PETER. [Speaking in a hushed voice.] Marta, see what you have in your hand … that letter … there … read it…. Run to Catherine with it. Read it from the house-tops…. The letter … Look! There you have the story of Annamarie…. It is the one way to know the truth in this house— the only way…. There in your hand—the letter…. He will never speak…. The letter for Catherine.
MARTA sets down the picture and the letter; but something prompts her to look at them; however, before she can carry out her impulse, FREDERIK starts up.
FREDERIK. My God! How you startled me! [MARTA sets down the tray.] Oh! To be off and out of this old rat-trap. [He wipes his forehead with his black-bordered handkerchief.] I mean—our loss comes home to us so keenly here where we are accustomed to see him.
MARTA. A cup of coffee, sir?
FREDERIK. No, no, no.
MARTA. [Pathetically.] I thought you wished to keep to your uncle's customs…. He always took it at this time.
FREDERIK. [Recovering.] Yes, yes, of course.
MARTA. … No word?…
FREDERIK. [Hesitates.] What do you mean?
MARTA. No letter?