K. M. CAPEK
477
Lena.—But Ernie, why this explosion! I only beg you to read on—in German.
Erna.—I can’t see to read any more—it’s too dark.
Lena (Sadly).—Can’t see. (Sighs.) It’s too dark.
Erna (After slight pause, looking at the table)—You ordered supper for three? I wonder if you really thought that Rudolph would honor his sisters so far as to sup with them this evening? I’m thinking he’d rather spend his evening with some pretty waitress in the servants’ hall. (With a meaningful smile.) Or was it some one else you had in mind, dearie?
Lena (Nervously).—Don’t call me dearie. And don’t call me your little one either. It should be the other way. I ought to pet you—I am the older.
Erna (Knowing Lena cannot see her, speaking with evident scorn).—That’s true. Moreover you are the mistress of Harshaw, the legitimate heiress of Pleisse.
Lena (Feeling the sarcasm).—Indeed, Erna, you are much nicer when you are reading. I am sure you must realize my pitiful state. Day by day I become unhappier. Oh, so unhappy! (With a corner of her handkerchief she wipes her eyes under her green glasses. Evidently they are very tender.) But I must not weep. Tears are poison to my eyes. You know that. (With a new tide of self pity.) And you call me the Mistress of Harshaw! (She rises from the divan and feels her way in Erna’s direction. Lifting her glasses a little she sees Erna leaning against the table with her hands behind her back. Approaching, she throws her arms about Erna’s neck.) I want love—a little love—or at least sympathy, Erna!
(Erna does not respond. Lena taker her glasses off.) When I take my glasses off this way in the twilight, I can hardly see the portraits on the wall, just barely distinguish them. And you, too, Erna (Peering into her face.) I see your pretty mouth spoiled by a very unbecoming pout of scorn. I know I am an