CURTAIN

ACT II

Late afternoon of the following day. CLAIRE is alone in the tower—­a tower which is thought to be round but does not complete the circle.  The back is curved, then jagged lines break from that, and the front is a queer bulging window—­in a curve that leans.  The whole structure is as if given a twist by some terrific force—­like something wrong.  It is lighted by an old-fashioned watchman’s lantern hanging from the ceiling; the innumerable pricks and slits in the metal throw a marvellous pattern on the curved wall—­like some masonry that hasn’t been.

There are no windows at back, and there is no door save an opening in the floor.  The delicately distorted rail of a spiral staircase winds up from below._ CLAIRE is seen through the huge ominous window as if shut into the tower.  She is lying on a seat at the back looking at a book of drawings.  To do this she has left the door of her lantern a little open—­and her own face is clearly seen.

A door is heard opening below; laughing voices,_ CLAIRE listens, not pleased.

ADELAIDE:  (voice coming up) Dear—­dear, why do they make such twisting steps.

HARRY:  Take your time, most up now. (HARRY_’s head appears, he looks back._) Making it all right?

ADELAIDE:  I can’t tell yet. (laughingly) No, I don’t think so.

HARRY:  (reaching back a hand for her) The last lap—­is the bad lap.  (ADELAIDE is up, and occupied with getting her breath.)

HARRY:  Since you wouldn’t come down, Claire, we thought we’d come up.

ADELAIDE:  (as CLAIRE does not greet her) I’m sorry to intrude, but I have to see you, Claire.  There are things to be arranged. (CLAIRE volunteering nothing about arrangements, ADELAIDE surveys the tower.  An unsympathetic eye goes from the curves to the lines which diverge.  Then she looks from the window) Well, at least you have a view.

HARRY:  This is the first time you’ve been up here?

ADELAIDE:  Yes, in the five years you’ve had the house I was never asked up here before.

CLAIRE:  (amiably enough) You weren’t asked up here now.

ADELAIDE:  Harry asked me.

CLAIRE:  It isn’t Harry’s tower.  But never mind—­since you don’t like it—­it’s all right.

ADELAIDE:  (her eyes again rebuking the irregularities of the tower) No, I confess I do not care for it.  A round tower should go on being round.

HARRY:  Claire calls this the thwarted tower.  She bought the house because of it. (going over and sitting by her, his hand on her ankle) Didn’t you, old girl?  She says she’d like to have known the architect.

ADELAIDE:  Probably a tiresome person too incompetent to make a perfect tower.

CLAIRE:  Well, now he’s disposed of, what next?