Yes.
[Goes up C.
Miss Woodward.
Thank you.
[Sees the rose where he has placed it. After a slight pause she takes it up. During the following, she slowly picks it to pieces, dropping the petals on the ground.
Parbury.
[Coming down to back of table and speaking very gently.] I suppose there must soon come a time to every girl of heart who goes out alone into the world—a time when life seems to press hardly upon her and weariness of the unaccustomed stress makes her heart falter, and when she longs to take rest for a time in the old childhood, in the home she perhaps once thought to be dull and dreary, in the mother’s arms that have always been ready to open with love for her.
Miss Woodward.
Don’t!
[Sinks into chair, R.C.; buries her face in her hands.