Ritter. [Raising his right hand to her with a touch of solemnity] You mustn’t consider me in the matter at all, dear. Every great gift has its victim—and I am, in a way, rather happy—to find myself chosen the victim of yours.
Mrs. Ritter. What would you do, if I were to go?
Ritter. [With the faintest shade of classic pose] I’d go with you; you’d need someone to look after the flowers—see that they got to the various hospitals all right.
Mrs. Ritter. [Looking away out] I might not like it, after I’d get there.
Ritter. Maybe not. I suppose fame becomes monotonous like everything else. But, I wouldn’t want you in the future, to look back and feel that I had stood in your way.
Mrs. Ritter. [Carefully] No, Fred,—I really don’t know whether I want to be a great actress or not.
Ritter. But, you are a great actress, dear.
Mrs. Ritter. Thank you.
Ritter. [Indicating the anchor of roses down at the left] Look at this anchor,—of hope. [He steps back and picks up the horseshoe.] And this horseshoe of “SUCCESS.” [He brings it forward and sets it down just to Mrs. Ritter’s left. Then he steps across in front of it, takes her hand and slips his right arm around her waist.] And I think, Paula, it might be a very sensible move, to just let the public remember you as a great actress—as they saw you tonight—at your best.
Mrs. Ritter. [Looking wistfully straight ahead] Do you think they will remember, Fred?