CURT withdraws to the right.
ALICE ponders and writes.
ALLAN comes rushing in without noticing Alice and throws himself face downward on the sofa. He is weeping convulsively into a lace handkerchief.
ALICE. [Watches him for a while. Then she rises and goes over to the sofa. Speaks in a tender voice] Allan!
ALLAN sits up disconcertedly and hides the handkerchief behind his back.
ALICE. [Tenderly, womanly, and with true emotion] You should not be afraid of me, Allan—I am not dangerous to you—What is wrong? Are you sick?
ALLAN. Yes.
ALICE. In what way?
ALLAN. I don't know.
ALICE. Have you a headache?
ALLAN. No.
ALICE. And your chest? Pain?