Tom: Well, I know. I’ve seen her lately with those two girls who have just come from the South. Twice she bowed stiffly, and the last time made believe she didn’t see me.
Rachel: Then you think—? Oh! I was afraid it was that.
Tom (Bitterly): Yes—we’re “niggers”—that’s why.
Mrs. Loving (Slowly and sadly): Rachel, that’s one of the things I can’t save you from. I worried considerably about Mary, at first—you do take your friendships so seriously. I knew exactly how it would end. (Pauses). And then I saw that if Mary Shaw didn’t teach you the lesson—some one else would. They don’t want you, dearies, when you and they grow up. You may have everything in your favor—but they don’t dare to like you.
Rachel: I know all that is generally true—but I had hoped that Mary—(Breaks off).
Tom: Well, I guess we can still go on living even if people don’t speak to us. I’ll never bow to her again—that’s certain.
Mrs. Loving: But, Son, that wouldn’t be polite, if she bowed to you first.
Tom: Can’t help it. I guess I can be blind, too.
Mrs. Loving (Wearily): Well—perhaps you are right—I don’t know. It’s the way I feel about it too—but—but I wish my son always to be a gentleman.
Tom: If being a gentleman means not being a man—I don’t wish to be one.