BETWEEN THE LINES
By M. H. Vorse
Dramatis personæ—Miss Paysley, twenty-one, small, with a dignified carriage, when she remembers it, otherwise she is as impulsive as a little girl. She is pale, blond, blushes easily and has a way of looking at one with a straight, honest, gaze.
Mr. Jarvis, thirty, tall, well built. Has an easy-going, tolerant manner that is sometimes almost indifferent.
Scene—A lamplit piazza. The subdued light throws curious shadows on the thick growth of vines which screen the place from the street. Here and there where the vines are broken one may look out into the velvety blackness of the night. The piazza is furnished in the usual way. Rugs, wicker chairs, wicker tables. On the table a carafe with liquor and glasses. Litter of books, smoking things, etc.
Enter Miss Paysley and Mr. Jarvis.
Miss Paysley (pulling aside the vines)—What a sense of space darkness gives one! I feel as if I were looking into eternity!
Mr. Jarvis (aside)—-That sounds like Millicent. (Aloud.) Aren’t you going to keep your promise?
Miss Paysley—Don’t you feel the greatness of space around you in a night like this?