LORETTA. [In abasement.] You are a good man, Billy. [Billy shows that he believes it.] And I am a very wicked woman.

BILLY.  No, you’re not, Loretta.  You just didn’t know.

LORETTA. [With a gleam of hope.] But you kissed me first.

BILLY.  It doesn’t matter.  You let me kiss you.

LORETTA. [Hope dying down.] But not at first.

BILLY.  But you did afterward and that’s what counts.  You let me you in the grape-arbour.  You let me—­

LORETTA. [With anguish] Don’t!  Don’t!

BILLY. [Relentlessly.]—­kiss you when you were playing the piano.  You let me kiss you that day of the picnic.  And I can’t remember all the times you let me kiss you good night.

LORETTA. [Beginning to weep.] Not more than five.

BILLY. [With conviction.] Eight at least.

LORETTA. [Reproachfully, still weeping.] You told me it was all right.

BILLY. [Emphatically.] So it was all right—­until you said you wouldn’t marry me after all.  Then it was a scandal—­only no one knows it yet.  If you marry me no one ever will know it. [Looks at watch.] I’ve got to go. [Stands up.] Where’s my hat?

LORETTA. [Sobbing.] This is awful.

BILLY. [Approvingly.] You bet it’s awful.  And there’s only one way out. [Looks anxiously about for hat.] What do you say?

LORETTA. [Brokenly.] I must think.  I’ll write to you. [Faintly.] The train?  Your hat’s in the hall.

BILLY. [Looks at watch, hastily tries to kiss her, succeeds only in shaking hand, starts across stage toward left.] All right.  You write to me.  Write to-morrow. [Stops for a moment in doorway and speaks very solemnly.] Remember, Loretta, there must be no scandal.

[Billy goes out.]

[LORETTA sits in chair quietly weeping.  Slowly dries eyes, rises from chair, and stands, undecided as to what she will do next.]

[NED enters from right, peeping.  Discovers that LORETTA is alone, and comes quietly across stage to her.  When NED comes up to her she begins weeping again and tries to turn her head away.  NED catches both her hands in his and compels her to look at him.  She weeps harder.]

NED. [Putting one arm protectingly around her shoulder and drawing her toward him.] There, there, little one, don’t cry.

LORETTA. [Turning her face to his shoulder like a tired child, sobbing.] Oh, Ned, if you only knew how wicked I am.

NED. [Smiling indulgently.] What is the matter, little one?  Has your dearly beloved sister failed to write to you? [LORETTA shakes head.] Has Hemingway been bullying you? [LORETTA shakes head.] Then it must have been that caller of yours? [Long pause, during which LORETTA’s weeping grows more violent.] Tell me what’s the matter, and we’ll see what I can do. [He lightly kisses her hair—­so lightly that she does not know.]