LAURA. Yes, I think you had the wrong idea.
WILL. In love, eh?
LAURA. Yes, just that,--in love.
WILL. A new sensation.
LAURA. No; the first conviction.
WILL. You have had that idea before. Every woman's love is the real
one when it comes. [_Crosses up to_ LAURA.] Do you make a distinction
in this case, young lady?
LAURA. Yes.
WILL. For instance, what?
LAURA. This man is poor--absolutely broke. He hasn't even got a
[_Crosses to armchair, leans over and draws with parasol on ground_.]
good job. You know, Will, all the rest, including yourself, generally
had some material inducement.
WILL. What's his business? [_Crosses to table and sits looking at
magazine_.
LAURA. He's a newspaper man.
WILL. H'm-m. Romance?
LAURA. Yes, if you want to call it that,--romance.
WILL. Do I know him?
LAURA. How could you? You only came from New York to-day, and he has
never been there.
_He regards her with a rather amused, indulgent, almost paternal
expression, in contrast to his big, bluff, physical personality, with
his iron-gray hair and his bulldog expression_. LAURA _looks
more girlish than ever. This is imperative in order to thoroughly
understand the character_.
WILL. How old is he?
LAURA. Twenty-seven. You're forty-five.
WILL. No, forty-six.
LAURA. Shall I tell you about him? Huh?
[_Crosses to_ WILL, _placing parasol on seat_.
WILL. That depends.
LAURA. On what?
WILL.
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