Lydia. Don't you? Don't you? [Sliding her hands toward her aunt's throat and turning toward Joe.] Be brave, Joe. [Speaking to her aunt.] Then if the key is gone, I shall have to take the fire-tongs.
[Lydia steps toward the fire-place.]
Harriet. Lydia! Don't touch them! What are you about?
Lydia [coming again to her aunt and placing her hands on her shoulders]. I want—that—key. And I want it quickly.
[They look squarely into one another's eyes.]
Harriet [uncertainly]. I can't give it to you now. I will never give it to you.
Lydia. No? [Almost breaking down.] Joe, why didn't you tell me? [Walking toward the hearth.] Very well, Aunt Harriet.
Harriet [passing her hand over her eyes in terror]. Wait! Look in that old vase on the mantel. No—the one that we never use—with the crack in it—
[Lydia takes down the vase and tilts it. A key falls on the hearth with a ringing sound. She picks it up and quickly opens the piano.]
Harriet. To think that this should happen in my house. Lord, what have I done to deserve it?