SHEFFIELD—It is hardly a case of their judging—you. [Breaking off as he catches CURT'S tortured eyes fixed on him wildly.] This is a small town, Curt, and you know as well as I do, gossip is not the least of its faults. It doesn't take long for such things to get started. [Persuasively.] Now I ask you frankly, is it wise to provoke deliberately what may easily be set at rest by a little—I'll be frank—a little pretense on your part?
JAYSON—Yes, my boy. As a Jayson, I know you don't wish—
ESTHEE—[With a sigh.] Yes, you really must think of us, Curt.
CURTIS—[In an acute state of muddled confusion.] But—I—you—how are you concerned? Pretense? You mean you want me to stay and pretend—in order that you won't be disturbed by any silly tales they tell about me? [With a wild laugh.] Good God, this is too much! Why does a man have to be maddened by fools at such a time! [Raging.] Leave me alone! You're like a swarm of poisonous flies.
JAYSON—Curt! This is—really—when we've tried to be so considerate—
JOHN—[Bursting with rage.] It's an outrage to allow such insults!
DICK—You're not playing the game, Curt.
EMILY—[Spitefully.] It seems to me it's much more for Martha's sake, we're urging you than for our own. After all, the town can't say anything against us.
CURTIS—[Turning on her.] Martha's sake? [Brokenly.] Martha is gone. Leave her out of this.
SHEFFIELD—[Sharply.] But unfortunately, Curt, others will not leave her out of this. They will pry and pry—you know what they are—and—