I see, I see it all, and I’ve been trying so hard for ten years to make you comfortable! Why didn’t you tell me before you didn’t want to be comfortable? And what do you want me to do now? I’ll try to be different. I won’t take so much pains keeping the meals hot and the children quiet. I’ll do all I can. HUGH. Oh no, no, that isn’t what I mean. You’re adorable, of course, perfectly adorable, but—if you could, Annabelle—I suppose it’s absurd to ask—but if you could be a little more romantic, Annabelle—just a little, you know! Do you think you could? Just now when I asked you to go out into the great still whiteness out there, to feel the sting and the glory and the beauty of the moonlight, to bathe in it, go mad in it, you said, “What! in that slush in my slippers? Certainly not!” Now, that’s what I mean, Annabelle. [_He wanders to the window and looks out at the moonlighted lawn._] Oh, to think, to think! I might have written another Moonlight Sonata! ANNABELLE. [_Folds up her sewing neatly and puts it in the work-basket, picks the stray threads off of her dress, brushes her skirts and folds her hands upon her stomach._] Hugh, we must separate! HUGH. Good Lord! ANNABELLE. We must. I see I’ve made a great mistake. I wish you had spoken of it sooner, but that can’t be helped now. I never meant to make you waddle and cluck. I never meant to make your soul grow fat, I never did. I see now I’m a kind of a barn-yard duck myself. I suppose you’re growing like me and that is a very great pity. Hugh, I’m going home to mother. HUGH. But, Annabelle, you’re crazy. ANNABELLE. Oh no, I’m not. I always intended to do the right thing by your Art, and I’ll do it now. HUGH. But I don’t want you to go home to your mother. I don’t, indeed. ANNABELLE. Very likely not, just this minute. You’ll feel the wrench a good deal, I dare say, but you’ll be glad later because you’ll be terribly uncomfortable and then you’ll make perfectly beautiful music. HUGH. You don’t mean you’re going for good? ANNABELLE. Well, I don’t want to spoil your career, do I? That’s what you said just now, that your soul was dying because the dinner was hot—didn’t you? HUGH. No! ANNABELLE. Oh—well, perhaps I misunderstood, but I’m sure it was something like that. Oh yes, I remember, you said your soul was getting fat. I’m awfully sorry. HUGH. Annabelle, look here! I never supposed you’d go off half-cock like this. I didn’t indeed. I don’t want you to go home to your mother. I just want you to—to come out in the moonlight and be romantic. [_He laughs foolishly and tries to take her hand._] To feel the beauty and the romance and the joy. Can’t you see what I mean? ANNABELLE. Now, Hugh, let us have a clear understanding. You know I’d do anything in the world for you, but oh please listen—if I walked right out there in the wet in these slippers my feet would feel so horrid I couldn’t be romantic, I just couldn’t. Do be reasonable. Can’t you see what I mean?