Ritter. They’d hardly come here to see me, anyway.
Mrs. Ritter. Well, they’d come to see me.
Ritter. But you won’t be here. [She turns and looks at him blankly.]
Mrs. Ritter. Why,—what—what do you mean, I won’t be here?
Ritter. [With a touch of delicacy] Why, aren’t you going on with The Work?
Mrs. Ritter. Well, I don’t want to go unless you want me to.
Ritter. But, I do want you to. I don’t think a talent like yours should be hidden; [He looks straight out, thoughtfully.] it’s too unique.
Mrs. Ritter. I thought you said a while ago you didn’t like me?
Ritter. [Raising his left hand and crossing over and down in front of her towards the arm-chair at the left] You mustn’t hold me responsible for what I said a while ago—[He stops back of the arm-chair and rests his hand upon the back of it.] I was panic-stricken at the thought of having my home broken up. [She moves down to the center of the room.] But I’ve been thinking it over upstairs, and I’ve concluded that it’s more important that the world should see you act, than that I should have a home to come to.
Mrs. Ritter. But, I don’t like the thought of breaking up your home, Fred.