Father's, with Nurse; unless you
forbid me to take her. You can.

MORE. [Icily] That I shall not do--you know very well. You are
free to go, and to take her.

KATHERINE. [Very low] Thank you! [Suddenly she turns to him, and
draws his eyes on her. Without a sound, she puts her whole strength
into that look] Stephen! Give it up! Come down to me!

The festive sounds from the street grow louder. There can be
heard the blowing of whistles, and bladders, and all the sounds
of joy.

MORE. And drown in--that?

KATHERINE turns swiftly to the door. There she stands and again
looks at him. Her face is mysterious, from the conflicting currents
of her emotions.

MORE. So--you're going?

KATHERINE. [In a whisper] Yes.

She bends her head, opens the door, and goes. MORE starts
forward as if to follow her, but OLIVE has appeared in the
doorway. She has on a straight little white coat and a round
white cap.

OLIVE. Aren't you coming with us, Daddy?

[MORE shakes his head.]

OLIVE. Why not?

MORE. Never mind, my dicky bird.

OLIVE. The motor'll have to go very slow. There are such a lot of
people in the street. Are you staying to stop them setting the house
on fire? [MORE nods] May I stay a little, too? [MORE shakes his
head] Why?

MORE. [Putting his hand on her head] Go along, my pretty!

OLIVE. Oh! love me up, Daddy!

[MORE takes and loves her up]

OLIVE. Oo-o!

MORE. Trot, my soul!

[She goes, looks back at him, turns suddenly, and vanishes.]

MORE follows her to the door, but stops there. Then, as full
realization begins to dawn on him, he runs to the bay window,
craning his head to catch sight of the front door. There is the
sound of a vehicle starting, and the continual hooting of its
horn as it makes its way among the crowd. He turns from the
window.

MORE. Alone as the last man on earth!

[Suddenly a voice rises clear out of the hurly-burly in the
street.]

VOICE. There 'e is! That's 'im! More! Traitor! More!

A shower of nutshells, orange-peel, and harmless missiles begins
to rattle against the glass of the window. Many voices take up
the groaning: "More! Traitor! Black-leg! More!" And through
the window can be seen waving flags and lighted Chinese
lanterns, swinging high on long bamboos. The din of execration
swells. MORE