[Tom closes his eyes for a moment. Jim gets up awkwardly, quite at a loss.]

AMANDA [meltingly]: Jim—Jim, Jim! I’m going to take your arm into dinner, just as if the band was playing and this was a banquet hall! Let’s imagine it is a banquet hall, all decorated with—palms! And beveled glass around the ivory walls! And chandeliers, all blazing to blind our eyes! I made my debut in Vicksburg at such an affair! And in New Orleans I was presented to society in the old Saint Charles hotel. I happened to have rich relatives in both cities who made things lovely, lovely! The Cartwrights were the Cotton Kings of the South! That’s all gone now, all changed—all fallen to pieces, and here I am—on Maple Street in Saint Louis. Now I’ll relinquish your arm! You sit over there, that side of our little table. Laura?—Laura, dear! Tom, sit at the head of the table. It isn’t a pheasant, it’s just a—salmon loaf!

JIM: It sure looks good, Mrs. Wingfield. It sure does smell good, too.

AMANDA: Laura?— Oh, Laura, we’re waiting to say grace for you! Please hurry dear! [To Jim.] Laura’s my chief cook and bottle washer!

JIM: And what’s Shakespeare?

AMANDA: Shakespeare?— Oh! You mean Tom. [She gurgles and leans over to catch Tom’s arm and presses her head prettily against his shoulder.]

AMANDA: Why, Tom is my right-hand bower! Only I’m sorry to hear you call him Shakespeare. I’m afraid that means he’s been writing down at the warehouse. He’s already lost five jobs from not devoting himself to his work. And if he’s going to lose this one— Well, I give up! Laura! We can’t say Grace until you come to the table! [Her eyes flashing.] We won’t say Grace until you come to the table!

[The rear door opens and Laura comes shyly and haughtily into the dining room. Her face is flushed with nervousness and anger and she walks very stiffly, looking at no one.]

LAURA [coldly]: Where is my place, please?

AMANDA: Next to our gentleman caller—the place of honor.

LAURA: —Oh. Is there room for two places on this side of the table?

AMANDA: It’s such a tiny table, but we’ll make room, don’t worry. We just have to be chummy, and if our feet get tangled under the table, nobody’s going to think anybody is flirting!

TOM [enduring no more]: Mother, if you’ll keep still—I’ll say the Grace!

AMANDA [clutching her throat]: Excuse me! [She winks at Jim, then prettily folds her hands and bows her head.]

TOM [in a rapid mumble]: “For these and all thy mercies, God’s Holy Name be praised—Through Christ our Lord, Amen.”

AMANDA [catching her breath]: Oh, how you race through it! Let’s be seated, all. I’m kind of hungry. How about you all?

JIM: I can sure eat something.

AMANDA: I never saw a man that couldn’t eat. [Serving the peas.] Laura, what pretty crystal beads you’re wearing! [Laura says nothing.] Where did you get them, Laura?