MRS. LEVI:

Who has been laughing heartily, follows the distraught VANDERGELDER about the stage as he continues to hunt for his purse.

Well, there’s your life, Mr. Vandergelder! Without niece—without clerks—without bride—and without your purse. Will you marry me now?

VANDERGELDER:

No!

To get away from her, he dashes into the kitchen.

MRS. LEVI, still laughing, exclaims to the audience:

MRS. LEVI:

Damn!!

And rushes off right.

THE

CURTAIN

FALLS

Act IV

Miss Flora Van Huysen’s house.

This is a prosperous spinster’s living room and is filled with knickknacks, all in bright colors, and hung with family portraits, bird cages, shawls, etc.

There is only one entrance—a large double door in the center of the back wall. Beyond it one sees the hall which leads left to the street door and right to the kitchen and the rest of the house. On the left are big windows hung with lace curtains on heavy draperies. Front left is Miss Van Huysen’s sofa, covered with bright-colored cushions, and behind it a table. On the right is another smaller sofa. MISS VAN HUYSEN is lying on the sofa. The COOK is at the window, left. MISS VAN HUYSEN, fifty, florid, stout and sentimental, is sniffing at smelling salts. COOK (enormous) holds a china mixing bowl.

COOK:

No, ma’am. I could swear I heard a cab drawing up to the door.

MISS VAN H.:

You imagined it. Imagination. Everything in life . . . like that . . . disappointment . . . illusion. Our plans . . . our hopes . . . what becomes of them? Nothing. The story of my life.

She sings for a moment.

COOK:

Pray God nothing’s happened to the dear girl. Is it a long journey from Yonkers?

MISS VAN H.:

No; but long enough for a thousand things to happen.

COOK:

Well, we’ve been waiting all day. Don’t you think we ought to call the police about it?

MISS VAN H.:

The police! If it’s God’s will, the police can’t prevent it. Oh, in three days, in a week, in a year, we’ll know what’s happened. . . . And if anything has happened to Ermengarde, it’ll be a lesson to him—that’s what it’ll be.

COOK:

To who?

MISS VAN H.:

To that cruel uncle of hers, of course,—to Horace Vandergelder, and to everyone else who tries to separate young lovers. Young lovers have enough to contend with as it is. Who should know that better than I? No one. The story of my life.

Sings for a moment, then:

There! Now I hear a cab. Quick!

COOK:

No. No, ma’am. I don’t see anything.

MISS VAN H.:

There! What did I tell you? Everything’s imagination—illusion.

COOK:

But surely, if they’d changed their plans Mr. Vandergelder would have sent you a message.

MISS VAN H.:

Oh, I know what’s the matter. That poor child probably thought she was coming to another prison—to another tyrant. If she’d known that I was her friend, and a friend of all young lovers, she’d be here by now. Oh, yes, she would. Her life shall not be crossed with obstacles and disappointments as . . . Cook, a minute ago my smelling salts were on this table. Now they’ve completely disappeared.