You’ve got to be more encouraging or I can’t work or eat or sleep. (He looks around helplessly as if searching for new words to clothe an old, shopworn phrase.) We’ll have to make a start.
I like having to make a start together. (His forced hopefulness fades as he sees her unresponsive.) What’s the matter? (He gets up suddenly and starts to pace the floor.) It’s Dawson Ryder, that’s what it is.
He’s been working on your nerves.
You’ve been with him every afternoon for a week.
People come and tell me they’ve seen you together, and I have to smile and nod and pretend it hasn’t the slightest significance for me.
And you won’t tell me anything as it develops.
ROSALIND: Amory, if you don’t sit down I’ll scream.
AMORY: (Sitting down suddenly beside her) Oh, Lord.
ROSALIND: (Taking his hand gently) You know I love you, don’t you?
AMORY: Yes.
ROSALIND: You know I’ll always love you—
AMORY: Don’t talk that way; you frighten me.
It sounds as if we weren’t going to have each other. (She cries a little and risingfrom the couch goes to the armcbair.) I’ve felt all afternoon that things were worse.
I nearly went wild down at the office—couldn’t write a line.
Tell me everything.
ROSALIND: There’s nothing to tell, I say.
I’m just nervous.
AMORY: Rosalind, you’re playing with the idea of marrying Dawson Ryder.
ROSALIND: (After a pause) He’s been asking me to all day.
AMORY: Well, he’s got his nerve!
ROSALIND: (After another pause) I like him.
AMORY: Don’t say that.
It hurts me.
ROSALIND: Don’t be a silly idiot.
You know you’re the only man I’ve ever loved, ever will love.
AMORY: (Quickly) Rosalind, let’s get married—next week.
ROSALIND: We can’t.
AMORY: Why not?
ROSALIND: Oh, we can’t.
I’d be your squaw—in some horrible place.
AMORY: We’ll have two hundred and seventy-five dollars a month all told.
ROSALIND: Darling, I don’t even do my own hair, usually.
AMORY: I’ll do it for you.
ROSALIND: (Between a laugh and a sob) Thanks.
AMORY: Rosalind, you can’t be thinking of marrying some one else.
Tell me! You leave me in the dark.
I can help you fight it out if you’ll only tell me.
ROSALIND: It’s just—us.
We’re pitiful, that’s all.
The very qualities I love you for are the ones that will always make you a failure.
AMORY: (Grimly) Go on.
ROSALIND: Oh—it is Dawson Ryder.
He’s so reliable, I almost feel that he’d be a—a background.
AMORY: You don’t love him.
ROSALIND: I know, but I respect him, and he’s a good man and a strong one.
AMORY: (Grudgingly) Yes—he’s that.
ROSALIND: Well—here’s one little thing.
There was a little poor boy we met in Rye Tuesday afternoon—and, oh, Dawson took him on his lap and talked to him and promised him an Indian suit—and next day he remembered and bought it—and, oh, it was so sweet and I couldn’t help thinking he’d be so nice to—to our children—take care of them—and I wouldn’t have to worry.
AMORY: (In despair) Rosalind! Rosalind!
ROSALIND: (With a faint roguishness) Don’t look so consciously suf fering.