. . . do I?

MRS. COADE (motherly). Yes, you do; hold my hand, and you will soon
remember all about it.

JOANNA. I am afraid, Mr. Dearth, it is harder for you than for the
rest of us.

PURDIE (looking away). I wish I could help you, but I can't; I am a
rotter.

MABEL. We are awfully sorry. Don't you remember . . . Midsummer Eve?

DEARTH (controlling himself). Midsummer Eve? This room. Yes, this room
. . . You was it you? . . . were going out to look for something . . .
The tree of knowledge, wasn't it? Somebody wanted me to go, too . . .
Who was that? A lady, I think . . . Why did she ask me to go?
What was I doing here? I was smoking a cigar . . . I laid it down,
there . . . (He finds the cigar.) Who was the lady?

ALICE (feebly). Something about a second chance.

MRS. COADE. Yes, you poor dear, you thought you could make so much of
it.

DEARTH. A lady who didn't like me-- (With conviction.) She had good
reasons, too--but what were they . . . ?

ALICE. A little old man! He did it. What did he do?