Vir. (Kissing her) We will be brave, my mother. I hear the girls. Go to them one moment—do! (Exit Mrs. Clemm) ... Helen! Dear God above! (Drops on her knees by a chair. After a moment of agony, rises, goes to table and looks at papers) What is it I have ruined? (Reads silently) O, what beauty!... I think I can make this out and copy it for him. But now he may never finish it. The heavenly moment is gone ... and I robbed him of it.... I, who should guard him and keep the world away. That is my little part—too little, God knows! O, if I could really help him!
(Enter Ethel and Annie)
Eth. O, Virginia, now that we’re rid of that troublesome husband let ’s have one of our good old-fashioned times! We ’ll sit by the fire and tell tales. It ’s too cold anyway to go to the woods.
Vir. (Absently) Edgar is there.
Annie. And there let him stay! I ’m sure it ’s better for both of you. You hang about him too much, Virginia. He ’ll quit loving you, mamma says he will, if you’re not more sensible. Help me draw up this sofa, Ethel. (They pull sofa to the fire. Annie settles herself comfortably) I feel just like giving you a lecture, Virginia. You must make Edgar go out more. Anybody will get queer shut up here. The other day when mamma asked him to come to our party he was n’t more than half polite when he refused, and we were going to have Mr. Melrose Libbie to meet him too. Said his work would keep him at home! Now you know, Virginia, that poetry is n’t work. It ’s just dash off a line now and then, and there you are! Mr. Libbie said so. O, he had the sweetest thing on the woman’s page in last Sunday’s paper! Did you see it? You ’d better call Edgar’s attention to it. Mamma read it to all of us at the breakfast table, and—
Eth. O, stop your chatter, Annie, and let Virginia tell us one of her fairy stories just as she used to do. We ’ll forget all about Edgar and make believe she is n’t married at all.
Vir. (Painfully) Forgive me, dear girls, but I ’ve some work that I must do to-day.
Mabel. Must do! Who ever heard the like?
Vir. I was wrong. It is some work that I choose to do—that it will be my happiness to do.
Ethel. For Edgar?