LAURA. Begin.
WILL. [Dictating.] "All I have to say can be expressed in one word, 'good-bye.' I shall not tell you where I've gone, but remind you of what Brockton told you the last time he saw you. He is here now [Pause.], dictating this letter. What I am doing is voluntary—my own suggestion. Don't grieve. Be happy and successful. I do not love you"—
[She puts pen down; looks at him.
LAURA. Will—please.
WILL. It has got to go just that way—"I do not love you." Sign it "Laura." [She does it.] Fold it, put it in an envelope—seal it—address it. Now shall I mail it?
LAURA. No. If you don't mind I'd sooner. It's a sort of a last—last message.
WILL. [Crosses to armchair; gets coat, puts it on.] All right.
You're a little upset now, and I'm going. We are all to dine at
Martin's to-night at seven-thirty. There'll be a party. Of course
you'll come. [Gets hat and cane.
LAURA. I don't think I can. You see—
WILL. I know. I guess there's enough there [Indicating money.] for your immediate needs. Later you can straighten things up. Shall I send the car?
LAURA. Yes, please.