couldn't rightly understand my reason.

MRS. KEENEY (_wildly_). Because it's a stupid, stubborn reason. Oh,
I heard you talking with the second mate. You're afraid the other
captains will sneer at you because you didn't come back with a
full ship. You want to live up to our silly reputation even if
you do have to beat and starve men and drive me mad to do it.

KEENEY (_his jaw set stubbornly_). It ain't that, Annie. Them
skippers would never dare sneer to my face. It ain't so much what
anyone'd say--but--(_He hesitates, struggling to express his
meaning._) You see--I've always done it--since my first voyage as
skipper. I always come back--with a full ship--and--it don't seem
right not to--somehow. I been always first whalin' skipper out o'
Homeport, and--Don't you see my meanin', Annie? (_He glances at
her. She is not looking at him but staring dully in front of her,
not hearing a word he is saying._) Annie! (_She comes to herself
with a start._) Best turn in, Annie, there's a good woman. You
ain't well.

MRS. KEENEY (_resisting his attempts to guide her to the door in
rear_). David! Won't you please turn back?

KEENEY (_gently_). I can't, Annie--not yet awhile. You don't see my
meanin'. I got to git the ile.

MRS. KEENEY. It'd be different if you needed the money, but you
don't. You've got more than plenty.

KEENEY (_impatiently_). It ain't the money I'm thinkin' of. D'you
think I'm as mean as that?

MRS. KEENEY (_dully_). No--I don't know--I can't
understand--(_Intensely_) Oh, I want to be home in the old house
once more and see my own kitchen again, and hear a woman's voice
talking to me and be able to talk to her. Two years! It seems so
long ago--as if I'd been dead and could never go back.

KEENEY (_worried by her strange tone and the far-away look in her
eyes_). Best go to bed, Annie. You ain't well.

MRS. KEENEY (_not appearing to hear him_). I used to be lonely when
you were away. I used to think Homeport was a stupid, monotonous
place. Then I used to go down on the beach, especially when it
was windy and the breakers were rolling in, and I'd dream of the
fine free life you must be leading. (_She gives a laugh which is
half a sob._) I used to love the sea then. (_She pauses; then
continues with slow intensity._) But now--I don't ever want to see
the sea again.

KEENEY (_thinking to humor her_). 'Tis no fit place for a woman,
that's sure. I was a fool to bring ye.

MRS. KEENEY (_after a pause--pas