Mother (quickly).
That’s natural; his work is hard.
Clara.
Of course. Men are like that, too. They are more ashamed of their tears than of their sins. They don’t mind showing a clenched fist, but a weeping eye, no! Father’s just the same. The afternoon they opened your vein and no blood came, he was sobbing away at his bench. It went right through me. But when I went up to him and stroked him on the cheek, what do you think he said? “See if you can’t get this damned shaving out of my eye. There’s so much to do and I’m not getting on with it at all.”
Mother (smiling).
Yes, yes.—I never see Leonard now. How is that?
Clara.
Let him stay away.
Mother.
I hope you don’t see him anywhere except at home here.