SARA: When your mother heard about the telegram she was afraid.

JAMES: Afraid of what I’d do?

SARA: Afraid of what you are.

JAMES: A middle-aged newspaper man. I go to the office at four and usually get away by one in the morning. I sleep till nine—I mean, I stay in bed. I take the dog for a walk in the park and have a meal with Corner.

SARA: Corner?

JAMES: He shares my lodgings—a reporter on the Globe. My landlady has a penchant for tinned salmon. My dog likes it, but it often makes him sick. He’s not a very good dog—parents unknown.

SARA: You shouldn’t have brought him here. Your mother hates dogs.

JAMES: Yes, I know. I forgot. You see, our acquaintance has not been very continuous.

SARA: Don’t be bitter. She’s very unhappy now.

JAMES: I’m not bitter. I want to know, that’s all. What’s your earliest memory, Sara?

SARA: Driving a pony cart.

JAMES: I can remember nothing. Absolutely nothing. Until I was ill, just before they sent me away to school at fourteen. Lying in bed with a sore throat. A dim light burning, and a nurse—a very kind nurse, bringing me soup. I thought she was an angel—I’d seen a picture of one once, I suppose, in a shop.

SARA: I’d come and live with you at Nottingham if you wanted me.

JAMES: What about the house in Richmond?

SARA: I’d sell it. I only came here because I thought I’d see you. But I didn’t dare to ask why you weren’t here. (A slight pause.) You know, I love you, James.

JAMES: Sara—(He comes behind her and puts his hands over her eyes.) I could always talk to you better in the dark. Sara, I simply don’t know what love is. What is it?

SARA: It’s what I feel now.

JAMES: But if I took my hands away and we saw each other, I’d see—a want. Isn’t there a love that just exists and doesn’t want? My father’s dying. He has nothing to hope for, any more, forever. When he looks at me, don’t you think I might see—just love? No claim, no hope, no want. Whisky taken neat.

SARA: The strong taste.

JAMES: Yes. (He takes away his hands. The noise of feet on the ceiling above.) Listen. Perhaps he’s woken up. I haven’t seen him for fifteen years, Sara. (She puts her head against him.)

SARA: How your heart’s beating!

JAMES: Perhaps he’ll speak.

He moves a little towards the door. Mrs. Callifer’s voice calls from the stairs: “John! Fred!” The noise of quick footsteps, and Mrs. Callifer enters.

MRS. CALLIFER: Where’s Anne?

SARA: In the garden.

MRS. CALLIFER: Please fetch her quickly.

Sara goes out into the garden.

JAMES: Father?

MRS. CALLIFER: Yes.