idea what it's all about.

STOREY—Of course I haven't. I've had a shallow literary education. But I can see this—that in this chaos here in the first part of his article—you see—in this abracadabra—this forest of figures—Austin had scented somewhere, an equation lurking. And he's found it, damn him, dredged it out of the morass, lifted it into clear light—and there it is!

MONICA—Oh, Storey!

STOREY—I'm perfectly serious, Monica. And I think it was very sweet of him to send you this—if you had any imagination you'd see—it's a tender, a beautiful gesture—this [Tapping paper] this is his lyric, Monica.

MONICA—I prefer lyrics that rhyme.

STOREY—An equation is a rhyme—a perfect rhyme, subtler and harder to find than any you'll see in my effusions—[Flinging the thing away.] How do you know what hope for the future is hidden in this little prose-poem?

MONICA—You're so generous about others, Storey. I love you for it!

STOREY—Don't be too sure of my motive. Perhaps it's because I want to get conveniently rid of you!

[MONICA presents herself before him, shaking her head stubbornly, her hands crossed behind her back.]

MONICA—It's no good, Storey! You might as well give up!

STOREY—Now please be serious, Monica. Austin'll make you a wonderful husband. You're lovely and his money will provide you with the exquisite background your beauty requires. . . . And he's good!

MONICA—[Sitting on sofa, piteously] I just can't do it, Storey. Please don't ask me to.

STOREY—He won't bother you. Spends ages in his laboratory, you know.

MONICA—I'm sure he doesn't sleep in the laboratory.

STOREY—Oh, now, Monica. Really, you're impossible.

MONICA—Am I so terrible, Storey? Don't you love me at all?

STOREY—I'm frightfully fond of you — crazy about you.

MONICA—Then why do you keep me in suspense like this?

STOREY—Monica, you're so young. I know so much more about life than you do. I know what would happen—I know this feeling you have for me now—won't last.

MONICA—But I swear—I'll never love anybody else. If you don't marry me—I'll go into a convent. I swear.

STOREY—I'm going to marry Mrs. Frayne—if she'll have me.

MONICA—[Passionately] Just because she's rich! You know you wouldn't think of marrying her if she weren't—the trouble with you is—you're damned selfish.

STOREY—Of course I am.

MONICA—Just admitting it doesn't do any good. You like to go around and be petted by people. And your silly little comforts. You see, I know, deep down, you're fonder of me than of anyone. Just as I know that I'm fonder of you than I ever shall be of anyone—[He makes a sudden move toward her; is irresistibly attracted, stops.] Obey that impulse.

STOREY—It's ridiculous. Impossible. Ridiculous.

MONICA—Why not?

STOREY—You're a silly child. You don't know anything about anything. You don't know what you want, really.

MONICA—Yes, I do know.

STOREY—[Disturbed] I warn you, Monica — if you keep this up I will marry you.

MONICA—You won't be sorry if you do, Storey. I swear it's for you as much as for myself. I want to save you.

STOREY—Save me?

MONICA—I want you to live up to the best that's in you.

STOREY—My God, Monica, I believe you have the makings of a good woman.

MONICA—You ought to marry me for the sake of your art. If you marry Mrs. Frayne you'll be so comfortable you won't write a thing.

STOREY—I am thirty-one and in full possession of my senses. It would be positively immoral for me to marry you.

MONICA—But it would be more moral than anything else you could do to me.

STOREY—[Looking at her with perplexity. The doorbell rings.] Thank God! Austin.

[He jumps up.]

MONICA—[Terrified] Austin!

STOREY—Well, I think it's Austin.

[The bell rings again.]

MONICA—Don't answer. He'll go away.

STOREY—I couldn't do that

MONICA—Did you know he was coming?

STOREY—I wasn't sure.

MONICA—Promise you'll get rid of him—promise.

STOREY—I'll do what I can—[Bell rings.] Why doesn't he come in? The door's open.

[He goes out. MONICA walks about petulantly. She flings a pillow violently into a corner. AUSTIN comes in followed by STOREY.]

MONICA—Hello, Anti Genesis.

STOREY—Anti what?

MONICA—Don't you know my little pet-name for Austin? Anti Genesis.

STOREY—How come? Eh?

AUSTIN—Monica actually believed the world began in the Garden of Eden.

MONICA—[Slyly] Austin disillusioned me about the Book of Genesis.

AUSTIN—[Seriously] She'd never heard of the nebular theory.

STOREY—Monica!—Oh, well, you mustn't mind her, Austin It's the fashion nowadays to be flippant. Monica gets it from me. The difference is—my flippancy is a sort of defense Monica's is a boast. The nice thing though about Monica is she doesn't know anything. Gives one a pleasant sense of omniscience—[The phone rings, STOREY answers it.] Yes—oh, hello—waiting for me?—why, our engagement was for Tuesday, wasn't it?—Dear me, is this Tuesday?—How awfully stupid of me—the truth is I've been so lost in my work—yes, I can make it easily by seven—I'll be right over—Good-bye. [He hangs up.] Certainly lucky you dropped in, Austin.

MONICA—[Sensing something] What's happened now?

STOREY—The fact is, my dear, I can't dine with you after all.

MONICA—[Furious] Oh, can't you?

STOREY—I had no idea it was Tuesday. I thought it was Monday.

MONICA—Of course when one works as hard as you do one is apt to forget the day of the week!

STOREY—[To AUSTIN] I've ordered dinner for two. Would you mind dining with Monica instead of me?

AUSTIN—[Overjoyed] Right here?

STOREY—I've ordered a delicious dinner from downstairs.

AUSTIN—I'd love to. That is, if Monica—

MONICA—[Mechanically] Of course.

STOREY—I've really got to dash. Austin, mind lending me a dollar for taxi fare? Don't believe I've got a cent with me.

AUSTIN—Of course.

[He takes out a bill and hands it to STOREY.]

STOREY—One thing about Austin. He's not one of those millionaires who never has any money with him.

AUSTIN—Can give you more. Here's a twenty.

STOREY—Well, perhaps I'd better. [Takes it.] So long, children. [To AUSTIN.] You'll find everything ready for a cocktail in the kitchenette.

MONICA—Are you coming back?

STOREY—Might. I'll phone you.

AUSTIN—I'm not very good at mixing cocktails.

STOREY—And you a chemist—!

MONICA—This is a dirty trick, Storey.

STOREY—[To AUSTIN] You'll find a recipe in the kitchenette.

AUSTIN—Will I? You'll have to help me, Monica.

[He goes past STOREY into hallway.]

MONICA—[White with anger] You're dining with Mrs. Frayne.

STOREY—Yes. In five years you'll thank me. In less—

MONICA—All right for you, Storey—

STOREY—Good-bye, darling. Be nice to him.

[He goes out. He can be heard saying "So long, Austin," as he exits, MONICA moves downstage; AUSTIN reappears with a cocktail shaker.]

AUSTIN—It doesn't say how much absinthe or how much vermouth—[MONICA says nothing. Her face is set in misery. AUSTIN comes down a little. He stands awkwardly holding the cocktail mixer by the neck. Wistfully:] I don't know—do you put absinthe or do you put vermouth—?

[She turns away impatiently. The curtain falls.]

CURTAIN

Index     I     II-1     II-2     III