H. (aside). I shall let all my hopes burn in the flame with my letter. If she uses that, I give her up. I shall know she is not mine to give up. I have come to the pass where folly is my only reason. She is twisting Dr. Tennant’s! But now she is twisting mine. (She rises to go to the fire and he rises to do it for her.)
E. I prefer to do it myself.
She returns with one burning, with which she lights the lamp, and lays the other down on the table. He takes it up eagerly.
H. So, Esther, you did not burn it, after all? (Rising and coming toward her.) You did not care that the last of it should go out in ashes?
E. (speaking lightly). It was not that so much, but I was afraid it was better suited for an—extinguisher. I think that was more what you meant it for.
Harold goes back to his seat gloomily and tastes his tea. Esther plays with the teaspoon—a pause.
E. How do you like your tea?
H. It is a little—cloying.
E. (rising and moving about the room). A bad fault.
H. (dryly). But fortunately an uncommon one.