DICK: What is this you're doing, Claire?

CLAIRE: Pollenizing. Crossing for fragrance.

DICK: It's all rather mysterious, isn't it?

HARRY: And Claire doesn't make it any less so.

CLAIRE: Can I make life any less mysterious?

HARRY: If you know what you are doing, why can't you tell Dick?

DICK: Never mind. After all, why should I be told? (_he turns away_)

(_At that she wants to tell him. Helpless, as one who cannot get across
a stream, starts uncertainly_.)

CLAIRE: I want to give fragrance to Breath of Life (_faces the room
beyond the wall of glass_)--the flower I have created that is outside
what flowers have been. What has gone out should bring fragrance from
what it has left. But no definite fragrance, no limiting enclosing
thing. I call the fragrance I am trying to create Reminiscence. (_her
hand on the pot of the wistful little flower she has just given pollen_)
Reminiscent of the rose, the violet, arbutus--but a new thing--itself.
Breath of Life may be lonely out in what hasn't been. Perhaps some day I
can give it reminiscence.

DICK: I see, Claire.

CLAIRE: I wonder if you do.