[_Seizing hat and coat from an alcove near the outside door._] I’m going to be psychoanalyzed. I’m going now! I’m going straight to that infallible doctor of hers--that priest of this new religion. If he’s got honesty enough to tell Henrietta there’s nothing the matter with my unconscious mind, perhaps I can be let alone about it, and then I _will_ be all right. [_From the door in a low voice._] Don’t tell Henrietta I’m going. It might take weeks, and I couldn’t stand all the talk. [_He hurries out._ HENRIETTA [_Returning._] Where’s Steve? Gone? [_With a hopeless gesture._] You see how impatient he is--how unlike himself! I tell you, Mabel, I’m nearly distracted about Steve. MABEL I think he’s a little distracted, too. HENRIETTA Well, if he’s gone--you might as well stay here. I have a committee meeting at the book-shop, and will have to leave you to yourself for an hour or two. [_As she puts her hat on, taking it from the alcove where STEVE found his, her eye, lighting up almost carnivorously, falls on an enormous volume on the floor beside the work table. The book has been half hidden by the wastebasket. She picks it up and carries it around the table toward MABEL._] Here, dear, is one of the simplest statements of psychoanalysis. You just read this and then we can talk more intelligently. [_MABEL takes volume and staggers back under its weight to chair rear center, HENRIETTA goes to outer door, stops and asks abruptly._] How old is Lyman Eggleston? MABEL [_Promptly._] He isn’t forty yet. Why, what made you ask that, Henrietta? [_As she turns her head to look at HENRIETTA her hands move toward the upper corners of the book balanced on her knees._ HENRIETTA Oh, nothing. Au revoir. [_She goes out. MABEL stares at the ceiling. The book slides to the floor. She starts; looks at the book, then at the broken plate on the table._] The plate! The book! [_She lifts her eyes, leans forward elbow on knee, chin on knuckles and plaintively queries_] Am I unhappy? (CURTAIN) * * * * * SCENE II: _Two weeks later. The stage is as in Scene I, except that the breakfast table has been removed. During the first few minutes the dusk of a winter afternoon deepens. Out of the darkness spring rows of double street-lights almost meeting in the distance. HENRIETTA is at the psychoanalytical end of STEVE’S work-table, surrounded by open books and periodicals, writing. STEVE enters briskly._ STEVE What are you doing, my dear? HENRIETTA My paper for the Liberal Club. STEVE Your paper on--? HENRIETTA On a subject which does not have your sympathy. STEVE Oh, I’m not sure I’m wholly out of sympathy with psychoanalysis, Henrietta. You worked it so hard. I couldn’t even take a bath without it’s meaning something. HENRIETTA [_Loftily._] I talked it because I knew you needed it. STEVE You haven’t said much about it these last two weeks. Uh--your faith in it hasn’t weakened any? HENRIETTA