Littlefield.
You're not taking part in this camp-meeting enthusiasm, are you?
Rhoda.
Yes.
As he stares at her, his astonishment changes to amusement; he chuckles to himself, then bursts out laughing, as in humorous reminiscence.
Littlefield.
Bless my soul! And to think that only a couple of little years ago—Oh, bless my soul!
The stair door opens. Michaelis appears. His face in flushed, his hair disordered, and his whole person expresses a feverish and precarious exaltation.
Michaelis.
Looks at Littlefield with vague query, then at Rhoda.