No. The editors are right. The people are right. Something’s gone out of me. I’m not the same as I was before--before--How long have we been married, Pierrette? PIERRETTE Just three tiny years! PIERROT (_sighing_) Only three years! (_Then bitterly--to Pierrette_) Here!--I’ll give you a sign. Look! (_He walks with flat, listless feet up and down the room; then speaks, with a hopeless sob in his voice_) I no longer walk on my toes! See! Flat--like that! No songs ever walked that way! Songs? No--here’s the way-- (_He rises momentarily to his toes and sings._) Oh, a merry, merry fellow, And a sweet, fair maid, Danced on the meadow in the gypsy time-- Said the merry, merry fellow To the sweet, fair maid-- (_He breaks off._) PIERROT (_hopeless_) No--I can’t do it. It’s gone out of me. (_Desperately_) Pierrette--I’ve come to a conclusion. I ought never to have married! PIERRETTE (_suddenly stabbed_) Oh, Pierrot, it’s been the most beautiful thing in all the world! PIERROT That’s because you’re a woman, Pierrette, and not an artist. PIERRETTE But _you_ said it was the most beautiful thing in all the world, Pierrot. PIERROT (_vaguely_) Did I? That was long ago. You don’t understand, Pierrette. Women never do. Life to them is a little cage in which they sit all day long and sing tiny songs about tea and muffins. Men are different. Put them in a cage and they sing for a day. Then they begin to droop. PIERRETTE (_hurt_) So you want to go away, Pierrot? PIERROT (_passionately_) I want to capture it again--the power, the thrill, the fire of song! PIERRETTE And you would capture it if--if I--(_looking toward the screen which hides the crib_) if we--were not here? PIERROT (_flinging out his arms in despair_) Oh, I’m a brute, Pierrette! I don’t know. I’m gone stale--that’s the trouble. I’m done for--all these worries and things. I’ll sit at home, I guess, and darn socks! (_He flings himself into his chair. Pierrette moves quietly about, putting his tea on the table. She sets tea only for one._) PIERRETTE (_handing him his cup_) There, sweetheart. Your tea. PIERROT (_stirring himself_) Aren’t you going to have some, too? PIERRETTE (_controlling her voice and with her back half turned to him as she goes to the other room_) Oh no, dear; I’ve had lots of tea this afternoon. I’m not hungry. Besides, I’m late with the cleaning up. I’ll be gone only a minute. (_She goes out quickly. Pierrot makes to rise and follow her; then, with a hopeless wave of the hand, sinks back into the chair. He drinks his tea moodily. There is a voice outside_)-- “Tins to mend! Tins to mend!” (_A knock at the door and the Tins-to-mend man enters._) MAN (_taking off his cap, half humorously, half apologetically_) Any tins to mend, sir? PIERROT (_grimly_) Nothing as easy as that in this house. It’s hearts to mend here! MAN (_slinging off his pack_)