DICK:  They said a good deal in Latin.

HARRY:  But I was saying, I suppose a woman who lives a good deal in her mind never does have much—­well, what you might call passion, (uses the word as if it shouldn’t be used.  Brows knitted, is looking ahead, does not see DICK_’s face.  Turning to him with a laugh_) I suppose you know pretty much all there is to know about women?

DICK:  Perhaps one or two details have escaped me.

HARRY:  Well, for that matter, you might know all there is to know about women and not know much about Claire.  But now about (does not want to say passion again)—­oh, feeling—­Claire has a certain—­well, a certain—­

DICK:  Irony?

HARRY:  Which is really more—­more—­

DICK:  More fetching, perhaps.

HARRY:  Yes!  Than the thing itself.  But of course—­you wouldn’t have much of a thing that you have irony about.

DICK:  Oh—­wouldn’t you!  I mean—­a man might.

HARRY:  I’d like to talk to Edgeworth about Claire.  But it’s not easy to talk to Tom about Claire—­or to Claire about Tom.

DICK:  (alert) They’re very old friends, aren’t they?

HARRY:  Why—­yes, they are.  Though they’ve not been together much of late years, Edgeworthy always going to the ends of the earth to—­meditate about something.  I must say I don’t get it.  If you have a place—­that’s the place for you to be.  And he did have a place—­best kind of family connections, and it was a very good business his father left him.  Publishing business—­in good shape, too, when old Edgeworthy died.  I wouldn’t call Tom a great success in life—­but Claire does listen to what he says.

DICK:  Yes, I’ve noticed that.

HARRY:  So, I’d like to get him to tell her to quit this queer business of making things grow that never grew before.

DICK:  But are you sure that’s what he would tell her?  Isn’t he in the same business himself?

HARRY:  Why, he doesn’t raise anything.

(TOM is again at the door.)

DICK:  Anyway, I think he might have some idea that we can’t very well reach each other.

HARRY:  Damn nonsense.  What have we got intelligence for?

DICK:  To let each other alone, I suppose.  Only we haven’t enough to do it.

(TOM is now knocking on the door with a revolver.  HARRY half turns, decides to be too intelligent to turn.)

HARRY:  Don’t tell me I’m getting nerves.  But the way some of you people talk is enough to make even an aviator jumpy.  Can’t reach each other!  Then we’re fools.  If I’m here and you’re there, why can’t we reach each other?

DICK:  Because I am I and you are you.

HARRY:  No wonder your drawing’s queer.  A man who can’t reach another man—­(TOM here reaches them by pointing the revolver in the air and firing it.  DICK digs his hand into the dirt.  HARRY jumps to one side, fearfully looks around.  TOM, with a pleased smile to see he at last has their attention, moves the handle to indicate he would be glad to come in.)