... No; I can get it. There won't be any use for you to call up
again.... Good-bye!
[_He paces the floor again thoughtfully, then abruptly goes to
the factory door; opens it and calls._]
GIBSON: Miss Gorodna!
[NORA _appears in the doorway. She looks at him with
disapproving inquiry; then walks in and closes the door. He
goes to his desk and touches the rose._]
GIBSON: Why didn't you take it this morning? That poor little rosebed in
my yard at home; it's just begun to brighten up. I suppose it thought it
was going to send you a June rose every day, as it did last June. You
don't want it?
NORA [_gently, but not abating her attitude_]: No, thank you!
GIBSON: [_dropping the rose upon his blotting pad, not into the glass
again_]: This is the fourth that's had to wither disappointed.
NORA [_in a low voice_]: Then hadn't you better let the others live?
GIBSON: I'd like to live a little myself, Nora. Life doesn't seem much
worth living for me as it is, and if your theories are making you detest
me I think I'm about through.
NORA: It's what you stand for that my theories make me detest--since you
used the word.
GIBSON: Well, what is it that I stand for?
NORA: Class and class hatred.
GIBSON: Which class is the hatred coming from?
NORA: From both!
GIBSON: Just in this room right now it seems to be all on one side. And
lately it has seemed to me to be more and more not so much class as
personal; because really, Nora, I haven't yet been able to understand
how a girl with your mind can believe that you and I belong to different
classes.
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