_not with assurance, but feeling
her way_) be the most you can be, so life will be more because you were.
(_freed by the truth she has found_) Oh--do that! Why do we three go
apart? Professor Holden, his beautiful trained mind; Aunt Isabel--her
beautiful love, love that could save the world if only you'd--throw it
to the winds. (_moving nearer_ HOLDEN, _hands out to him_) Why
do--(_seeing it is not to be, she turns away. Low, with sorrow for that
great beauty lost_) Oh, have we brought mind, have we brought heart, up
to this place--only to turn them against mind and heart?

HOLDEN: (_unable to bear more_) I think we--must go. (_going to_
MADELINE, _holding out his hand and speaking from his sterile life to
her fullness of life_) Good-bye, Madeline. Good luck.

MADELINE: Good-bye, Professor Holden. (_hesitates_) Luck to you.

(_Shaking his head, stooped, he hurries out_.)

MADELINE: (_after a moment when neither can speak_) Good-bye--auntie
dearest. Thank you--for the birthday present--the cake--everything.
Everything--all the years.

(_There is something_ AUNT ISABEL _would say, but she can only hold
tight to_ MADELINE_'s hands. At last, with a smile that speaks for love,
a little nod, she goes_. EMIL _comes in_.)

EMIL: You better go with them, Madeline. It'd make it better for you.

MADELINE: Oh no, it wouldn't. I'll be with you in an instant, Emil. I
want to--say good-bye to my father.

(_But she waits before that door, a door hard to go through. Alone_,
EMIL _looks around the room. Sees the bag of corn, takes a couple of
ears and is looking at them as_ MADELINE _returns. She remains by the
door, shaken with sobs, turns, as if pulled back to the pain she has
left_.)

EMIL: Gee. This is great corn.

MADELINE: (_turning now to him_) It is, isn't it, Emil?

EMIL: None like it.

MADELINE: And you say--your corn is getting better?

EMIL: Oh, yes--I raise better corn every year now.

MADELINE: (_low_) That's nice. I'll be right out, Emil.

(_He puts the corn back, goes out. From the closet_ MADELINE _takes her
hat and wrap. Putting them on, she sees the tennis racket on the table.
She goes to it, takes it up, holds it a moment, then takes it to the
closet, puts it carefully away, closes the door behind it. A moment she
stands there in the room, as if listening to something. Then she leaves
that house_.)

CURTAIN

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Plays, by Susan Glaspell

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