OLLIVANT. Yes. I suppose they all think that; it's what keeps them going. But some day, when you're in love and marry, you'll see it all differently.
MARY. Father, what if the man does not come—or the children?
OLLIVANT. Why—[He halts as though unable to answer her.] Nonsense. He'll come, never fear; they always do.
MARY. I wonder.
OLLIVANT. [He goes affectionately to Emily, who has been staring before her during this.] Emily, dear. No wonder the flowers have been neglected. Well, you'll have time to spray those roses yourself. I'll get the spray mixture to-morrow. [Kisses her tenderly.] Painting paper dolls with a change of clothes! When I might have been sending her the money without ever feeling it. No more of that, dear; you don't have to now. I shan't let you get tired and sick. That's one thing I draw the line at. [He pats her again, looks at his watch, and then goes slowly over to the window-doors.] Well, it's getting late. I'll lock up. [Looking up at sky.] Paper says it will rain to-morrow.
EMILY. [Very quietly so only Mary can hear.] At the art school they said I had a lovely sense of color. Your father is so kind; but he doesn't know how much I enjoyed painting again—even those paper dolls.
MARY. [Comprehending in surprise.] Mother! You, too?
EMILY. [Fearing lest Ollivant should hear.] Sh!
[Ollivant closes the doors and eyes the women thoughtfully.]
OLLIVANT. Better fasten the other windows when you come. Good-night.