Strong: Why, no! It didn’t strike me so. I’m not old enough yet to mind stairs.
Rachel: (Nervously): Oh! I didn’t mean that you are old! Anyone can see you are quite young, that is, of course, not too young, but,—(Strong laughs quietly). There! I don’t blame you for laughing. I’m always clumsy just like that.
Mrs. Loving (Calling from the other room): Rachel, bring me a needle and the sixty cotton, please.
Rachel: All right, Ma dear! (Rummages for the cotton in the machine drawer, and upsets several spools upon the floor. To Strong): You see! I can’t even get a spool of cotton without spilling things all over the floor. (Strong smiles, Rachel picks up the spools and finally gets the cotton and needle). Excuse me! (Goes out door leading to other rooms. Strong left to himself, looks around casually. The “Golden Stairs” interests him and the “Sistine Madonna.”)
Rachel (Reenters, evidently continuing her function of hostess): We were talking about the climb to our flat, weren’t we? You see, when you’re poor, you have to live in a top flat. There is always a compensation, though; we have bully—I mean nice air, better light, a lovely view, and nobody “thud-thudding” up and down over our heads night and day. The people below have our “thud-thudding,” and it must be something awful, especially when Tom and I play “Ivanhoe” and have a tournament up here. We’re entirely too old, but we still play. Ma dear rather dreads the climb up three flights, so Tom and I do all the errands. We don’t mind climbing the stairs, particularly when we go up two or three at a time,—that is—Tom still does. I can’t, Ma dear stopped me. (Sighs). I’ve got to grow up it seems.
Strong (Evidently amused): It is rather hard being a girl, isn’t it?
Rachel: Oh, no! It’s not hard at all. That’s the trouble; they won’t let me be a girl. I’d love to be.
Mrs. Loving (Reentering with parcel. She smiles): My Chatterbox, I see, is entertaining you, Mr. Strong. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, but I forgot, I found, to sew the ruching in the neck. I hope everything is satisfactory. If it isn’t, I’ll be glad to make any changes.
Strong (Who has risen upon her entrance): Thank you, Mrs. Loving, I’m sure everything is all right. (He takes the package and bows to her and Rachel. He moves towards the vestibule, Mrs. Loving following him. She passes through the doorway first. Before leaving, Strong turns for a second and looks back quietly at Rachel. He goes out too. Rachel returns to the mirror, looks at her face for a second, and then begins to touch and pat her hair lightly and delicately here and there. Mrs. Loving returns).
Rachel (Still at the glass): He was rather nice, wasn’t he, Ma dear?—for a man? (Laughs). I guess my reason’s a vain one,—he let me do all the talking. (Pauses). Strong? Strong? Ma dear, is his mother the little woman with the sad, black eyes?