ANNABELLE. (simply)—We are in love.
JIMMY. Do you mean to say you would throw me over for that fellow?
ANNABELLE. Why not?
JIMMY. What good is he? All he can do is sing hymns. In three months he'll be a tramp.
ANNABELLE. I don't care. And he won't be a tramp. I'll look after him.
JIMMY. (sneeringly) The maternal instinct! Well, take care of him if you like. But of course you know that in six weeks he'll fall in love with somebody else?
ANNABELLE. No he won't. I'm sure that I am the only girl in the world to him.
JIMMY. Of course you're the only girl in the world to him—now. You're the only one he's ever seen. But wait till he sees the others! Six weeks? On second thought I make it three days. Immortal love! (He laughs.)
ANNABELLE. What difference does it make? You don't understand. Whether it lasts a day or a year, while it lasts it will be immortal. The Angel enters, dressed in Jimmy's old clothes, and carrying his wings in his hands. He seems exhilarated.
THE ANGEL. How do I look?