WILL. Think he might take a trip East and see you act. You know you've
got quite a part now.

LAURA. [_Impatiently._] I wish you wouldn't discuss this. Why do you
mention it now? [_Crossing to right of table._] Is it because you were
drinking last night and lost your sense of delicacy? You once had some
consideration for me. What I've done I've done. I'm giving you all
that I can. Please, please, don't hurt me any more than you can help.
That's all I ask.

[_Crossing up to mirror. Crosses back to right of table; sits._

WILL. Well, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that, Laura. I guess I am feeling
a little bad to-day. Really, I don't want to hurt your feelings, my
dear.

_He gets up, goes to her, puts his hands on her shoulders, and his
cheek close to the back of her head. She bends forward and shudders
a little bit. It is very easy to see that the life she is leading is
becoming intolerable to her._

WILL. You know, dearie, I do a lot for you because you've always been
on the level with me. I'm sorry I hurt you, but there was too much
wine last night and I'm all upset. Forgive me.

LAURA, _in order to avoid his caresses, has leaned forward; her hands
are clasped between her knees, and she is looking straight outward
with a cold, impassive expression._ WILL _regards her silently for a
moment. Really in the man's heart there is an affection, and really
he wants to try to comfort her; but he seems to realize that she has
slipped away from the old environment and conditions, and that he
simply bought her back; that he hasn't any of her affection, even with
his money; that she evinces toward him none of the old camaraderie;
and it hurts him, as those things always hurt a selfish man, inclining
him to be brutal and inconsiderate._ WILL _crosses to centre, and
stands reading paper; bell rings; a pause and second bell._ WILL
_seizes upon this excuse to go up-stage and over towards the door._

WILL. [_After second bell._] Damn that bell.

_He continues on his way; he opens the door, leaves it open, and
passes on to the outer door, which he opens._ LAURA _remains immovable
and impassive, with the same cold, hard expression on her face. He
comes in, slamming the outer door with effect, which one must have at
this point of the play, because it is essential to a situation coming
later. Enters the room, closes the door, and holds in his hand a
telegram. Looks from newspaper to telegram._

WILL. A wire.

LAURA. For me?

WI