Rachel: You know I don’t.
Strong: I am trying to behave like—Reginald—“the properly reared young gentleman caller.” (Lights a cigar; goes over to the fire, and throws his match away. Rachel goes into the kitchenette, and brings him a saucer for his ashes. She places it on the table near him). Thank you. (They both sit again, Strong very evidently enjoying his cigar and Rachel). Now this is what I call cosy.
Rachel: Cosy! Why?
Strong: A nice warm room—shut in—curtains drawn—a cheerful fire crackling at my back—a lamp, not an electric or gas one, but one of your plain, old-fashioned kerosene ones—.
Rachel (Interrupting): Ma dear would like to catch you, I am sure, talking about her lamp like that. “Old-fashioned! plain!”—You have nerve.
Strong (Continuing as though he had not been interrupted): A comfortable chair—a good cigar—and not very far away, a little lady, who is looking charming, so near, that if I reached over, I could touch her. You there—and I here.—It’s living.
Rachel: Well! of all things! A compliment—and from you! How did it slip out, pray? (No answer). I suppose that you realize that a conversation between two persons is absolutely impossible, if one has to do her share all alone. Soon my ingenuity for introducing interesting subjects will be exhausted; and then will follow what, I believe, the story books call, “an uncomfortable silence.”
Strong (Slowly): Silence—between friends—isn’t such a bad thing.
Rachel: Thanks awfully. (Leans back; cups her cheek in her hand, and makes no pretense at further conversation. The old look of introspection returns to her eyes. She does not move).
Strong (Quietly): Rachel! (Rachel starts perceptibly) You must remember I’m here. I don’t like looking into your soul—when you forget you’re not alone.