DICK: Perhaps that's your limitation.

TOM: I grant you it may be. (_They are silent_) I had an odd feeling
that you and I sat here once before, long ago, and that we were plants.
And you were a beautiful plant, and I--I was a very ugly plant. I
confess it surprised me--finding myself so ugly a plant.

(_A young girl is seen outside_. HARRY _gets the door open for her and
brings_ ELIZABETH _in_.)

HARRY: There's heat here. And two of your mother's friends. Mr
Demming--Richard Demming--the artist--and I think you and Mr Edgeworthy
are old friends.

(ELIZABETH _comes forward. She is the creditable young American--well
built, poised, 'cultivated', so sound an expression of the usual as to
be able to meet the world with assurance--assurance which training has
made rather graceful. She is about seventeen--and mature. You feel solid
things behind her_.)

TOM: I knew you when you were a baby. You used to kick a great deal
then.

ELIZABETH: (_laughing, with ease_) And scream, I haven't a doubt. But
I've stopped that. One does, doesn't one? And it was you who gave me the
idol.

TOM: Proselytizing, I'm afraid.

ELIZABETH: I beg--? Oh--_yes (laughing cordially_) I _see. (she