Mrs. Keeney [dully]. No—I don't know—I can't understand. [Intensely.] Oh, I want to be home in the old house once more, and see my own kitchen again, and hear a woman's voice talking to me and be able to talk to her. Two years! It seems so long ago—as if I'd been dead and could never go back.
Keeney [worried by her strange tone and the far-away look in her eyes.] Best go to bed, Annie. You ain't well.
Mrs. Keeney [not appearing to hear him]. I used to be lonely when you were away. I used to think Homeport was a stupid, monotonous place. Then I used to go down on the beach, especially when it was windy and the breakers were rolling in, and I'd dream of the fine, free life you must be leading. [She gives a laugh which is half a sob.] I used to love the sea then. [She pauses; then continues with slow intensity.] But now—I don't ever want to see the sea again.
Keeney [thinking to humor her]. 'Tis no fit place for a woman, that's sure. I was a fool to bring ye.
Mrs. Keeney [after a pause—passing her hand over her eyes with a gesture of pathetic weariness]. How long would it take us to reach home—if we started now?
Keeney [frowning]. 'Bout two months, I reckon, Annie, with fair luck.
Mrs. Keeney [counts on her fingers—then murmurs with a rapt smile]. That would be August, the latter part of August, wouldn't it? It was on the twenty-fifth of August we were married, David, wasn't it?
Keeney [trying to conceal the fact that her memories have moved him—gruffly]. Don't you remember?
Mrs. Keeney [vaguely—again passes her hand over her eyes]. My memory is leaving me—up here in the ice. It was so long ago. [A pause—then she smiles dreamily.] It's June now. The lilacs will be all in bloom in the front yard—and the climbing roses on the trellis to the side of the house—they're budding—
[She suddenly covers her face with her hands and commences to sob.]