[Slowly turning pages of magazine.
WILL. And his job?
LAURA. Reporter.
WILL. What are you going to live on,—the extra editions?
LAURA. No, we're young, there's plenty of time. I can work in the meantime, and so can he; and then with his ability and my ability it will only be a matter of a year or two when things will shape themselves to make it possible.
WILL. Sounds well—a year off.
LAURA. If I thought you were going to make fun of me, Will, I shouldn't have talked to you.
[Throws down magazine, crosses to door of house.
WILL. [Crossing down in front of table.] I don't want to make fun of you, but you must realize that after two years it isn't an easy thing to be dumped with so little ceremony. Maybe you have never given me any credit for possessing the slightest feeling, but even I can receive shocks from other sources than a break in the market.
LAURA. [Crosses to WILL.] It isn't easy for me to do this. You've been awfully kind, awfully considerate, but when I went to you it was just with the understanding that we were to be pals. You reserved the right then to quit me whenever you felt like it, and you gave me the same privilege. Now, if some girl came along who really captivated you in the right way, and you wanted to marry, it would hurt me a little,—maybe a lot,—but I should never forget that agreement we made, a sort of two weeks' notice clause, like people have in contracts.