table.

No; she doesn't love her husband. He must be either a genius or a very common man. Marriage with them is always unlucky. Believe me, common men live so low that women are afraid somebody will steal in at night through the window which they forgot to lock. And Genius, well! That lives on the top floor—so many stairs, no elevator. Her ideal is—

[A motion of the hand, wanting to express an even, middle position.

—the second floor.

[KARL looks impatiently at his watch and goes towards the door of the studio. The DEVIL leans back blowing the smoke of his cigarette, indifferently.

This is the second time I have seen her shoulders.

KARL, coming down left of couch

What do you mean?

DEVIL

The first time I saw them was in Paris—

[Start from KARL.

at the Louvre—only they were on the Aphrodite. Am I right?

KARL, crossing to large chair R. C. In bad humor

How should I know?

DEVIL, lifting himself upright, cynically

Which shoulders have you not seen?

KARL, angry

I've seen the Aphrodite.

DEVIL, seated on couch

Well, you may take my word. I have seen them both. And, believe me, since Alcamenes, I have only known one sculptor who could model such shoulders.

KARL

Who's that?

DEVIL

Good living. Such tender, soft lines are only possible for a woman who lives exquisitely well. I take it she is the wife of a millionaire?

[KARL goes again towards door of studio impatiently.

Is she dressing?

KARL, nervously

I suppose so.

DEVIL

Is there a looking-glass in your studio?

KARL, comes down L. of couch

Yes.

DEVIL

She must be very respectable.

[KARL looks at him astonished.

If a lady takes as long as that to dress before a looking-glass, she's not a—model—anyway.

KARL, crosses around foot of couch to table L. C.

Look here! I think your remarks are, to say the least, in very bad taste.

DEVIL, standing erect

Do you mean that?

KARL, aggressively

I do.

DEVIL, patting KARL'S cheek

Then you must be respectable, too.

[Crosses to big chair, KARL stares at him astonished.

In a situation like this, only a very respectable man can be so infernally stupid.

[KARL crosses to R. OLGA opens door of studio, goes towards KARL without looking at the DEVIL, who is hidden in chair.

OLGA, dropping shawl on couch

What's the time?

[Crosses to KARL, R.

DEVIL, looking up over back of chair

He'll be here in ten minutes.

OLGA, angry

Who?

DEVIL

Your husband.

OLGA

Oh! So you weren't asleep after all.

DEVIL

Oh, yes, I was.

[Rises.

But "What's the time?" always means the husband. A woman's intuition invariably anticipates her husband's coming by ten minutes. If it wasn't for that ten minutes, there would be more divorced women—

[He goes and unlocks the door of the hall.

—and less locked doors.

[KARL crosses to L. C.

OLGA, taking her hat

Will this never stop!

DEVIL

I tried to change the subject. I started to speak about the weather—the Exhibition—but Karl wouldn't have it.

OLGA

Karl!

KARL

I? I haven't said a single word.

DEVIL, crosses to big chair

But your actions fairly shouted. The way you jumped up, looked at your watch, went to the door—

[To OLGA:

He was afraid, the poor fellow.

KARL

Afraid of what?

[L. C.

DEVIL, to OLGA

That your husband would come before you had finished dressing. I don't blame him.

OLGA, R.

What, again!

[Goes up to hat.

KARL, L. C.

Can't you—

DEVIL

Come now! Let us be logical—let us look the situation in the face. Enter your husband—

[OLGA comes down R.

"Well, here I am: where is the picture?" "The picture?"

[Shrugs his shoulders.

"There is no picture. Karl hasn't even touched a brush." Your husband is astonished—he tries to speak—the words stick in his throat—he gasps: "Well, if you didn't paint, why is she dressing?" Imagine the situation! You look at one another horribly embarrassed; Karl stammers something, but that only makes it worse. Nothing has happened—and yet the mischief is done. What mischief? Appearances—appearances. They're like fly-paper. There's no getting away from them.

[Speaking to OLGA:

You go home with your husband, and he doesn't speak—and if you ask him: "Why don't you say something?" his blood seems to boil. If you ask him to take a cab, he suspects that you want to avoid meeting somebody—every word that you utter tortures him. And if—

KARL, C.

And if it were so, we are not alone, you are here.

DEVIL, icy and cynical

Just so, I am here—one word from me would save the situation—but—I know myself—I'm a strange, whimsical, almost cruel man—and I'm afraid I won't say the word. Tableau! Embarrassing silence! Then I say: "I regret that I should have come at such an inopportune moment." I take my hat and walk out discreetly. If necessary, I can even stammer my excuses.

OLGA

If this is a jest, it's a cruel one.

DEVIL, bowing low

Possible, Madame—but I can do better still. Of course, if you prefer it, I can make conversation—when your husband comes in, I can tell him that the portrait has not been touched and ask his pardon—

OLGA

Pardon? Pardon for what?

DEVIL, bowing For having—quite accidentally—seen your shoulders.

OLGA, horrified

Who