Lucy. (crosses to Tom) A husband! No! Surely you’re joking? Oh, I can’t believe it.
Tom. What’s much more singular, I want to be married again.
Lucy. Were you so happy?
Tom. No, I wasn’t happy.
Lucy. Didn’t you like your wife?
Tom. Yes, I adored her. So did someone else.
Lucy. Well?
Tom. I suppose she adored him. (sits R. of table)
Lucy. She left you! (getting back)
Tom. No, I left her! Six years ago! On a bright summer day—just such a day as this. As I passed down the walk I caught my last glimpse of her through a window, as it might be there. (pointing to window) I can almost see her now, framed like a picture in the window frame, with the sun streaming down on her, for all the world like—— (rises)