Hughie! That hunger motif is perfectly great—it’s one of the best things you do! [_From now on the relative action takes place in the same part of the stage as in preceding scene._] HUGH. [_Leaving the piano._] That’s right! Make fun of my Art! Do you know what’s the reason I can’t play better, the reason Old Grump won’t publish my stuff? Do you? Do you? [_GLADYS makes a queer little face at him._] Well, I’ll tell you the reason. It’s you. Do you hear? It’s you! You make me so damned uncomfortable I never get a chance to write decent music. It’s all like that! I’m always hungry, I’m always cold, I never can find my clothes. When I want to be loved, when I need love, you go and study your part behind my back! I tell you it’s killing me, just killing me! GLADYS. Are you serious? HUGH. Perfectly serious. My music is rotten—do you hear?—rotten! It’s all alike—there’s no contrast. If you knew anything about music you’d know you have to have different movements to make up a symphony, different moods. The calm of a sunset at sea—the stress of a great wind—dash of the waves against the rocks, then peace again—a shepherd’s pipe in the gloaming— Well, when do I get a chance to compose a pastoral in this joint? It’s nothing but rows and nasty cold meals and hurly-burly and chocolate-cake! I don’t get sleep enough—my digestion is ruined—my socks have holes in them, bad holes— [_He kicks off his slippers and displays two toes bare._] GLADYS. But, Hughie, you have me, think of that! HUGH. Yes, I know I have you, and I’m not likely to forget it! As a first aid to a budding composer, you’re a regular scream! My soul is starving, I tell you, starving, and it’s killing me, killing me! [_He slumps gloomily onto the piano-stool._] GLADYS. [_Rising majestically._] And what about me? I’d like to know where I get off? What about my soul? A swell chance I’ve got to study my parts with you banging that piano from morning till night! What do you take me for, anyhow? A nice little Dickie-bird that’s got nothing to think about but your supper and your socks? I’ve got my Art to think about—haven’t I? Why, five minutes ago, when you knew I just had to learn that part, you sat there and banged on the piano on purpose and then you came and dumped yourself down there! Who was uncomfortable then, I’d like to know? And all you talked about was food! You’re always thinking about food, always complaining there isn’t any. Talking about your stomach when I’m learning my lines, my great lines! You’re so unromantic—Hugh— You are, really! [_HUGH looks startled. She has worked herself up to quite a temper and now paces the room like an enraged panther._] HUGH. [_After watching her._] I see, I see it all. I’ve made a terrible mistake. We are both IT, don’t you see, and it won’t work. It will never work! GLADYS. What do you mean, Hugh? HUGH.