Mrs. C. A child, Edgar! A child!
Poe. To you—only to you. She has her full dower of beauty—womanhood’s portion.
Mrs. C. She has a right to her education. I can not wrong my child.
Poe. I will teach her—teach her more than she will ever learn at the great mess table of knowledge where the genius must take his treacle and the blacksmith his ambrosia! O, aunt, you will give her to me?
Mrs. C. Edgar, I love you dearly,—but—my little girl—my Virginia—
Poe. (Bitterly) There is a difference then. She is yours, I am not.
Mrs. C. Do not be cruel. I am a distracted mother!
Poe. My dear aunt!
(Virginia runs into yard and flings her arms about her mother)
Vir. O, mama, uncle had to stop at Judge Carroll’s and they got into an argument and Mrs. Carroll said they would be at it for hours—she knew by the way the judge was filling his pipe—and told me to run back if I wanted to—Mama! Edgar! What is the matter?