RUTH. (after watching him irritably for a moment) For heaven’s sakes, put down that old book! Don’t you see your dinner’s getting cold?
ROBERT. (closing his book) Excuse me, Ruth. I didn’t notice. (He picks up his knife and fork and begins to eat gingerly, without appetite).
RUTH. I should think you might have some feeling for me, Rob, and not always be late for meals. If you think it’s fun sweltering in that oven of a kitchen to keep things warm for you, you’re mistaken.
ROBERT. I’m sorry, Ruth, really I am. Something crops up every day to delay me. I mean to be here on time.
RUTH. (with a sigh) Mean-tos don’t count.
ROBERT. (with a conciliating smile) Then punish me, Ruth. Let the food get cold and don’t bother about me.
RUTH. I’d have to wait just the same to wash up after you.
ROBERT. But I can wash up.
RUTH. A nice mess there’d be then!
ROBERT. (with an attempt at lightness) The food is lucky to be able to get cold this weather. (As RUTH doesn’t answer or smile he opens his book and resumes his reading, forcing himself to take a mouthful of food every now and then. RUTH stares at him in annoyance).