HARRY:  Oh, I might have known I’d get no help from either of you.  Even you, Edgeworthy—­much as she thinks of you—­and fine sort as I’ve no doubt you are, you’re doing Claire no good—­encouraging her in these queer ways.

TOM:  I couldn’t change Claire if I would.

HARRY:  And wouldn’t if you could.

TOM:  No.  But you don’t have to worry about me.  I’m going away in a day or two.  And I shall not be back.

HARRY:  Trouble with you is, it makes little difference whether you’re here or away.  Just the fact of your existence does encourage Claire in this—­this way she’s going.

TOM:  (with a smile) But you wouldn’t ask me to go so far as to stop my existence?  Though I would do that for Claire—­if it were the way to help her.

HARRY:  By Jove, you say that as if you meant it.

TOM:  Do you think I would say anything about Claire I didn’t mean?

HARRY:  You think a lot of her, don’t you? (TOM nods) You don’t mean (a laugh letting him say it)—­that you’re—­in love with Claire!

TOM:  In love?  Oh, that’s much too easy.  Certainly I do love Claire.

HARRY:  Well, you’re a cool one!

TOM:  Let her be herself.  Can’t you see she’s troubled?

HARRY:  Well, what is there to trouble Claire?  Now I ask you.  It seems to me she has everything.

TOM:  She’s left so—­open.  Too exposed, (as HARRY moves impatiently) Please don’t be annoyed with me.  I’m doing my best at saying it.  You see Claire isn’t hardened into one of those forms she talks about.  She’s too—­aware.  Always pulled toward what could be—­tormented by the lost adventure.

HARRY:  Well, there’s danger in all that.  Of course there’s danger.

TOM:  But you can’t help that.

HARRY:  Claire was the best fun a woman could be.  Is yet—­at times.

TOM:  Let her be—­at times.  As much as she can and will.  She does need that.  Don’t keep her from it by making her feel you’re holding her in it.  Above all, don’t try to stop what she’s doing here.  If she can do it with plants, perhaps she won’t have to do it with herself.

HARRY:  Do what?

TOM:  (low, after a pause) Break up what exists.  Open the door to destruction in the hope of—­a door on the far side of destruction.

HARRY:  Well, you give me the willies, (moves around in irritation, troubled.  To ANTHONY, who is passing through with a sprayer) Anthony, have any arrangements been made about Miss Claire’s daughter?

ANTHONY:  I haven’t heard of any arrangements.

HARRY:  Well, she’ll have to have some heat in her room.  We can’t all live out here.

ANTHONY:  Indeed you cannot.  It is not good for the plants.

HARRY:  I’m going where I can smoke, (goes out)

DICK:  (lightly, but fascinated by the idea) You think there is a door on the—­hinter side of destruction?