Poe. (Releasing his arm and bowing stiffly) Mrs. Delormis.
Mrs. D. (Copying his manner) Mr. Poe!... Mr. Truelord has not yet been roused. No one will wake him unless you choose to do it yourself by increasing the hubbub. Roger defends you to Mrs. Truelord—says you are ill—out of your senses—and other complimentary things. Both of them are soothing and mothering Helen, and—(dropping into tenderness) I wanted you to have a little mothering, too—
Poe. Do you really want to help me?
Mrs. Del. O, if you would only let me be your friend!
Poe. You may! Stay here with me till she comes! I know she will come. She can not let me go without one word. It would be too terrible. She can not! Stay till she comes. Talk to me. Do not let me think!
Mrs. Del. I ’ll make myself comfortable then, and we ’ll have a good chat. You know I ’ve been told that I talk my best between two and three in the morning.
(Takes pillow from couch to make herself cosy in chair)
Poe. Do not touch that pillow!
Mrs. Del. (Dropping into chair) Well!
Poe. Do not sit in that chair!