_H._ Or old letters? (_Coming nearer and taking up the letter._) But you did care for me enough to keep this letter—to read it over to-day—to give one thought to old happiness in the presence of new? _E._ (_recovering herself with an effort_). I thought enough of myself to keep it. It is a mistaken theory that a woman keeps old love-letters for the sake of the sender. She keeps them because they are flattering—because they—they sound nice. I have lots more. _H._ (_offended_). And you were only weeding them out to-day? Very well. That is enough. No further words are necessary. _E._ Yes—so you said before (_glancing at letter_), or something very like it (_Looking into the teapot._) There is no more tea for us, and the lamp has gone out. (_Looking about._) And no matches—unless you have one in your pocket. _H._ (_who has been thinking, moodily feels in all his pockets_). I am very sorry—but I cannot supply you with even the necessaries of life. _E._ Never mind, I can light it from the fire. _H._ (_pushes the letters toward her_). Make a lamplighter of one of these, and I will light it for you. ESTHER _hesitates an instant, takes up one letter, and then the other_. _H._ Oh, use mine. It has failed to rekindle a passion, but it may do for a teakettle. It may as well be reduced to ashes along with the rest of the poor little love-story. ESTHER _turns her head a little away and slowly twists both letters into lamp-lighters_. _H._ (_aside_). I shall let all my hopes burn in the flame with my letter. If she uses that, I give her up. I shall know she is not mine to give up. I have come to the pass where folly is my only reason. She is twisting Dr. Tennant’s! But now she is twisting mine. (_She rises to go to the fire and he rises to do it for her._) _E._ I prefer to do it myself. _She returns with one burning, with which she lights the lamp, and lays the other down on the table. He takes it up eagerly._ _H._ So, Esther, you did not burn it, after all? (_Rising and coming toward her._) You did not care that the last of it should go out in ashes? _E._ (_speaking lightly_). It was not that so much, but I was afraid it was better suited for an—extinguisher. I think that was more what you meant it for. HAROLD _goes back to his seat gloomily and tastes his tea._ ESTHER _plays with the teaspoon—a pause._ _E._ How do you like your tea? _H._ It is a little—cloying. _E._ (_rising and moving about the room_). A bad fault. _H._ (_dryly_). But fortunately an uncommon one. _E._ (_with feeling_). I have made a great many mistakes in my life—suffered a great deal of unhappiness—because I have been afraid of being cloying. (_Aside._) Am I mad, that I should tell him the foolish truth! _H._ (_rising_). I should say it was a fault to which you were not constitutionally inclined. (_Aside._) That sounds much firmer than I feel.