Bookseller. (Looking book over doubtfully) Forty cents.
Poe. (Loudly) Forty devils! (Helen turns and recognizes him. He does not see her) Look at that binding. You can’t get a Shelley put up like that for less than ten dollars.
Hel. (Aside) My book!
Bookseller. It ’s badly marked.
Poe. Marked! Of course it ’s marked. And every mark there worth its dollar. In ten years you ’ll wish the marks were as thick as the letters.
Bookseller. Say fifty, and strike off. Not a cent more.
Poe. Take it.
Hel. To sell my book! (Moves slowly to door) How pale he is! But he is neatly dressed. He can not need fifty cents. To sell my book! I ’ll speak to him and see if he is past shame. (Steps before Poe as he turns to go out)
Hel. Mr. Poe! Don’t you remember me? ’T is delightful to meet an old friend.
Poe. (Bowing low) Mrs....