[Crosses to Roger: the kettle lies forgotten.

ROGER.
How, indeed! Does thee know, Elizabeth, that in so quiet a room as this
I can scarce believe that a great city lies about us? 'Tis so still
that I can hear the ticking of the clock.

ELIZABETH.
For myself, I am glad of a little rest after our journey up from
Brookfield to the city. I find myself scarce used to city ways.

ROGER.
No more do I, Elizabeth, no more do I. I cannot think this lavish life
is seemly. This table, now! Does thee note its profusion? More bread
and honey and cheese and chicken pie than we can eat. Sheer waste--
unless we can share it. If there was but some poor traveler in this inn
whom we might bid to supper, and----

[A knock on the door leading to hall.

ELIZABETH.
'Tis William, the inn boy, with tea cakes.

[Elizabeth opens the door. William enters with tea cakes on tray. He
deposits the plate of cakes on table.

ROGER.
As I was saying--if there was but some traveler in this inn to share
our evening meal--some one with pockets that were well-nigh empty----