Mrs. Pampinelli. [With a touch of impatience] Look at her! [She begins to cough again.]
Hossefrosse. Oh, yes, yes! [He turns and glares at Florence, who is standing just a couple of feet away from him.]
Mrs. Ritter. [Holding the glass of punch aloft again] Betty!
Florence. I have a couple of growing boys,—[Mrs. Pampinelli passes right up between Florence and Hossefrosse to Mrs. Ritter, and takes the glass of claret.] who are beginning to ask me questions which I find too difficult to answer: and I will neither lie to them—nor allow them to pity me.
Hossefrosse. What do you want me to do?
Mrs. Pampinelli. [Handing the claret-glass back to Paula, who goes to the bowl and refills it, and the note-book and pencil to Teddy] Just a moment. [She turns and comes forward in the middle of the room. Florence turns and moves over to the table at the left, and Hossefrosse remains standing at the table at the right.] Just one moment. Listen, Florence dear. [She uses her handkerchief, then stuffs it into the bosom of her dress.] I want you, if you can, to make just a little bit more of that last line. Within the limits of the characterization, of course; but if you can feel it, I’d like you to give me just the barest suggestion of a tear. Not too much; but just enough to show that,—under all her courage—and her threatening, she is still a woman—and a Mother. You see what I mean, dear?
Florence. More emotion.
Mrs. Pampinelli. In that last line. You are doing splendidly, darling, [Turning to Hossefrosse] both of you; [He acknowledges his excellence with a short bow.] but I have always felt that that last line—was really the big moment—of the play. It seems to me—[She toys with her necklace, narrows her eyes and looks away off.] that it is there—that she makes her big plea, for her boys, for her home,—for every woman’s home. And even though that plea is made in the form of a threat,—somehow or other—I seem to hear her saying, sub-vocally, of course, “In God’s name, don’t make it necessary for me to do this thing!” [She concludes this speech rather dramatically, her arms outstretched. Mr. Spindler, at this point, engaged in a too curious examination of the keyboard, accidentally touches D flat above High C. Everybody turns and looks at him, but his consciousness of guilt does not permit of his meeting their eyes, so he remains bent over the keyboard in precisely the attitude he was in when he struck the note.]
Mrs. Fell. Oh, go away from that piano, Mr. Spindler! [Mrs. Ritter comes forward at the left with a dish of cakes and a glass of claret.]
Mrs. Pampinelli. [Withdrawing her eyes witheringly from Spindler and turning back to Florence] Do you see what I mean, dear?