FRED:  No indeed—­not a chance.

ANGELA:  (Quickly fishes her opera cloak off couch—­slips it over her and goes to couch.) Then come here and sit down. (He does so.) I should think the girls would all be crazy about you.

FRED:  Oh—­they are—­are you boarding here too now?

ANGELA:  Yes, but Miss Carey doesn’t know it yet.

FRED:  Tell me, have you ever noticed me coming in or going out of the building?

ANGELA:  Oh yes, indeed—­I used to point you out to Harry and show him how you always looked so immaculate and dapper—­just as he used to look before we were married. (Starting to weep.)

FRED:  Oh, you’ll go back to your home to-morrow.

ANGELA:  No—­I’ll never enter it again—­never again—­except for lunch.

FRED:  Then you’re planning a divorce?

ANGELA:  (As it dawns on her—­with a smile.) I suppose it would be well to get something like that.

FRED:  Is he in love with another woman?

ANGELA:  (Indignantly.) My Harry—­I guess not. (His hand is stretched toward her—­in anger she slaps it.)

FRED:  Then you’ll never get it (Making love to her.) unless you fall in love with another man and let your husband get the divorce.

ANGELA:  (Innocently.) I think I’d like that better—­I’ll tell Miss Carey (She approaches curtain—­a snore makes her change her mind.)—­I’ll tell her later.

FRED:  I’m awfully glad I’m a fellow boarder here. (He advances to her—­as he is about to put his arm about her—­suddenly a pounding on door and a gruff voice without:) Open—­open!

ANGELA:  (In terror.) Oh, it’s my husband—­it’s Harry.

FRED:  Don’t talk, or he’ll hear you.

ANGELA:  I’ll hide—­and you open, or he’ll break down the door.

FRED:  I’ll have nothing to do with this mixup.

HARRY:  (Loudly, without.) Open, or I’ll bang—­down—­the—­door.

ANGELA:  If you don’t open, he’ll do it—­he’s a regular “door-banger.”

FRED:  Well, I’ll not.

ANGELA:  Then I’ll get Miss Carey. (Up to curtains again.) Miss
Carey—­Miss Carey—­get up.

MISS CAREY:  (Sticking her head out of curtains.) My Gawd, what is it now?

ANGELA:  (After struggle as to how to explain.) My husband is here to see us.

MISS CAREY:  Confound your husband.

HARRY:  (Outside.) I want my wife.

ANGELA:  (Pleading.) Oh, Miss Carey, the poor man wants his wife—­ tell him I’m not here.

MISS CAREY:  (Jumping up—­to FRED.) You go to your room, Mr. Saltus—­I’ll bet you were afraid to open the door. (FRED goes to his room.) And you go into my bed—­if he sees you, I’ll never get any sleep.

ANGELA:  Don’t hurt my Harry’s feelings, Miss Carey—­he’s awfully sensitive. (She goes behind curtains.)

MISS CAREY:  No, I won’t hurt his feelings—­(Opening door fiercely for HARRY.) What do you want?