I couldn’t help remembering that when she starts sleeping alone in there, it has always been a sign—

TYRONE

It isn’t this time! It’s easily explained. Where else could she go last night to get away from my snoring?

He gives way to a burst of resentful anger.

By God, how you can live with a mind that sees nothing but the worst motives behind everything is beyond me!

JAMIE

Stung.

Don’t pull that! I’ve just said I was all wrong. Don’t you suppose I’m as glad of that as you are!

TYRONE

Mollifyingly.

I’m sure you are, Jamie.

A pause. His expression becomes somber. He speaks slowly with a superstitious dread.

It would be like a curse she can’t escape if worry over Edmund—It was in her long sickness after bringing him into the world that she first—

JAMIE

She didn’t have anything to do with it!

TYRONE

I’m not blaming her.

JAMIE

Bitingly.

Then who are you blaming? Edmund, for being born?

TYRONE

You damned fool! No one was to blame.

JAMIE

The bastard of a doctor was! From what Mama’s said, he was another cheap quack like Hardy! You wouldn’t pay for a first-rate—

TYRONE

That’s a lie!

Furiously.

So I’m to blame! That’s what you’re driving at, is it? You evil-minded loafer!

JAMIE

Warningly as he hears his mother in the dining room.

Ssh!

Tyrone gets hastily to his feet and goes to look out the windows at right. Jamie speaks with a complete change of tone.

Well, if we’re going to cut the front hedge today, we’d better go to work.

Mary comes in from the back parlor. She gives a quick, suspicious glance from one to the other, her manner nervously self-conscious.

TYRONE

Turns from the window—with an actor’s heartiness.

Yes, it’s too fine a morning to waste indoors arguing. Take a look out the window, Mary. There’s no fog in the harbor. I’m sure the spell of it we’ve had is over now.

MARY

Going to him.

I hope so, dear.

To Jamie, forcing a smile.

Did I actually hear you suggesting work on the front hedge, Jamie? Wonders will never cease! You must want pocket money badly.

JAMIE

Kiddingly.

When don’t I?

He winks at her, with a derisive glance at his father.

I expect a salary of at least one large iron man at the end of the week—to carouse on!

MARY

Does not respond to his humor—her hands fluttering over the front of her dress.

What were you two arguing about?

JAMIE

Shrugs his shoulders.

The same old stuff.

MARY

I heard you say something about a doctor, and your father accusing you of being evil-minded.

JAMIE

Quickly.

Oh, that. I was saying again Doc Hardy isn’t my idea of the world’s greatest physician.

MARY

Knows he is lying— vaguely.

Oh. No, I wouldn’t say he was, either.

Changing the subject—forcing a smile.

That Bridget! I thought I’d never get away. She told me all about her second cousin on the police force in St. Louis.

Then with nervous irritation.

Well, if you’re going to work on the hedge why don’t you go?

Hastily.

I mean, take advantage of the sunshine before the fog comes back.

Strangely, as if talking aloud to herself.

Because I know it will.

Suddenly she is self-consciously aware that they are both staring fixedly at her—flurriedly, raising her hands.

Or I should say, the rheumatism in my hands knows. It’s a better weather prophet than you are, James.

She stares at her hands with fascinated repulsion.

Ugh! How ugly they are! Who’d ever believe they were once beautiful?

They stare at her with a growing dread.

TYRONE

Takes her hands and gently pushes them down.

Now, now, Mary. None of that foolishness. They’re the sweetest hands in the world.

She smiles, her face lighting up, and kisses him gratefully. He turns to his son.

Come on Jamie. Your mother’s right to scold us. The way to start work is to start work. The hot sun will sweat some of that booze fat off your middle.

He opens the screen door and goes out on the porch and disappears down a flight of steps leading to the ground. Jamie rises from his chair and, taking off his coat, goes to the door. At the door he turns back but avoids looking at her, and she does not look at him.

JAMIE

With an awkward, uneasy tenderness.

We’re all so proud of you, Mama, so darned happy.

She stiffens and stares at him with a frightened defiance. He flounders on.

But you’ve still got to be careful. You mustn’t worry so much about Edmund. He’ll be all right.

MARY

With a stubborn, bitterly resentful look.

Of course, he’ll be all right. And I don’t know what you mean, warning me to be careful.

JAMIE

Rebuffed and hurt, shrugs his shoulders.

All right, Mama. I’m sorry I spoke.

He goes out on the porch. She waits rigidly until he disappears down the steps. Then she sinks down in the chair he had occupied, her face betraying a frightened, furtive desperation, her hands roving over the table top, aimlessly moving objects around.