Mrs. Ritter. Why, you’re as pale as a ghost!
Ritter. That’s nothing—I’ve had a scare.
Mrs. Ritter. [Solicitously] What scared you, dear? [He turns and looks at her.]
Ritter. I was afraid every minute somebody was going to shoot you.
Mrs. Ritter. [After a bewildered pause] But, why should anybody shoot me, darling?
Ritter. For trying to act. [He moves forward and across in front of the table, to the right,—she watching him blankly.] Making a laughing-stock of yourselves in front of the community.
Mrs. Ritter. Didn’t you like me, Fred?
Ritter. [Casually, as he nears the window] I did till I saw you act. [He turns around to his right and leans on the piano. She moves over towards the table below the piano.]
Mrs. Ritter. [Rather helplessly, as the situation dawns upon her] Why, Mrs. Pampinelli said I was a great artist.
Ritter. [With vast amusement] Ha! [Then he looks at his wife and speaks very exactly.] Mrs. Pampinelli is perhaps the world’s greatest NUT. [Mrs. Pampinelli, standing back in the widow-alcove at the right, in a state of puzzled irresolution, reacts, physically, to this last observation, causing an abrupt movement of the drapery. But, neither Ritter nor his wife are looking in that direction at the moment.]