[She is almost hysterical.]
Harold. But I tell you I must—
Anne [falling back in her mother's arms]. Make him go, Mother! Make him go!
Mrs. Carey. Yes, go! Go, sir! Don't you see you are torturing the child. I insist upon your going.
Ruth. Yes, she is in a dreadful state.
[Here Mrs. Carey and Ruth fall into simultaneous urgings.]
Harold [who has tried in vain to make himself heard]. All right, I'm going, I give up!
[He seizes his hat and rushes out, banging the door behind him. Anne breaks away from her mother and sister, totters rapidly to the door and calls down gently.]
Anne. Not in anger, I beg of you, Harold! I am not blaming you. Good-by.
[The street door is heard to bang. Anne collapses in approved tragedy style.]