[Annoyed at himself]
Why did I lie to him about her age? . . . I must be on edge . . . Mother is rather difficult to live with these days, getting me worried to death, when it’s probably nothing . . .
Evans
[Annoyed in his turn—thinking]
Why all the fuss? . . . as if I gave a damn if the old girl was a million! . . .
[Indicating the papers]
I’ll give these to Nina first thing in the morning.
Marsden
[Mechanically]
Righto. Thank you.
[He starts to go toward door—then turns—fussily]
But you’d better take a look while I’m here and see if it’s clear. I’ve written on the margins. See if there’s anything you can’t make out.
[Evans nods helplessly and begins reading the sheets, going back beneath the lamp]
Marsden
[Looking around him with squeamish disapproval]
What a mess they’ve made of this study . . . poor Professor! . . . dead and forgotten . . . and his tomb desecrated . . . does Sam write his ads here of a week-end now? . . . the last touch! . . . and Nina labors with love at Gordon’s biography . . . whom the Professor hated! . . . “life is so full of a number of things!” . . . why does everyone in the world think they can write?
