HARRY:  (Pushing her aside as he rushes in.) My wife—­she’s in here.

MISS CAREY:  (Following him down.) She’s not here—­and you get out—­what do you mean by waking me up at this hour?

HARRY:  I’ve waked up everybody else in the building—­why should you sleep?

MISS CAREY:  I’ve never seen you before, but now that I have, I don’t wonder your wife left you.

HARRY:  Madam, you look like a woman who could sympathize with a man.

MISS CAREY:  With a man?  Never—­now get out.

HARRY:  (Making a tour of the room—­she following.) Not till I’ve searched your place—­my wife must be here.

MISS CAREY:  I don’t know your wife—­and I don’t want to.

HARRY:  Why, madam—­I’m crazy about her—­suppose I’m the only man in the world who would be, but she’s my doll.

MISS CAREY:  Well, you’ve lost your doll—­good night.

HARRY:  Oh, I’ll get her back again—­but a change has seemed to come over her of late, and to-night she broke out in a fury and hit me violently over the head with a Wedgewood vase.

ANGELA:  (Rushing out—­ready to slap him again.) Oh Harry, I did not—­it never touched you.

MISS CAREY:  (Throwing up her hands.) Now I’ll never get to sleep.

HARRY:  (Turning on MISS CAREY.) Oh, I understand it all—­it’s you who’ve come between us—­you designing, deceitful homebreaker.

MISS CAREY:  You leave my apartment—­you impertinent man.

HARRY:  Not without my wife.

ANGELA:  Then you’ll stay forever—­’cause I’m not going with you. 
(She sits right of little table.)

MISS CAREY:  See here—­you argue this out between you—­but I’m going to bed—­but don’t you argue above a whisper or I’ll ring for the police—­the idea of you two galavanting about my apartments.  (Going behind curtains.)

(A funny scene ensues between husband and wife—­they start their argument in whispered pantomime—­she shakes her finger at him—­he shakes back at her—­it finally grows slightly louder and louder until they are yelling at each other.)

ANGELA:  (Screaming.) If you say the vase hit you—­you’re a wicked—­

HARRY:  I don’t care anything about the vase—­you’re coming downstairs with me. (He pulls her off chair and swings her R.)

ANGELA:  (Falling on couch.) I’m not.

HARRY:  (Grabbing her again.) You are.

ANGELA:  I’m not. (He tries to pull her to door—­she bites his finger, and breaking away, runs up to curtains again.) Miss Carey, Miss Carey, wake up, he bit me. (MISS CAREY dashes out in fury, ANGELA hangs to her.) Oh, Miss Carey, you’re the only one I have in all the world to keep me from this monster.  Oh, Miss Carey, pity me, make believe you’re my mother.

MISS CAREY:  I told you I’m not married.

ANGELA:  Well, think how you’d feel if you were and I were your own little girl and a wicked man was ill-treating me, etc. (She finally touches the mother vein in MISS CAREY.)