DR. STEINHART. Two's enough; we don't give a lot of drugs to a man in a nervous condition like yours. Don't let them wake you for luncheon if you're asleep. Sleep's best for you. Good-by--pleasant dreams. [_He goes out Left._ STERLING. [_Reads off the prescription._] "Two one-quarter-grain tablets sulphate of morphia, Wm. B. Steinhart--" And in _ink!_ Why didn't he write it with a lead-pencil? How can I make it more? Two--wait a minute! Two! [_Taking out his own stylographic pen._] What's his ink? [_Makes a mark with his pen on his cuff._] Good! the same! Why not make it twelve? [_Marking a one before the two._] Just in case--I might as well be on the safe side! [_He rings an electric bell beside the mantel, and waves the paper in the air to dry it._ BLANCHE _enters Right._ BLANCHE. I heard the doctor go. Is anything serious the matter? STERLING. _If_ it were my _body_ only that had gone wrong, Blanche! [LEONARD _enters Left._ [_To_ LEONARD.] Take this prescription round the corner and have it put up. LEONARD. Yes, sir. STERLING. And bring it to me with a glass of water. LEONARD. Yes, sir. [_He goes out Left._ [BLANCHE _is still standing._ STERLING _sinks into a chair, and puts his head in his hands, his elbows on the table. He lifts his head and looks at her._ STERLING. I know what you're going to do; you don't have to tell me; of course you're going to divorce me. BLANCHE. No. STERLING. What! [_His hands drop to the table; he looks her straight in the face, doubting what he hears._ BLANCHE. [_Looking back into his eyes._] No. STERLING. [_Cries._] Blanche! [_In a tone of amazement and joy._ BLANCHE. I give you one more chance, for your sake _only as my boy's father_. But--_don't make it impossible for me_--do you understand? STERLING. Yes! I must take the true advantage of this chance your goodness gives me. I must right myself, so that people need not hesitate to speak of his father in Richard's presence. _And this I will do._ [_With great conviction he rises._] I know I am at the cross-roads, and I know the way; _but_ I don't choose it for _your_ reasons; I choose for my own reason--which is that, unfit as _I am, I love you._ [_He speaks deliberately and with real feeling, bending over her._ BLANCHE. I tell you truly my love for you is gone for good. STERLING. I'll win it back--you _did_ love me, you _did_, didn't you, Blanche? BLANCHE.. I loved the man I thought you were. Do you remember that day in the mountains when we first really came to know each other, when we walked many, many miles without dreaming of being tired? STERLING. And found ourselves at sunset at the top instead of below, by our hotel! Oh, yes, I remember! The world changed for me that day. [_He sinks back into the arm-chair, overcome, in his weakened state, by his memories and his realization of what he has made of the present._