YVONNE. This waiting--what effect will it have--what will it do for you or for Art? ALICE. I wait. "To feel is better than to know." YVONNE. If one really feels, perhaps, but to wait and wait and wait, you know what the end will be? ALICE. I hope to become like Beauty, myself--a living creation, a work of art--even though I do nothing ever in paint. YVONNE. Yes, that is the end--not really, however, because to change Life directly to Art means--(The sentence is not finished, a knock being heard at the door.) ALICE. Here's Maud; she said that she would meet me here and bring George. (She goes and opens the door. Enter George with Maud, sister of Alice.) GEORGE. Hello. I've just received a wire from Uncle Billy; he's coming to talk over the magazine with us. ALICE. Will he back it? GEORGE (looking at Maud). He will if I can be with him and talk to him for a day or two, I think. (They exchange meaning glances.) YVONNE. A magazine--you're starting one? ALICE. Yes, I forgot to tell you about it. Something like the "Yellow Book." It will be covered in gray, though, printed on hand-made paper with especially designed type--four numbers a year. Have you thought of a name, as yet, for our child, the magazine, George? GEORGE. Yes, it will be called the "Azure Adder." Gray and blue will be the colors of the cover. Blue the color of the Soul and gray the coloring of the Eternal Background! MAUD. Wonderful--wonderful! GEORGE. It will be, I hope. (He then addresses the three girls, who are now sitting on the couch.) Intense, too, I want it to be. The first look at its covers must create a mood for what one is to find indoors. The same as a perfect house affects one; the stones and vines of which, on the outside, tell of the truffles which are to be served by the mad butler at dinner, inside. (To himself: I must remember that last; it's away above their heads, of course--it's one of my best.) Blue and gray--the two unfinished colors, when arranged as my design, will call up the proper mood: a mood intense but languid, caring nothing for results. I hope to make this, this caring nothing for results, the aim of our child, the "Azure Adder." To teach the public, our public even, to be satisfied with the unfinished, the artistically unfinished; the thing which has no definite start or finish, but which is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful even in the shadow of its bud; a bud which can never open because--because--a worm is its heart! (Yvonne changes her position on the couch.) The size, too, of the book will help in creating the mood--seven by thirteen--and the paper on which it is printed, also, will help. A paper made in Japan, under water, which lasts only three years. It then falls apart, insuring our child only a future, no past, nor any permanency, except perhaps in the minds of its readers, perhaps, perhaps. The "Azure Adder" will have double pages like the books of the Japanese, printed on one side, so that the mere reading of it will be