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Good Lord! (Alice appears in the doorway holding Harold)
It seems to me that none of us has been really satisfied, so it isn’t so bad after all. We can begin on something real to us all. Mother said she would be happy in a tenement. Well, maybe she would, but why not come up here?
Oh, Charles!
Well ... but Alice.
Mother.
You, too! What is it? What’s the matter with Harold?
Nothing. He wouldn’t go to sleep, and wouldn’t. He said he wanted to sit in your lap. I never saw him so. I had to bring him.
Give him to me, dear.
And I knew something was going on down here... I could feel it. I don’t know what it was, but there’s one thing I do know.
What?
Why, ever since father said I looked as you used to I’ve been thinking about what you must have been like as a girl, and it came over me how useless I am. I’ve never done anything. And you must have done a lot.
I should say she did!
There! Say, Alice, how’d you like to live in that white house we passed, the one with the orchard?
Really? And do things?
Charles!
This is the most extraordinary night I ever heard of. Here I was, feeling like a condemned criminal because I’d lost my business, afraid to tell Mary and you children, and now you all seem positively glad of it. I expected all kinds of trouble, and all at once.... What the deuce is it?
Rain—rain.... Mother, why can’t the brook come back to the same little girl?
A studio on the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs. There is a small entrance hall, kitchenette, and a balcony before which curtains are drawn. It is a winter afternoon, and a young man is busy at an easel placed close beside the north light. A young woman arranges tea things on the table.
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