The prettiest sight in this fine, pretty world is the privileged class enjoying its privileges.
You're a snob, Connor.
No doubt, no doubt...Tracy. You can't marry that guy.
George? I'm going to. Why, why not?
Well, I don't know. I thought I'd be for it at first, but you just don't seem to match up.
Then the fault's with me.
Well, maybe so, but all the same now, you can't do it.
No?
No.
Come around about noon tomorrow. I mean today. Snob.
What do ya mean, snob?
You're the worst kind there is. An intellectual snob. You made up your mind awfully young, it seems to me.
Well, thirty's about time to make up your mind. And I'm nothing of the sort, not Mr. Connor.
The time to make up your mind about people - is never. Yes you are, and a complete one.
You're quite a girl, aren't you?
You think?
Yeah, I know.
Thank you, Professor. I don't think I'm exceptional.
You are though.
I know any number like me. You ought to get around more.
In the upper class. No, no. No thank you.
You're just a mass of prejudices, aren't you? You're so much thought and so little feeling, Professor.
Oh I am, am I?
Yes you am, are you! Your intolerance infuriates me. I should think that of all people, a writer would need tolerance. The fact is, you'll never - you can't be a first-rate writer or a first-rate human being until you've learned to have some small regard for human fra...[Suddenly, she stops, her eyes widen, and she realizes that she is repeating Dexter's words. She turns] Aren't the geraniums pretty, Professor? Is it not a handsome day that begins, Professor?
All right, lay off that, Professor.
Yes, Professor.
You've got all the arrogance of your class, all right, haven't you?
Halt. What have classes to do with it? What do they matter except for the people in them? George comes from the so-called lower class. Dexter from the upper...Upper and lower, my eye. I'll take the lower, thanks.
If you can't get a drawing room.
What do you mean by that?
My mistake.
Decidedly. You're insulting.
I'm sorry.
Oh, don't apologize.
Well, who's apologizing?
I never knew such a man.
You wouldn't be likely to, dear, not from where you sit.
Talk about arrogance.
Tracy.
What do you want?
You're wonderful. [She laughs] There's a magnificence in you, Tracy.
Now, I'm getting self-conscious. It's funny. I- Mike? Let's...
Yeah?
I don't know - go up I guess, it's late.
A magnificence that comes out of your eyes, in your voice, in the way you stand there, in the way you walk. You're lit from within, Tracy. You've got fires banked down in you, hearth-fires and holocausts.
I don't seem to you made of bronze?
[takes her in his arms]
No, you're made out of flesh and blood. That's the blank, unholy surprise of it. You're the golden girl, Tracy. Full of life and warmth and delight. What goes on? You've got tears in your eyes.
Shut up, shut up. Oh Mike. Keep talking, keep talking. Talk, will you?
No, no. I-I've stopped.
Why? Has your mind taken hold again, dear Professor?
That's really all I am to you, is it?
Of course, Professor.
Are you sure?
Why, yes, yes, of course...
[Mike's forceful, passionate kiss stops her next word. She takes the melodramatic kiss and returns it]
Golly. [She kisses him a second time] Golly Moses. All of a sudden, I got the shakes.
It can't be anything like love, can it?
No! No! It mustn't be. It can't.
Would it be inconvenient?
Terribly. Anyway, I know it isn't. Oh Mike, we're out of our minds.
And right into our hearts.
That ought to have music.
It does, doesn't it? Tracy, you're so lovely.
Oh, it's as if my insteps were melting away. What is it? Have I got feet of clay or something?
Tracy...
It's not far to the pool. It's just over the lawn and in the birch-grove. It'll be lovely now.
Tracy, you're tremendous...
Put me in your pocket, Mike.
