HATTIE:  Well, maybe one’s enough.  It don’t look like nothin’, anyhow.

ANTHONY:  And you’ve not got the wit to know that that’s why it’s the Edge Vine.

HATTIE:  You want to look out, Anthony.  You talk nutty.  Everybody says so.

ANTHONY:  Miss Claire don’t say so.

HATTIE:  No, because she’s—­

ANTHONY:  You talk too much!

(Door opens, admitting HARRY; after looking around for the best place to eat breakfast, moves a box of earth from the table.)

HARRY:  Just give me a hand, will you, Hattie?

(They bring it to the open space and he and HATTIE arrange breakfast things, HATTIE with triumphant glances at the distressed ANTHONY)

ANTHONY:  (deciding he must act) Mr Archer, this is not the place to eat breakfast!

HARRY:  Dead wrong, old boy.  The place that has heat is the place to eat breakfast. (to HATTIE) Tell the other gentlemen—­I heard Mr Demming up, and Mr Edgeworthy, if he appears, that as long as it is such a pleasant morning, we’re having breakfast outside.  To the conservatory for coffee.

(HATTIE giggles, is leaving.)

And let’s see, have we got everything? (takes the one shaker, shakes a little pepper on his hand.  Looks in vain for the other shaker) And tell Mr Demming to bring the salt.

ANTHONY:  But Miss Claire will be very angry.

HARRY:  I am very angry.  Did I choose to eat my breakfast at the other end of a blizzard?

ANTHONY:  (an exclamation of horror at the thermometer) The temperature is falling.  I must report. (he punches the buzzer, takes up the phone) Miss Claire?  It is Anthony.  A terrible thing has happened.  Mr Archer—­what?  Yes, a terrible thing.—­Yes, it is about Mr Archer.—­No—­no, not dead.  But here.  He is here.  Yes, he is well, he seems well, but he is eating his breakfast.  Yes, he is having breakfast served out here—­for himself, and the other gentlemen are to come too.—­Well, he seemed to be annoyed because the heat had been turned off from the house.  But the door keeps opening—­this stormy wind blowing right over the plants.  The temperature has already fallen.—­Yes, yes.  I thought you would want to come.

(ANTHONY opens the trap-door and goes below.  HARRY looks disapprovingly down into this openness at his feet, returns to his breakfast.  ANTHONY comes up, bearing a box.)

HARRY:  (turning his face away) Phew!  What a smell.

ANTHONY:  Yes.  Fertilizer has to smell.

HARRY:  Well, it doesn’t have to smell up my breakfast!

ANTHONY:  (with a patient sense of order) The smell belongs here. (he and the smell go to the inner room)

(The outer door opens just enough to admit CLAIRE—­is quickly closed.  With CLAIRE in a room another kind of aliveness is there.)