HILDA. But it was the truth; it still is the truth.
WHITE. Hilda, there's something I want to talk over very, very seriously with you. I've been putting it off.
HILDA. Yes, dear? (The outer door is heard to bang.) Listen: wasn't that the front door?
WHITE. Perhaps it's the maid?
HILDA (a bit nervously). No: she's upstairs. No one rang. Please see.
WHITE (smiling). Now don't worry! It can't possibly be the Secret
Service.
HILDA. One never knows in war times what to expect. I sometimes feel I am in a foreign country.
(WHITE goes slowly to the door in back and opens it. WALLACE, their son, with valise in hand, is standing there, as if he had hesitated to enter.
He is a fine clean-cut young fellow, with his father's physical endowment and his mother's spiritual intensity. The essential note he strikes is that of honesty. It is apparent he is under the pressure of a momentous decision which has brought him unexpectedly home from college.)
WHITE. Wallace!