CURTIS--So long, Big. Be sure you don't mislay one of your heirs!

BIGELOW--No fear--but they might mislay me. [He goes. CURT sits
down on couch. MARTHA goes to the window right, and looks out--
after a pause, waving her hand.]

MARTHA--There they go. What darlings they are! [CURTIS grunts
perfunctorily. MARTHA comes back and sits beside CURT on the
couch--with a sigh.] Whoever did say it was right, Curt, I am
getting old.

CURTIS--[Taking one of her hands and patting it.] Nonsense!

MARTHA--[Shaking her head and smiling with a touch of sadness.]
No. I feel it.

CURTIS--[Puts his arms around her protectingly.] Nonsense! You're
not the sort that ever grows old.

MARTHA--[Nestling up to him.] I'm afraid we're all that sort,
dear. Even you. [She touches the white hair about his temples
playfully.] Circumstantial evidence. I'll have to dye it when
you're asleep some time--and then nobody'll know.

CURTIS--[Looking at her.] You haven't any silver threads.
[Jokingly.] Am I to suspect--?

MARTHA--No, I don't. Honest, cross my heart, I wouldn't even
conceal that from you, if I did. But gray hairs prove nothing. I