Vivian (outside). I’m going out. (And more softly.) Wait, wait.
(The girls remove their hats. Yvonne sinks on the floor, in front of the couch.)
Yvonne. Oh, I’m so tired. I painted for two hours yesterday.
Alice (sitting on the couch). How you work—and you would have painted again to-day, if I hadn’t stopped for you, no doubt.
Yvonne. Well, I was thinking about it.
Alice. Ridiculous! Do you think that Beauty can be contemplated constantly? One either becomes blind or mad—you painted for two hours yesterday—ridiculous!
Yvonne. I’ve seen nothing of yours of late. Don’t you work; don’t you paint, I mean?
Alice. I’m waiting, waiting. For days, months really, I have felt as though—how shall I put it—as though the scales were about to fall from my eyes; at moments like these, as you know, when I really see the thing, I paint. Between times, I wait, I wait.
Yvonne. Couldn’t you work and wait, too?
Alice. No, I must save all my energy for these supreme moments, when I see Beauty in its essence.