come back here into this room and
I could see you?

DR. MACPHERSON. You might not see me; but I could come back to this room.

CATHERINE. Could you talk to me?

DR. MACPHERSON. Yes.

CATHERINE. And could I hear you?

DR. MACPHERSON. I believe so. That's what we're trying to make possible.
[CATHERINE, _still wondering, passes off with the tray. From the cellar,_
PETER _can be heard singing lustily._

PETER. "If you want a bite that's good to eat,
(Tra, la, ritte, ra, la, la, la!)
Try out a goose that's fat and sweet,
(Tra, la, ritte, ra, la, la, la!")

_During the song,_ MRS. BATHOLOMMEY _has given a quick tap on the door and
entered. She is about forty years of age. Her faded brown hair is streaked
with grey. She wears a plain black alpaca costume._

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. [_Agitated_.] Good-morning, Doctor. Fortunate that I
found you alone.

DR. MACPHERSON. [_Dryly_.] Hy're you, Mrs. Batholommey?

_The_ REV. HENRY BATHOLOMMEY _now enters. He is a man of about forty-five,
wearing the frock coat, high waistcoat and square topped hat of a minister
of the Dutch Reformed Church._

REV. MR. BATHOLOMMEY. Hy're, Henry?

_The_ REV. MR. BATHOLOMMEY _bows._ WILLIAM _has returned from his errand
and entered the room,--a picture-book under his arm. He sits up by the
window, absorbed in the pictures--unnoticed by the others._

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. [_Closing the door left open by_ PETER, _shutting out
the sound of his voice_.] Well, Doctor ... [_She pauses for a moment to
catch her breath and wipe her eyes_.] I suppose you've told him he's got
to die.

DR. MACPHERSON. [_Eyeing_ MRS. BATHOLOMMEY _with disfavour_.] Who's got to
die?

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. Why, Mr. Grimm, of course.

DR. MACPHERSON. [_Amazed_.] Does the whole damned town know it?

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. Oh!

REV. MR. BATHOLOMMEY. Easy, Doctor. You consulted Mr. Grimm's lawyer and
_his_ wife told _my_ wife.

DR. MACPHERSON. He gabbed, eh? Hang the professional man who tells things
to his wife.

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. Doctor!

REV. MR. BATHOLOMMEY. [_With solicitude_.] I greatly grieve to hear that
Mr. Grimm has an incurable malady. His heart, I understand. [_Shakes his
head._

DR. MACPHERSON. He's not to be told. Is that clear? He may die in twenty
minutes--may outlive us all--probably will.

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. [_Pointing to_ REV. MR. BATHOLOMMEY.] It seems to me,
Doctor, that if _you_ can't do any more, it's _his_ turn. It's a wonder
you Doctors don't b