MURRAY (something in her voice making him avert his face and kick at the heap of stones on which she is sitting—brusquely). Well, I hope you took precautions so you wouldn't be caught sneaking out.
EILEEN. I did just what you'd told me you did—stuffed the pillows under the clothes so the watchman would think I was there.
MURRAY. None of the patients on your porch saw you leave, did they?
EILEEN. No. They were all asleep.
MURRAY. That's all right, then. I wouldn't trust any of that bunch of women. They'd be only too glad to squeal on you. (There is an uncomfortable pause. Murray seems waiting for her to speak. He looks about him at the trees, up into the moonlit sky, breathing in the fresh air with a healthy delight. Eileen remains with downcast head, staring at the road.) It's beautiful to-night, isn't it? Worth losing sleep for.
EILEEN (dully). Yes. (Another pause—finally she murmurs faintly.) Are you leaving early?
MURRAY. The ten-forty. Leave the San at ten, I guess.
EILEEN. You're going home?
MURRAY. Home? You mean to the town? No. But I'm going to see my sisters—just to say hello. I've got to, I suppose. I won't stay more than a few days, if I can help it.
EILEEN. I'm sure—I've often felt—you're unjust to your sisters. (With conviction.) I'm sure they must both love you.