PIKE.  No, there ain’t any chance of that.  The house will still be empty.

ETHEL [almost crying].  Are you sure?

PIKE [sadly].  There ain’t any doubt of it now.

ETHEL.  You might be wrong—­for once!

[She gives him a look between tears and laughter, then runs into the hotel.]

[PIKE stands sadly, his head bent, every line of his body expressing dejection; then from within the hotel come the sounds of a piano in the preliminary chords of “Sweet Genevieve.”  ETHEL’S voice is lifted in the song, at first faint, somewhat tremulous and quavering, then rising strongly and confidently.  PIKE’S face, slowly upraised, becomes transfigured.  He crosses the stage spellbound, to the hotel door with the look of a man in a dream.  He falls back a step, looking in.]