CLAIRE: Wanted? (_as if wanting is something that harks far back. But the word calls to her passion_) Wanted! (_a sob, hands out, she goes to him. But before his arms can take her, she steps back_) Are you trying to pull me down into what I wanted? Are you here to make me stop? TOM: How can you ask that? I love you because it is not in you to stop. CLAIRE: And loving me for that--would stop me? Oh, help me see it! It is so important that I see it. TOM: It is important. It is our lives. CLAIRE: And more than that. I cannot see it because it is so much more than that. TOM: Don't try to see all that it is. From peace you'll see a little more. CLAIRE: Peace? (_troubled as we are when looking at what we cannot see clearly_) What is peace? Peace is what the struggle knows in moments very far apart. Peace--that is not a place to rest. Are you resting? What are you? You who'd take me from what I am to something else? TOM: I thought you knew, Claire. CLAIRE: I know--what you pass for. But are you beauty? Beauty is that only living pattern--the trying to take pattern. Are you trying? TOM: Within myself, Claire. I never thought you doubted that. CLAIRE: Beauty is it. (_she turns to Breath of Life, as if to learn it there, but turns away with a sob_) If I cannot go to you now--I will always be alone. (TOM _takes her in his arms. She is shaken, then comes to rest._) TOM: Yes--rest. And then--come into joy. You have so much life for joy. CLAIRE: (_raising her head, called by promised gladness_) We'll run around together. (_lovingly he nods_) Up hills. All night on hills. TOM: (_tenderly_) All night on hills. CLAIRE: We'll go on the sea in a little boat. TOM: On the sea in a little boat. CLAIRE: But--there are other boats on other seas, (_drawing back from him, troubled_) There are other boats on other seas. TOM: (_drawing her back to him_) My dearest--not now, not now. CLAIRE: (_her arms going round him_) Oh, I would love those hours with you. I want them. I want you! (_they kiss--but deep in her is sobbing_) Reminiscence, (_her hand feeling his arm as we touch what we would remember_) Reminiscence. (_with one of her swift changes steps back from him_) How dare you pass for what you're not? We are tired, and so we think it's you. Stop with you. Don't get through--to what you're in the way of. Beauty is not something you say about beauty. TOM: I say little about beauty, Claire. CLAIRE: Your life says it. By standing far off you pass for it. Smother it with a life that passes for it. But beauty--(_getting it from the flower_) Beauty is the humility breathed from the shame of succeeding. TOM: But it may all be within one's self, dear. CLAIRE: (_drawn by this, but held, and desperate because she is held_) When I have wanted you with all my wanting--why must I distrust you now? When I love you--with all of me, why do I know that only you are worth my hate? TOM: It's the fear of easy satisfactions. I love you for it.