ANGELA: Oh yes, indeed--I used to point you out to Harry and show him how you always looked so immaculate and dapper--just as he used to look before we were married. (Starting to weep.)

FRED: Oh, you'll go back to your home to-morrow.

ANGELA: No--I'll never enter it again--never again--except for lunch.

FRED: Then you're planning a divorce?

ANGELA: (As it dawns on her--with a smile.) I suppose it would be well to get something like that.

FRED: Is he in love with another woman?

ANGELA: (Indignantly.) My Harry--I guess not. (His hand is stretched toward her--in anger she slaps it.)

FRED: Then you'll never get it (Making love to her.) unless you fall in love with another man and let your husband get the divorce.

ANGELA: (Innocently.) I think I'd like that better--I'll tell Miss Carey (She approaches curtain--a snore makes her change her mind.)--I'll tell her later.

FRED: I'm awfully glad I'm a fellow boarder here. (He advances to her--as he is about to put his arm about her--suddenly a pounding on door and a gruff voice without:) Open--open!

ANGELA: (In terror.) Oh, it's my husband--it's Harry.

FRED: Don't talk, or he'll hear you.

ANGELA: I'll hide--and you open, or he'll break down the door.

FRED: I'll have nothing to do with this mixup.

HARRY: (Loudly, without.) Open, or I'll bang--down--the--door.

ANGELA: If you don't open, he'll do it--he's a regular "door-banger."

FRED: Well, I'll not.

ANGELA: Then I'll get Miss Carey. (Up to curtains again.) Miss Carey--Miss Carey--get up.

MISS CAREY: (Sticking her head out of curtains.) My Gawd, what is it now?

ANGELA: (After struggle as to how to explain.) My husband is here to see us.

MISS CAREY: Confound your husband.

HARRY: (Outside.) I want my wife.

ANGELA: (Pleading.) Oh, Miss Carey, the poor man wants his wife-- tell him I'm not here.

MISS CAREY: (Jumping up--to FRED.) You go to your room, Mr.

Saltus--I'll bet you were afraid to open the door. (FRED goes to his room.) And you go into my bed--if he sees you, I'll never get any sleep.

ANGELA: Don't hurt my Harry's feelings, Miss Carey--he's awfully sensitive. (She goes behind curtains.)

MISS CAREY: No, I won't hurt his feelings--(Opening door fiercely for HARRY.) What do you want?

HARRY: (Pushing her aside as he rushes in.) My wife--she's in here.

MISS CAREY: (Following him down.) She's not here--and you get out--what do you mean by waking me up at this hour?

HARRY: I've waked up everybody else in the building--why should _you_ sleep?

MISS CAREY: I've never seen you before, but now that I have, I don't wonder your wife left you.

HARRY: Madam, you look like a woman who could sympathize with a man.

MISS CAREY: With a man? Never--now get out.

HARRY: (Making a tour of the room--she following.) Not till I've searched your place--my wife must be here.

MISS CAREY: I don't know your wife--and I don't want to.

HARRY: Why, madam--I'm crazy about her--suppose I'm the only man in the world who would be, but she's my doll.

MISS CAREY: Well, you've lost your doll--good night.

HARRY: Oh, I'll get her back again--but a change has seemed to come over her of late, and to-night she broke out in a fury and hit me violently over the head with a Wedgewood vase.

ANGELA: (Rushing out--ready to slap him again.) Oh Harry, I did not--it never touched you.

MISS CAREY: (Throwing up her hands.) Now I'll never get to sleep.

HARRY: (Turning on MISS CAREY.) Oh, I understand it all--it's you who've come between us--you designing, deceitful homebreaker.

MISS CAREY: You leave my apartment--you impertinent man.

HARRY: Not without my wife.

ANGELA: Then you'll stay forever--'cause I'm not going with you.

(She sits right of little table.)

MISS CAREY: See here--you argue this out between you--but I'm going to bed--but don't you argue above a whisper or I'll ring for the police--the idea of you two galavanting about my apartments.

(Going behind curtains.)

(A funny scene ensues between husband and wife--they start their argument in whispered pantomime--she shakes her finger at him--he shakes back at her--it finally grows slightly louder and louder until they are yelling at each other.)

ANGELA: (Screaming.) If you say the vase hit you--you're a wicked--

HARRY: I don't care anything about the vase--you're coming downstairs with me. (He pulls her off chair and swings her R.)

ANGELA: (Falling on couch.) I'm not.

HARRY: (Grabbing her again.) You are.