Index     1     2     3

ACT THREE

The scene is the same. The time is that night—midnight. As the curtain rises BINKIE comes in from the projection room. He has just seen most of the private showing of LADDY'S film, "The Princess of Java."

BINKIE—Togo! [TOGO enters. He carries a tray with glasses] Have you put the champagne on ice, Togo?

TOGO—Yes, Misser Niebuhr.

BINKIE—Serve it when the others come in. Have you got everything else ready?

TOGO—Yes, Misser Niebuhr.

BINKIE—All right. [TOGO goes out as RYDER comes in.]

RYDER—Yes, Binkie.

BINKIE—Come in, Ryder. Sit down.

RYDER—What's all this? [Indicating glasses.]

BINKIE—I've told Togo to serve the last six bottles of a special vintage Abe Kreuger sent me. I simply live for my friends. [He sits comfortably on sofa.]

RYDER—Isn't the champagne up at the Big House good enough?

BINKIE—It's undrinkable! Just as the food at the Big House is uneatable. The American rich are without palate. Outside of myself, the only people on this place who are decently fed are the horses. Now then, let's talk.

RYDER—You motioned me out of the projection room with the air of a conspirator. What is it, Binkie?

BINKIE—I saw Chris sitting there in his sphinx-like way, Laddy on one side of Wilda, Chris on the other, so the coast is clear. We haven't much time though—I asked Wilda to come down here after the picture and Charlie and Laddy too.

RYDER—You have a great air, Binkie, of something impending. What is it?

BINKIE—I'll tell you—This, I thought, would be a good moment for you and me to put our heads together.

RYDER—To what end, Binkie?

BINKIE—Wilda's.

RYDER—What will it be?

BINKIE—God knows. [He pauses a moment] You know, I was rather surprised to see you in the projection room. I didn't think you'd want to sit through the picture again.

RYDER—I meant not to. But I was drawn to it.

BINKIE—Let's hope that reaction will be universal.

RYDER—Impulse to self-torture. I was curious to see how an audience would take to it. They took to it!

BINKIE—And what did you think—of Wilda?

RYDER—Diabolically lovely.

BINKIE—[Matter-of-factly] Both salable attributes. Good box-office.

RYDER—It's not, by any stretch of the imagination, acting. It's behaving in front of the camera and, from my point of view, behaving very badly.

BINKIE—Well, such pictures are not written for us. They are written for the sort of people who vote for you in New Mexico.

RYDER—The film itself is regrettable, but manifestly the audience loved it. Obviously a triumph. Triumph for you—triumph for Wilda.

BINKIE—Don't be deceived by an audience of friends.

RYDER—The picture is bound to go—it has every ingredient.

BINKIE—[Grimly] It has too many ingredients.

RYDER—[Greatly surprised] Don't you like it?

BINKIE—My preferences are not important. But I did show it privately to Sam Goldwyn. I hoped he'd distribute it through United Artists.

RYDER—And what did Sam Goldwyn say?

BINKIE—He said it was colossal—in a small way.

RYDER—What more do you want?

BINKIE—Sam was too enthusiastic. If he'd really meant to take the picture he'd have begun by saying it was terrible.

RYDER—Does Wilda know this?

BINKIE—Certainly not. She has never needed you, Ryder, as much as now.

RYDER—How can Wilda possibly need me? She has her career, she has you—She has Chris.

BINKIE—I want you to help me save her from Chris.

RYDER—Quixotism has its limits, Binkie. I'm not a chronic salvationist.

BINKIE—Mysterious creature, isn't she?

RYDER—She's extraordinarily—consistent, isn't she? Wilda since I've known her—Wilda when I first met her—desperate over Crane—

BINKIE—That girl has an ungovernable impulse to self-destruction. She is one of those creatures, incomprehensible to me, who when ease and security stretch before them like a green lawn, must turn off and lose themselves in some bedeviled swamp.

RYDER—[Half to himself—in bitter self-recrimination] I am naive—!

BINKIE—The trouble is you just can't imagine people like Chris.

RYDER—Can you imagine them?

BINKIE—Well, I can imagine them.

RYDER—I remember the morning Chris walked into my office in Santa Fe with a letter from Charlie. He was so hesitant, so shy. He showed me some of his work—I was surprised and delighted. I saw that on the written page, this boy spoke with the tongue of an angel. A rather Mephistophelian angel, well dipped in Freud. I was excited. I called him back, put him up at my house and gave him a job on my paper. Worst of all, I told him everything I hoped to do in New Mexico. I see now that while I thought I was converting him to the Democratic dream, he was already insulated in a theory completely sealed against anything I might plead or hope.

BINKIE—Remember he is a revolutionist.

RYDER—And I hoped to make him a disciple. What is it in me that urges me to remold what is beyond my capacity even to touch?

BINKIE—Ah! There's no vanity like the Pygmalion-vanity.

RYDER—[Suddenly seeing BINKIE in a new light] You're afflicted too, aren't you, Binkie?

BINKIE—In my own way, my dear Ryder, I try to re-create the world. I try to make a world in which instinct is subordinate to reason. With Wilda I seem to have chosen the most unpromising material.

RYDER—[With ironical humor] It appears that our dilemma is identical!

BINKIE—I haven't given her up yet, Ryder.

RYDER—Indomitable Binkie! What form will your technique take now? I am curious.

BINKIE—With your aid, I saved her from Crane. Now I mean to save her from worse than Crane.

RYDER—What's going to become of Wilda?

BINKIE—Desperate crises breed desperate measures, Ryder. I have a plan.

RYDER—You'll never keep Charlie quiet, no matter what you do!

BINKIE—I think I can.

RYDER—How?

BINKIE—This young man—this fanatic without fear—I think I can frighten him, Ryder.

RYDER—Frighten Chris? I don't think so, Binkie!

BINKIE—There is a word—a bourgeois shibboleth—which I think will frighten him.

RYDER—[After a moment] Marriage?

BINKIE—Right. That's why I asked them down here tonight. I shall announce the coming marriage of Chris and Wilda. That, I think, will satisfy Charlie, and unless I'm much mistaken will also eliminate Chris.

RYDER—But what if—Well, even revolutionaries sometimes marry.

BINKIE—I admit the measure is desperate.

RYDER—So many factors, Binkie, may trip you up.

BINKIE—We run the gauntlet. Let's hope we come out alive. [WILDA comes running in, followed a moment later by CHRIS. WILDA is radiant, breathless with triumph, breathing in deep the heavy odor of success and feeling herself strong enough now to indulge any preference for an emperor's jewel, a stray king, or for an object even so impractical as CHRIS about whom she is now finally convinced.]

WILDA—Oh, Binkie—I've been looking for you. Hello, Ryder.

BINKIE—[Briskly] Well, Wilda, are you pleased?

WILDA—I don't know. Are you? I don't dare ask Ryder. Binkie—

RYDER—You were irresistible.

WILDA—Does he mean it, Binkie?

BINKIE—Ryder isn't given to friendly insincerities.

WILDA—That's true. Oh, Ryder! Chris liked it. Didn't you, Chris?

CHRIS—Very much. [LADDY comes in in an ecstasy of creative discovery over WILDA.]

LADDY—Oh, Wilda

WILDA—[As LADDY embraces her] Well, Laddy, were you pleased?

LADDY—Enchanted! Now let the world claim you.

WILDA—[LEO and CHARLIE come in] And the film? Did the film get over? Did the audience like the film? What did your friends say? The ending—we worried so over the ending—

LADDY—What does the ending matter? You were so wonderful, Wilda, I couldn't think of anything else.

WILDA—Is it true that Sam Goldwyn saw the film and that he's crazy about it?

LADDY—Yes, that's true.

WILDA—That should please you, Leo.

TRAUB—What the hell does Goldwyn know about pictures?

WILDA—He's made a lot of them. Charlie, we haven't heard from you. How did you like it, Charlie?

CHARLIE—Very much. I thought it was very delightful.

LADDY—You see even Charlie liked it!

WILDA—Well! It's almost too much. The last citadel taken [Overcome, she sinks on the sofa.]

LADDY—You wait until this is released, Wilda!

CHARLIE—Yes, I thought it most ingratiating.

RYDER—You're too indulgent, Charlie. If I had my way, Traub and those like him would be taxed out of existence.

TRAUB—We are! Do you know what I paid last year?

LADDY—[Beside WILDA on sofa, his arm around her] Why not let people relax and have a good time?

CHARLIE—Well, can't they?

TRAUB—With Binkie around they can. The Shadchen de Luxe!

LADDY—What's that, Leo?

TRAUB—Don't tell me you charming people don't know what a Shadchen is? No culture on Long Island.

LADDY—Well, what is it?

TRAUB—Marriage broker.

LADDY—I shall have to secure your services, Binkie—what does one say to a marriage broker?

BINKIE—[Glancing at CHARLIE] At the moment you'd better say nothing, Laddy.

LADDY—[Glancing at WILDA] Guess I can say it myself—with a hint of encouragement.

TRAUB—Why don't you marry me off, Binkie? I'm a promising young man.

BINKIE—I've got your name in my book but it seems to stay there.

TRAUB—You're getting lazy.

CHARLIE—His efforts on Miss Doran's behalf have been heroic. They are transparent, Laddy, to everyone but you.

WILDA—You disapprove of me, don't you, Charlie?

CHARLIE—Are you quite unaware of the reason for my disapproval?

BINKIE—Don't be vindictive, Charlie.

CHARLIE—[Innocently] I? Vindictive, Binkie?

LADDY—[Changing the subject] You're a wet blanket, Charlie. Everybody loved the picture. [To WILDA] Everybody loved you too. Everybody congratulated me on discovering you.

TRAUB—You're a suppressed exhibitionist, Laddy. You can only fall in love with an object of universal desire. You succumb to the aura of reputation!

CHARLIE—That, young man, is an acute observation.

LADDY—Come up to the Big House, Wilda. Up there is gaiety, glamor. Come and dance, Wilda. Everybody wants to meet you. I'd like to meet you. I adore you. Had you suspected this, Leo?

TRAUB—The Mirror had it yesterday.

CHARLIE—[Inexorable—he is determined not to let the quarry get away this time] We've all suspected it. We suspect even more.

LADDY—What are you driving at, Charlie?

BINKIE—Why exhaust ourselves with Charlie's minor gossip? I have a major announcement to make—a matrimonial announcement.

TRAUB—What now, my Lithuanian Cupid? Something new?

BINKIE—Yes—new.

TRAUB—Tell, tell.

BINKIE—[Holds up little book] Ladies and Gentlemen—This sinister volume contains the history of the future. I am about to announce to you an important event in that future.

TRAUB—Get on! Get on!

BINKIE—The announcement of a wedding.

TRAUB—Whose?

BINKIE—Wilda—Chris! [WILDA rises.]

LADDY—[Greatly shocked] Chris!

RYDER—[Ironically] Brilliant Binkie!

BINKIE—Good luck to the bride and groom! [LADDY rises.]

CHARLIE—[In a seventh heaven of delight] Congratulations! Wonderful! Congratulations!

TRAUB—What a lousy idea!

CHARLIE—Not at all, Leo—these two—yes—perfect. I congratulate you, Chris—and you, young lady. You restore my sense of the fitness of things. You restore it. In fact, I think I'll change my will. I shall remember you in my will. Yes, I will change my will. I will make it possible for you, my dear nephew, to travel—to track revolution to its remotest lair. I am proud of you. You know, Binkie—really I didn't think I had so much family feeling. I am touched.

BINKIE—Are you, Charlie?

CHARLIE—I am quite moved. Forgive me. A perfect marriage!

TRAUB—Nothing is perfect, Charlie.

CHARLIE—[At door] Yes, yes. Leo, don't you see that by marrying each other, instead of—at large—they will make only two people unhappy instead of four. [He goes out.]

BINKIE—[To CHRIS and WILDA] Happiness! Happiness!

LADDY—Come, Binkie, what's your game now?

BINKIE—Sorry, Laddy, fortunes of war.

LADDY—I don't believe it for a moment! It's one of Binkie's jokes.

TRAUB—One of his worst jokes.

RYDER—There's nothing to be done about it now, Laddy. They are linked eternally in Binkie's notebook. It's a kind of fate, a kind of predestination.

LADDY—Ryder, you're not going to let Binkie get away with this—you agree, don't you—it's a joke?

WILDA—[Suddenly determined to make a clean breast of it] Don't appeal to Ryder. He knows it's true. He lied to you.

BINKIE—Keep quiet, Wilda.

WILDA—Binkie told me. It was chivalrous of Ryder, but it was a lie. I was in that room with Chris—I love Chris!

RYDER—Good for you, Wilda!

LADDY—Wilda!

WILDA—Sorry, Laddy.

LADDY—It's true then.

WILDA—It's true, Laddy.

LADDY—Well—I've—I've got to wish you luck, haven't I? I must act unaffected, mustn't I? But I am affected, Wilda.

RYDER—Too bad, Binkie—life doesn't live up to your geometry.

BINKIE—That is its limitation.

LADDY—It seems to me now, Wilda—you're everything I ever wanted—

TRAUB—Be consoled, Laddy. You still have me.

LADDY—[Still to WILDA] My cellars are stocked and my tables are laden. The night is full of music—and yet, Wilda—

TRAUB—Come with me, Laddy—we shall know joy—

LADDY—I'm a bit tight, Wilda, or I'd be more reserved—I'd behave better. [Touches WILDA on her arm] Good luck, Wilda. I love you, Wilda. Come on, Leo. Entertain me. [He goes out through garden doors.]

TRAUB—You know, folks, it's a crisis like this that brings out all my tenderness. I'll see you through, Alcibiades. [He follows LADDY out.]

WILDA—What made you do it, Binkie?

BINKIE—It was a gamble—one chance in ten. I might have won, if you'd only kept quiet.

WILDA—I couldn't keep quiet. [To RYDER] This is what I was afraid of, Ryder, and this is what happened.

RYDER—I know. [To BINKIE] For once, Binkie, you miscalculated.

BINKIE—Even I cannot calculate the irrational. Well, my dear, you don't need me any longer. Going away with him I suppose. Where? Russia. The only man in Moscow who sets a decent table is Litvinoff. I'll give you a letter to him. Good luck, my dear. [TOGO comes in with champagne bottle in cooler. BINKIE waves him off] No, Togo, you're too late. Put it back in the cellar. Well, Chris, if you ever want a cool head and a steady eye on the barricade—think of me. Good hunting—or whatever it is you revolutionists do. [He goes out. RYDER gets up, starts to go also.]

CHRIS—You've befriended me, Ryder—I'm fond of you—I've caused you pain—I'm sorry.

RYDER—Not your fault.

CHRIS—People seem still to attach great importance to these things.

RYDER—Yes, they still do. [He goes out.]

WILDA—[After a moment] Chris.

CHRIS—Yes, Wilda.

WILDA—Are you angry?

CHRIS—Why should I be angry?

WILDA—For bursting out in front of everybody the way I did. I had to do it. Poor Laddy—I couldn't let him think—once for all I had to let him know. I had to let them all know—Chris.

CHRIS—well—

WILDA—Well, say something to me, Chris. Don't just stand there looking at me—say something.

CHRIS—What shall I say?

WILDA—Well, anything, preferably something friendly.

CHRIS—I've got to go away—I've told you that—you know that.

WILDA—I know. I see that you have to go—I see that.

CHRIS—Do you?

WILDA—Yes. I see that this is not for you.

CHRIS—I'm glad you see it.

WILDA—It's not for me either then.

CHRIS—There I disagree.

WILDA—[Goes up to him—after a moment] It's the real thing this time, Chris. I love you.

CHRIS—Well?

WILDA—Well, how do you feel about me?

CHRIS—You know that too.

WILDA—Yes, I do. That's why I'm making a fight—because I know that too. Chris, listen—I'll give up my career. I'll go with you.

CHRIS—No.

WILDA—Why?

CHRIS—You'd be bored.

WILDA—My risk!

CHRIS—No exhibitionism. No clothes. No flattery. No glitter. No money.

WILDA—You're not human.

CHRIS—[Calmly] That's a kind of compliment!

WILDA—[After a moment] Do you hate me?

CHRIS—Why should I?

WILDA—[Half to herself, she is amazed at herself for so meekly "taking it"] What's the matter with me?

CHRIS—You're like most people. You don't go after what you really want. You permit yourself to be diverted.

WILDA—What if what I want is—?

CHRIS—Nonsense! We'd last together six months at best. Then you'd drift back here, minus your career, minus your matrimonial prospects, minus Binkie. Be sensible!

WILDA—Chris, listen—I'm sick of the pretense—I'm sick of Binkie's stories about me which no one believes—glamorous illegitimacy—all that rot. I'm sick of being a fake. I'm sick of impersonating princesses.

CHRIS—If you do it sufficiently, you may become one.

WILDA—But I don't want to—Chris, listen—do you know my origins?

CHRIS—I suspect them.

WILDA—I had to make my way—out of poverty—just as you did—I came out of nothing—just as you did—I had to stand indescribable—I can stand it again.

CHRIS—Why should you? What for?

WILDA—Don't you see we're alike—we're both dispossessed—we're both—!

CHRIS—But I don't blame you—why do you talk as if I blamed you? You're doing the best you can. It's not out of conviction you want to renounce this. You're doing damn well. Why do you give up now? And for what? Succeed in your own terms. I want to save you for what you're fitted—for what you really want—don't you see that?

WILDA—I don't want to be saved.

CHRIS—You do. You will. You'll be grateful to me. Now you have the habit of luxury. It's not an easy habit to break. And I have my job cut out for me. I shan't let you interfere with it. Not you. Not myself. Not anyone.

WILDA—What makes you think I want to—

CHRIS—You're impulsive. I'm not. [A pause. She sees there is nothing to be done.]

WILDA—You may not hate me, but I hate you!

CHRIS—If it amuses you—

WILDA—Yes. Yes. I hate you.

CHRIS—Why bother? [She looks at him—she can't speak] You'll do all right. You'll probably become an international commodity—one of the major American exports. What more do you want?

WILDA—[Suffused in anger and despair] I'm a fool, all right! I was with Crane and now with you! Crane at least is a gentleman. And an artist. A great artist. Who're you, patronizing me and my work and my friends? If you must know, I couldn't even read your unpleasant, dirty book. You're an upstart Red strayed among gentlemen too decent to kick you out!

CHRIS—[Equably] At least I have the good sense to anticipate them. And to know that I am far too crude to sustain for long the interest of an aristocrat like you—La Princesse Javanaise! [They face each other, deadly enemies, but he has the advantage since he has not lost his temper. A silence.]

WILDA—[Pitiful] Chris—this afternoon—this afternoon—I was sure—

CHRIS—You misunderstood!

WILDA—I couldn't—could I have—so completely—

CHRIS—I'm afraid you did.

WILDA—[In a low voice] Chris! Your head rested on my shoulder. You slept. You were a little boy. [A pause. He says nothing. There is no sign that he is affected] I know when I feel—I was sure you loved me, Chris. You do love me. I feel it. I'm not mistaken—I can't be—not about that.

CHRIS—In spite of your well-earned authority—you are mistaken. [A slight pause.]

WILDA—[Quietly] Is it nothing to you that I'm willing to give up everything?

CHRIS—Nothing.

WILDA—Is it no proof to you that I am willing to follow you? You can't be very experienced—in things like this. I imagine you've never known any but casual women. I've played sufficiently around the edges of love to know the real thing. This is it, Chris—And I know this too—which you don't seem to know—that when it does come one mustn't pass it up. Nothing else is important compared to that. It is the only choice one must insist on—the rest may be second and third—

CHRIS—Romantic nonsense. Romantic and outmoded nonsense.

WILDA—No, Chris—no—

CHRIS—[Slowly. His voice rising a bit abnormally for him] Because we slept together once doesn't mean we're soul-mates. Can't you get that through your head?

WILDA—[Wounded] Chris!

CHRIS—If it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else. [There is a silence. This remark breaks WILDA. She looks at CHRIS with an expression beyond anger—bewildered and helpless—this is a phenomenon she cannot fathom.]

WILDA—[Quietly] I'd give anything to hurt you, Chris. But as you have no feelings how can you be hurt? [She looks at him a moment, feels there is nothing to be done, turns and, with a mist before her eyes, walks blindly out of the room. Left alone, CHRIS wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He is white and shaken. He pulls himself together, decides to get out quickly.]

CHRIS—[Calling] Togo, Togo.

TOGO—[Entering] Yes, sir.

CHRIS—Please bring my bag.

TOGO—Yes, sir. [TOGO goes out for bag. CHRIS crosses to desk, collects manuscripts and straps briefcase. TOGO comes back and hands suitcase to CHRIS.]

CHRIS—Thank you, Togo.

TOGO—Good-bye, sir. [CHRIS does not answer. TOGO goes out.]

RYDER—[Comes in through garden doors] Oh, Chris, Wilda rushed by me in the garden. She looked devastated. What have you—[Sees suitcase in CHRIS'S hand] Oh, I see.

CHRIS—[Puts down suitcase] I suppose you think I'm a prime heel.

RYDER—You owe me nothing in regard to Wilda. You promised me nothing in regard to Wilda. Your habit of keeping silent stands you in good stead—commits you to nothing. Good policy.

CHRIS—Nevertheless, I know that's how you feel.

RYDER—[Quietly] Why don't you marry Wilda?

CHRIS—Marriage isn't in my scheme.

RYDER—Obviously she is in love with you. Deeply in love with you. Why don't you take her with you?

CHRIS—Also not in my scheme.

RYDER—[After a moment] Don't you feel anything for Wilda?

CHRIS—[Considers a moment—decides to tell the truth] Yes. I do.

RYDER—I suspected that—in spite of your—

CHRIS—I feel a great deal.

RYDER—Well, then? Why don't you take her with you? What stops you?

CHRIS—For me—it would be a mistake.

RYDER—Why?

CHRIS—Because I've got to be responsible only to myself. My life has got to be my own. I've got to be able to use it any way I like, sacrifice it any way I like—without thinking of anybody else.

RYDER—Is it money that's stopping you? I'll let you have some.

CHRIS—Why are you such a masochist?

RYDER—[Slowly] For obscure reasons.

CHRIS—It isn't money. [A pause. RYDER looks at him. CHRIS returns his look.]

RYDER—[Unable to restrain any longer the feelings that have been churning up in him] You may have been taking notes on us, Chris, but I, in turn, have been taking notes on you. You are taciturn, while I have always spilled my guts out to you. You let us softies do all the talking—

CHRIS—You are emotional, Ryder.

RYDER—Yes. I am.

CHRIS—You are jealous.

RYDER—Yes. I am.

CHRIS—That makes discussion profitless.

RYDER—Nothing about you is so horrifying to me as your rejection of Wilda. You love her but you deny her because she won't fit into your scheme. You are locked deep in the cold fastnesses of theory—on that surface nothing can take hold, nothing can take root, nothing can flower—neither love nor friendship nor affection. I see now how people like you can condemn to death their best friends—because equally well you can condemn yourselves to lovelessness, to abnegation, to death.

CHRIS—Yes. We can.

RYDER—I am emotional as you say. I suffer and I am jealous—as you say. But I can allow for these things even in my judgment of you. But you—for whom do you allow?

CHRIS—You allow for too much. That will defeat you in the end. Your defeat is in sight already.

RYDER—What is in sight is not the end. The end is not yet. We can be as single-minded as you when we have to. We can use guns as well as you—when we have to.

CHRIS—What for? There's no place for you—in the future.

RYDER—You monopolize truth, you monopolize opinion, you monopolize science and art—also you monopolize the future.

CHRIS—Yes.

RYDER—The final certitude.

CHRIS—Yes.

RYDER—I'll stick to the skepticism of Democracy.

CHRIS—You are sentimental.

RYDER—It is you who are sentimental. Your sentimentality is the most perverted of all because it ignores the most powerful impulse in people—to be free—to choose. It ignores their imaginations, it ignores their best instincts.

CHRIS—We do not ignore them. We use them—as Nature uses them—for a purpose the masses have been too blinded to comprehend.

RYDER—I believe in their capacity to comprehend—and their right even to their errors. In this belief I shall fight you—I shall devote my life to fighting you.

CHRIS—Why fight the inevitable?

RYDER—There is no inevitable! Under its very shadow, you may avert it. Against you and your kind, I shall struggle to keep alive a world in which choice will still be possible—without dictation.

CHRIS—Free choice doesn't exist.

RYDER—We must go on the assumption that it does—that we may defeat even death. That is the glory of man.

CHRIS—That's rhetoric. Look at Wilda. She has free choice. What does it bring her? Instinct rampant. Look at you—racked by a passion you despise—that takes you away from the work in which you believe—

RYDER—It takes me away, but I return to it. We are weak, it is true. We suffer and succumb to our suffering. We are capricious, we are adolescent and fallible. But we emerge from our weakness and retain our dream.

CHRIS—Well—good luck to you—and to the lady—and to the American dream. [He goes out. For a moment RYDER stands looking after him. He walks up, calls to WILDA in the garden.]

RYDER—All right, Wilda—you can come in now. [WILDA enters. She comes down in silence to the big chair] Well, you heard everything.

WILDA—Do you understand him, Ryder?

RYDER—Oh, yes.

WILDA—He despises you, Ryder. He despises me. He despises everybody. [With wonder at her own sudden intuition.]

RYDER—[Matter-of-factly] There are humanitarians who hate people. Chris is one of them.

WILDA—I don't understand him. Why doesn't he want to live? I thought everybody wanted to live.

RYDER—Quite obviously many don't. They prefer every variety of martyrdom.

WILDA—What's wrong with me, Ryder? [Silence from him] I feel caught. As if I'll always do again what I've done before. I feel caught in a pattern from which I'll never escape.

RYDER—[Thinking aloud] That's what Chris would say—he would seem to be right. Yet I don't believe it. I refuse to believe it.

WILDA—I can break away then, you think?

RYDER—We are pursued—we are caught—we break away. If we can't defeat the devil we must elude him. One day perhaps we may develop a technique superior to his. [A moment's pause.]

WILDA—Meantime—the struggle is painful.

RYDER—Very painful. [After a moment] He loves you, Wilda. He told me that.

WILDA—Thank you, Ryder. [BINKIE comes back.]

BINKIE—Well, my dears? Why, where's Savonarola?

RYDER—He's gone.

WILDA—He wouldn't take me, Binkie.

BINKIE—Wouldn't he? Well, I find I believe in God, children. Don't you hear—I've just made an important religious announcement.

RYDER—Are you going to take the veil, Binkie?

BINKIE—It's not my habit to carry anything to extremes. But I shall endow a charity.

RYDER—Generous of you, Binkie.

BINKIE—I shall get some money from Laddy and endow a charity.

RYDER—Well, good-bye, Binkie, been nice knowing you. [With a humorous gesture of farewell to him.]

BINKIE—Where are you going?

RYDER—New Mexico. Next plane.

BINKIE—I am lost among mystics.

RYDER—Good-bye, Wilda—good luck.

WILDA—Good luck, Ryder! [She kisses him, her hands on his face.]

BINKIE—[As RYDER nears door] People are fools!

RYDER—They are indeed! And yet—there they are—what can you do with them? Liquidate them? [RYDER goes out.]

WILDA—Well, Binkie.

BINKIE—Well, Wilda.

WILDA—All this work you've put in on me and no return. Like me, aren't you, Binkie, stymied?

BINKIE—Not at all. I'll go to Laddy and tell him that you've sent Chris packing. I'll get him to start another picture.

WILDA—No, you won't.

BINKIE—Why not? I'm sure I can get him to.

WILDA—Well, maybe you can get him, but not me. No more schemes, Binkie. Laddy's too good for it and maybe I am, too. You'd better give me up, Binkie.

BINKIE—[Going to her, stands behind her chair] Give you up! I am heir to a tradition of patience and tenacity—Direct inheritance from Moses. My dear child, to acknowledge failure with you would be bad for my morale.

WILDA—Not good for mine either. I've learned my lesson, Binkie. From now on I'm going to be hard and casual and cal—My God, I said that four months ago! [He shakes his head, laughing with her at the futile sound of this, for her, unattainable resolution. His hand pats her shoulder.]

The curtain falls.

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