terrible letter.

PIKE. By-the-way, did you finish it?

[ETHEL looks at the letter, which she has continued to hold in her
hand.]

ETHEL. I think so. [Turns the page.] No--it says "over."

[She turns the sheet--looks at it attentively for a moment--looks up,
casts a quick glance of astonishment at PIKE.]

PIKE. Well, read it, please!

ETHEL. It appears to concern a matter quite personal to yourself.

[Embarrassed, assuming carelessness. Turns toward left as if to leave,
replacing the letter in the envelope.]

PIKE [advancing to her, smiling]. I don't think I've got any secrets.

ETHEL [coldly]. Please remember, I have not read anything on the last
page.

PIKE. Well, neither have I.

[Reaching his hand for the letter.]

ETHEL [more embarrassed]. Oh!

[She drops the letter on the bench.]

[PIKE picks it up and walks slowly toward right, taking it from
envelope. She stands looking after him with breathless amazement, far
from hostile, yet half turned as if to go at once. PIKE, taking the
letter out of the envelope, suddenly looks back at her. At this she is
flustered and starts, but halts at sound of the "Fishermen's Song" in
the distance. The sunset is deepening to golden red; the "Fishermen's
Song" begins with mandolins and guitars, and then a number of voices are
heard together.]

ETHEL. Listen: those are the fishermen coming home.

[PIKE stands in arrested attitude, not having looked at the letter. The
song, beginning faintly, grows louder, then slowly dies away in the
distance. The two stand listening in deepening twilight.]

PIKE [as the voices cease to be heard]. It's mighty pretty, but it's
kind of foreign and lonesome, too. [With a sad half-chuckle.] I'd rather
hear something that sounded more like home. [A growing tremulousness in
his voice.] I expect you've about forgot everything like that, haven't
you?

ETHEL [gently]. Yes.

PIKE. Seems funny, now; but out on the ocean, coming here, I kept kind
of looking forward to hearing you sing. I knew how high your pa had you
educated in music, and, like the old fool I was, I kept thinking you'd
sing for me some evening--"Sweet Genevieve" mebbe. You know it--don't
you?

ETHEL [slowly]. "Sweet Genevieve?" I used to--but it's rather
old-fashioned and common, isn't it?

PIKE. I expect so; I reckon mebbe that's the reason I like it so much.

[With an apologetic and pathetic laugh.]

Yes'm, it's my favorite. I couldn't--I couldn't get you to sin