GLORIA [going straight to the mirror]: The usual trouble.

MOTHER: He wasn’t a gentleman?

GLORIA [feverishly inspecting herself in the mirror] Hmmm?

MOTHER: They never are, these picked-up acquaintances; men you meet in hotels.

GLORIA: I wouldn’t expect them to be.

MOTHER: Then why do you go out with them, Bessie?

GLORIA: Hmmm? [Suddenly turns from mirror.] Oh, God in the Kingdom of Heaven, I wish you’d— !

MOTHER: Why do you go out with them?

GLORIA: Because, if I didn’t, I’d have to stay in with you! Isn’t that a pretty good reason?

MOTHER: Your voice is hoarse.

GLORIA: I know it, it’s always hoarse!

MOTHER: Then is it wise to go out?

GLORIA: Yes, yes, it’s wise! Infinite wisdom that’s me! The Sphinx of Egypt. I’ve got a job as her stand-in.

MOTHER: You’re feverish.

GLORIA [removing the rabbit-skin cape]: Am I?

MOTHER: I can tell by the way you’re talking. You broke an engagement with Vernon. He was over. He stayed and had a talk with me.

GLORIA [inspecting her cape]: This lining is rotten.

MOTHER: He told me that you made yourself a. . . .

GLORIA [furiously]: A what?

MOTHER: A subject for talk in a hotel barbershop!

GLORIA: Well, that’s marvelous. I’m delighted to hear it! Why should I get a press agent?

MOTHER: He said that you pick up with strangers, transients at the Delta Planters Hotel.

GLORIA: Indeed!

MOTHER: Tonight he said you were out with a man that the Vigilantes had warned to stay out of Blue Mountain.

GLORIA: He’s lying, he’s—out of his mind!

MOTHER: No. You’re out of yours.

GLORIA [rips the torn lining out of the cape]: I will be, soon—if I don’t get out of this stifling atmosphere.

MOTHER: Where would you be otherwise, jobless, in your condition?

GLORIA: Oh—the Miami Biltmore! It’s two-thirty.

MOTHER: I know what time it is. I’ve done nothing but watch the clock.

GLORIA: When I was out on the road all those times, you didn’t know where I was, you didn’t know who I was out with!

MOTHER: No.

GLORIA: But you slept, didn’t you?

MOTHER: No.

GLORIA: Jesus, the way you look, I believe you. Mother, you look like death.

MOTHER: So do you—like death at a masquerade party!

GLORIA [unconsciously facing the mirror]: I’ve had lots of compliments on my appearance lately.

MOTHER: No doubt. [With a short laugh.] Sarcastic remarks from people who laugh at you privately?

GLORIA [with a sudden, imploring desperation]: Why should anyone laugh?

MOTHER [relentlessly]: You give them occasion to, Bessie.

GLORIA: Naturally, after ten months cooped up sick in this jerkwater town, I’m not—the radiant creature I once used to be.

MOTHER: Forget that “radiant creature” and come down to earth.

GLORIA: Drag me down—if you can.

MOTHER: I also talked to the doctor. He was shocked when I told him how much you’re running around. [Gloria looks frightened.] He mentioned the X-ray pictures. They’re not too good.

GLORIA [hoarsely]: What did he say about them?