RACHEL (_Wrenching herself from his grasp and rising. She covers her ears; she breathes rapidly_): No! No! No!--You _must_ stop. (_Laughs nervously; continues feverishly_) I’m not behaving very well as a hostess, am I? Let’s see. What shall I do? I’ll play you something, John. How will that do? Or I’ll sing to you. You used to like to hear me sing; you said my voice, I remember, was sympathetic, didn’t you? (_Moves quickly to the piano_). I’ll sing you a pretty little song. I think it’s beautiful. You’ve never heard it, I know. I’ve never sung it to you before. It’s Nevin’s “At Twilight.” (_Pauses, looks down, before she begins, then turns toward him and says quietly and sweetly_) Sometimes--in the coming years--I want--you to remember--I sang you this little song.--Will you?--I think it will make it easier for me--when I--when I--(_Breaks off and begins the first chords. Strong goes slowly to the piano. He leans there watching intently. Rachel sings_):
“The roses of yester-year Were all of the white and red; It fills my heart with silent fear To find all their beauty fled.
The roses of white are sere, All faded the roses red, And one who loves me is not here And one that I love is dead.”
(_A long pause. Then Strong goes to her and lifts her from the piano-stool. He puts one arm around her very tenderly and pushes her head back so he can look into her eyes. She shuts them, but is passive_).
STRONG (_Gently_): Little girl, little girl, don’t you know that suggestions--suggestions--like those you are sending yourself constantly--are wicked things? You, who are so gentle, so loving, so warm--(_Breaks off and crushes her to him. He kisses her many times. She does not resist, but in the midst of his caresses she breaks suddenly into convulsive laughter. He tries to hush the terrible sound with his mouth; then brokenly_) Little girl--don’t laugh--like that.
RACHEL (_Interrupted throughout by her laughter_): I have to.--God is laughing.--We’re his puppets.--He pulls the wires,--and we’re so funny to Him.--I’m laughing too--because I can hear--my little children--weeping. They come to me generally while I’m asleep,--but I can hear them now.--They’ve begged me--do you understand?--begged me--not to bring them here;--and I’ve promised them--not to.--I’ve promised. I can’t stand the sound of their crying.--I have to laugh--Oh! John! laugh!--laugh too!--I can’t drown their weeping.