her lips. Looking at him deeply.] I adore sapphires, Harold.

[A new fear comes into HAROLD's eyes. He begins to humor her.]

HAROLD. Yes. Yes. Of course. Everyone likes sapphires, Anne. It is a beauty. Yes. [He comes very close to her, and speaks very gently, as if to a child.] You haven't shown your ring to anyone, have you, Anne?

ANNE. Only to a few people-one or 10 two.

HAROLD. A few people! Good heavens! [Then he controls himself, takes her hands gently in his, and continues speaking, as if to a child.] Sit down, Anne; we must talk this over a little very quietly, you understand, very quietly. Now to begin with, when did you first

ANNE. [Breaks away from him with a little laugh.] No, I'm not crazy. Don't be 20 worried. I'm perfectly sane. I had to tell you all this to show how serious it was. Now you know. What are you going to do?

HAROLD. Do? [He slowly straightens up as if the knowledge of her sanity had relieved him of a heavy load.] I'm going to take the next train back to New York.

ANNE. And leave me to get out of this before people all alone?

HAROLD. You got into it without my 30 assistance, didn't you? Great Scott, you forged those letters in cold blood

ANNE. Not in cold blood, Harold. Remember, I cared.

HAROLD. I don't believe it. [Accusingly.] You enjoyed writing those letters! ANNE. Of course I enjoyed it. It meant thinking of you, talking of—

HAROLD. Rot! Not of me, really. You don't think I am really the sort of 40 person who could write that-that drivel!

ANNE. [Hurt.] Oh, I don't know. After a while I suppose you and my dream got confused.

HAROLD. But it was the rankestANNE. Oh, I'm not so different from other girls. We're all like that. [Repeating RUTH'S phrase reminiscently.] We must have someone to dream about-to talk about. I suppose it's because we haven't 50 enough to do. And then we don't have

any-any real adventures like-shop girls.

HAROLD. [Surprised at this bit of reality.] That's a funny thing to say!

ANNE. Well, it's true. I know I went rather far. After I got started I couldn't stop. I didn't want to, either. It took hold of me. So I went on and on and let people think whatever they wanted. But if you go now and people find out what I've done, they'll think I'm really mad- 60 or something worse. Life will be impossible for me here, don't you see-impossible. [HAROLD is silent.] But if you stay, it will be so easy. Just a day or two. Then you will have to go to India. Is that much to ask? [Acting.] And you save me from disgrace, from ruin!

[HAROLD remains silent, troubled.]

now.

ANNE. [Becoming impassioned.] You must help me. You must. After I've been so frank with you, you can't go back on me 70 I've never in my life talked to anyone like this-so openly. You can't go back on me! If you leave me here to be laughed at, mocked at by everyone, I don't know what I shall do. I shan't be responsible. If you have any kindness, any chivalry Oh, for God's sake, Harold, help me, help me! [Kneels at his feet.]

HAROLD. I don't know .. I'm horribly muddled . . . All right, I'll stay! ANNE. Good! Good! Oh, you are fine! I knew you would be. Now everything will be so simple. [The vista opens before her.] We will be very quiet here for a couple of days. We won't see many people, for of course it isn't announced. And then you will go and I will write you a letter

.

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90

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room, back to the table, and finally to the ring that now hangs conspicuously on her breast. She follows the look and instinctively puts her hand to the ring.] Trust you? By Jove, no, I don't trust you! This is absurd. I don't stay another moment. Say what you will to people. I'm off. This is final. ANNE. [Who has stepped to the window.] You can't go now. I hear Mother and 10 Ruth coming. HAROLD.

All the more reason. [He

finds his hat.] I bolt. ANNE. [Blocking the door.] You can't go, Harold! Don't corner me. I'll fight like a wildcat if you do. HAROLD. Fight?

ANNE. Yes. A pretty figure you'll cut if you bolt now. They'll think you a cadan out and out cad! Haven't they seen 20 your letters come week by week, and your presents? And you have written to Mother, too-I have your letter. There won't be anything bad enough to say about you. They'll say you jilted me for that English girl in Brazil. It will be true, She'll hear of too. And it will get about. it, I'll see to that-and thenHAROLD. But it's a complete lie! I can explain―

30

ANNE. You'll have a hard time explaining your letters and your presents-and your ring. There's a deal of evidence against you

HAROLD. See here, are you trying to blackmail me? Oh, this is too ridiculous! ANNE. They're coming! I hear them on the stairs! What are you going to tell them?

HAROLD. The truth. I must get clear 40 of all this. I tell you

ANNE. [Suddenly clinging to him.] No, no, Harold! Forgive me; I was just testing you. I will get you out of this. Leave it to

me.

HAROLD. [Struggling with her.] No, I won't leave anything to you, ever.

ANNE. [Still clinging tightly.] Harold, remember I am a woman—and I love you.

[This brings him up short a moment to wonder, and in this moment there is a knock at the door.]

ANNE. [Abandoning Harold.] Come in. [There is a discreet pause.]

MRS. CAREY'S VOICE. [Off stage.] May 50 we come in?

ANNE. [Angrily.] Yes!

[HAROLD, who has moved toward the door, meets MRS. CAREY as she enters. She throws her arms about his neck and kisses him warmly. She is followed by RUTH.] MRS. CAREY. Harold! My dear boy! RUTH. [Clutching his arm.] Hello, Harold. I am so glad.

[HAROLD, temporarily overwhelmed by the onslaught of the two women, is about to speak, when ANNE interrupts dramatically.]

ANNE. Wait a moment, Mother. Before you say anything more I must tell you that Harold and I are no longer engaged!

[MRS. CAREY and RUTH draw away from
HAROLD in horror-struck surprise.]

MRS. CAREY. No longer engaged? Why
What
..?

HAROLD. Really, Mrs. Carey, I—

ANNE. [Interrupts, going to her mother.] Mother, dear, be patient with me, trust me, I beg of you-and please, please don't ask me any questions. Harold and I have had a very hard-a very painful hour together. I don't think I can stand any more.

[She is visibly very much exhausted, gasping for breath.]

MRS. CAREY. Oh, my poor child, what is it? What has he done?

[She supports ANNE on one side while RUTH hurries to the other.]

HAROLD. Really, Mrs. Carey, I think I can explain.

ANNE. No, Harold, there's no use trying to explain. There are some things a woman feels, about which she cannot reason. I know I am doing right.

HAROLD. [Desperately.] Mrs. Carey, I assure you—

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70

ANNE. [As if on the verge of a nervous crisis.] Oh, please, please, Harold, don't protest any more. I am not blaming you. Understand, Mother, I am not blaming 80 him. But my decision is irrevocable. I thought you understood. I beg you to go

away. You have just time to catch the afternoon express.

HAROLD. Nonsense, Anne, you must let

me

ANNE. [Wildly.] No, no, Harold, it is finished! Don't you understand? Finished! [She abandons the support of her mother and RUTH and goes to the table.] See, here are your letters. I am going to burn 10 them. [She throws the packet into the fire.] All your letters-[She throws the dispatches into the fire.] Don't, please, continue this unendurable situation any longer. Go, I beg of you, go! [She is almost hysterical.]

HAROLD. But I tell you I must

ANNE. [Falling back in her mother's arms.] Make him go, Mother! Make him go!

MRS CAREY. Yes, go! Go, sir! Don't 20 you see you are torturing the child? I insist upon your going.

RUTH. Yes, she is in a dreadful state. [Here MRS. CAREY and RUTH fall into simultaneous urgings.]

HAROLD. [Who has tried in vain to make himself heard.] All right, I'm going; I give up!

[He seizes his hat and rushes out, banging the door behind him. ANNE breaks away from her mother and sister, totters rapidly to the door, and calls down gently.]

ANNE. Not in anger, I beg of you, Harold! I am not blaming you. Good-by. [The street door is heard to bang. ANNE collapses in approved tragedy style.] ANNE. [Gasping.] Get some Ruth. I shall be all right in a moment. [RUTH rushes into the bedroom.]

water,

now I must be alone. Please, dear, go away . . for a little while. I must be alone [Rising and moving to the fire.] with the ruin of my dreams.

[She puts her arms on the chimney shelf and drops her head on them.]

RUTH. Come, Mother! Come away!

MRS. CAREY. Yes, I am coming. We 40 shall be in the next room, Anne, when you want us. Right here.

ANNE. [As they go out, raises her head and murmurs.] Dust and ashes! Dust and ashes!

[As soon as they have gone, ANNE straightens

up slowly. She pulls herself together after the physical strain of her acting. Then she looks at the watch on her wrist and sighs a long triumphant sigh. Her eye falls on the desk and she sees the package of florist's cards still there. She picks them up, returns with them to the fire and is about to throw them in, when her eye is caught by the writing on one. She takes it out and reads it. Then she takes another— and another. She stops and looks away dreamily. Then slowly, she moves back to the desk, drops the cards into a drawer, and locks it. She sits brooding at the desk and the open paper before her seems to fascinate her. As if in a dream she picks up a pencil. A creative look comes into her eyes. Resting her chin on her left hand, she begins slowly to write, murmuring to herself.]

ANNE. [Reading as she writes.] "Anne, my dearest . I am on the train.

1. Why should Anne be nervous when she first appears? Why does she act before her sister? Why does she change when Ruth leaves?

2. Do you agree with Ruth about Harold's letters? Would most girls admire Harold's extravagance and sentiment? Would they like "the idea of a man”?

3. How do you account for his lack of sentiment on meeting Anne? His delay of three weeks in seeing her? Why hadn't Anne known of his return through his letters? Where do we learn he is not at all in love with her?

4. Why does Anne force Harold to remain? 5. Why does Harold call the letters which Ruth admired "stuff"? What makes him think they were not written by an impostor? Why is he angry when he learns that she has shown letters and telegrams?

6. When does he become "sardonic"? Why does he for a moment think her insane? What in her explanation makes clear to him the motive for her deception?

7. Why does Harold consent to remain? Why does he change his mind? Are Anne's threats natural? Honorable?

8. Why does Harold allow Anne to put him in such a false position? Why is Anne successful? 9. Has the experience reformed her? How do you know?

10. Do you think that young women in small towns have as little to occupy their minds as Anne apparently had? Do you think some of them as imaginative and unscrupulous as Anne? Can they act as well as Anne?

11. (a) At what moment were you most interested in what was going to happen? Trace the conflict in the play to its conclusion. (b) What part of the conversation was to you most amusing? (c) Anne's outrageous deception is something like a practical joke. Does the play contain any satire of American life? If you think so, point out what characteristics of American girls or what features of small-town existence are satirized.

12. Do you consider the characters more natural or less natural than those in She Stoops to Conquer? Henry V? In particular, compare Anne with Kate Hardcastle. Do they look for the same qualities in young men? Which employs the more clever deception? If either of them is justified, tell why you think Which of them acts better? Cite particular scenes. Which do you like better? Why? Are the situations more or less laughable than those in She Stoops to Conquer or the comic parts of Henry V?

So.

13. Do you think the story in Goldsmith's or in this play the more skillfully told? In which do you see the situations and the characters more clearly? In which do the events follow each other more naturally and interestingly? In which is the conclusion the more consistent with the rest of the play?

14. Have the conditions of life changed very much since Goldsmith's day? Cite particular features, like transportation and communication. Has human nature changed very much? Find your evidence in the plays.

Three people: CHARLES, the householder.
CLARA, his wife.
THE THIEF.

SCENE: A darkened room.

After a moment the door opens, admitting a streak of light. A man peers in cautiously. As soon as he is sure that the room is unoccupied, he steps inside and feels along the wall until he finds the switch which floods the room with light. He is dressed in impeccable taste-evidently a man of culture. From time to time he bites appreciatively on a ham sandwich as he looks about

him, apparently viewing the room for the first time. Nothing pleases him until a vase over the mantel catches his eye. He picks it up, looks at the bottom, puts it down hard, and mutters, "Imitation." Other articles receive the same disdainful verdict. The whole room is beneath his notice. He starts to sit down before the fire and enjoy his sandwich. Suddenly he pauses to listen, looks about him hur

Reprinted by special arrangement with Mr. Frank G. Tompkins. The professional and amateur stage rights on this play are strictly reserved by the author. Applications for permission to produce this play should be made to Mr. Frank Shay, care Stewart & Kidd Co., Cincinnati, U. S. A.

10

riedly for some place to hide, thinks better of it, and takes his stand opposite the door, smiling pleasantly and expectantly. The door opens and a young woman enters with a man at her heels. As she sees the thief she stifles a scream and retreats, backing the man out behind her. The thief smiles and waits. Soon the door opens again, and the man enters with the woman clinging to him. They stand opposite the thief and stare at him, not sure what they ought to say or do.

Good evening!

THIEF. [Pleasantly.] [Pause.] Good evening, good evening. You surprised me. Can't say I expected you home so soon. Was the play an awful bore? [Pause.] We-e-ell, can't one of you speak? I can carry on a conversation alone, but the question-and-answer method is usually preferred. If one of you will ask me how I do, we might get a step farther.

CLARA. [Breathlessly.] You-you[With growing conviction.] You're a thief! THIEF. Exactly. And you, madam? The mistress of the house, I presume. Or are you another thief? The traditional one that it takes to catch the first?

CLARA. This this is our house. Charles, why don't you do something? Don't stand there like a- Make him go away! Tell him he mustn't take anything. 20 [Advancing toward the THIEF and speaking all in one sentence.] What have you taken? Give it to me instantly. How dare you! Charles, take it away from him.

CHARLES. [Apparently not afraid, a little amused, but uncertain what to do, finally adopting the bullying tone.] I say, old man, you'd better clear out. We've come home. You know you can't-come now, give it up. Be sensible. I don't want to use 30 force

THIEF. I don't want you to. CHARLES. If you've got anything of ours- We aren't helpless, you know.

[He starts to draw something black and shiny from his overcoat pocket. It might be a pistol, but he does not reveal its shape.]

THIEF. Let's see those glasses. Give them here. [Takes them from the uncertain CHARLES.] Perhaps they're better than mine. Fine cases. [Tries them.] Humph!

Window glass! Take them back. You're not armed, you know. I threw your revolver down the cold-air shaft. Never carry 40 one myself-in business hours. Yours was in the bottom of your bureau drawer. Bad shape, those bureau drawers were in. Nice and neat on top; rat's nest below. Shows up your character in great shape, old man. Always tell your man by his bureau drawers. Didn't it ever occur to you that a thief might drop in on you some night? What would he think of you?

CHARLES. I don't think

THIEF. You should. I said to myself when I opened that drawer: "They put up a great surface, but they're shams. Probably streak that runs through everything they do." You ought to begin with real neatness. This other sort of thing is just a form of dishonesty.

CLARA. You! Talking to us about honesty-in our house!

50

THIEF. Just the place for honesty. co Begins at home. Let's

CLARA. Charles, I won't stand this! Grab hold of him. Search him. You hold him. I'll telephone.

THIEF. CLARA. THIEF.

You can't.

You've cut the wires.

Didn't have to. Your telephone service has been cut off by the company. I found that out before I came. I suspect you neglected the bill. You ought 70 not to, makes no end of trouble. Inconvenienced me this evening. Better get it put in right away.

CLARA. Charles, do I have to stand here and be insulted?

THIEF. Sit down. Won't you, please! This is your last ham sandwich, so I can't offer you any, but there's plenty of beer in the cellar, if you care for it. I don't recommend it, but perhaps you're used so to it.

CLARA. [Almost crying.] Charles, are you going to let him preach to us all night! I won't have it. Being lectured by a thief!

CHARLES. You can't stop a man's talking, my dear, especially this sort of man. Can't you see he's a born preacher? Old man, while advice is going round, let me tell you that you've missed your calling. Why don't you go in for reform? 90 Ought to go big.