Poor devil--it's hard not to wish for the moon.
At the tone of his voice CLARE looks up at him; his face is
turned away.
CLARE. [Softly] How have you been? Working very hard?
MALISE. As hard as God will let me.
CLARE. [Stealing another look] Have you any typewriting I could do?
I could learn, and I've still got a brooch I could sell. Which is
the best kind?
MALISE. I had a catalogue of them somewhere.
He goes into the inner room. The moment he is gone, CLARE
stands up, her hands pressed to her cheeks as if she felt them
flaming. Then, with hands clasped, she stands waiting. He
comes back with the old portfolio.
MALISE. Can you typewrite where you are?
CLARE. I have to find a new room anyway. I'm changing--to be safe.
[She takes a luggage ticket from her glove] I took my things to
Charing Cross--only a bag and one trunk. [Then, with that queer
expression on her face which prefaces her desperations] You don't
want me now, I suppose.
MALISE. What?
CLARE. [Hardly above a whisper] Because--if you still wanted me--
I do--now.
[Etext editors note: In the 1924 revision, 11 years after this
1913 edition: "I do--now" is changed to "I could--now"--
a significant change in meaning. D.W.]
MALISE. [Staring hard into her face that is quivering and smiling]
You mean it? You do? You care----?
CLARE. I've thought of you--so much! But only--if you're sure.
He clasps her and kisses her closed eyes; and so they stand for
a moment, till the sound of a latchkey in the door sends them
apart.
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