]
PIKE [advancing to her, smiling]. I don't think I've got any secrets.
ETHEL [coldly]. Please remember, I have not read anything on the last
page.
PIKE. Well, neither have I.
[Reaching his hand for the letter.]
ETHEL [more embarrassed]. Oh!
[She drops the letter on the bench.]
[PIKE picks it up and walks slowly toward right, taking it from
envelope. She stands looking after him with breathless amazement, far
from hostile, yet half turned as if to go at once. PIKE, taking the
letter out of the envelope, suddenly looks back at her. At this she is
flustered and starts, but halts at sound of the "Fishermen's Song" in
the distance. The sunset is deepening to golden red; the "Fishermen's
Song" begins with mandolins and guitars, and then a number of voices are
heard together.]
ETHEL. Listen: those are the fishermen coming home.
[PIKE stands in arrested attitude, not having looked at the letter. The
song, beginning faintly, grows louder, then slowly dies away in the
distance. The two stand listening in deepening twilight.]
PIKE [as the voices cease to be heard]. It's mighty pretty, but it's
kind of foreign and lonesome, too. [With a sad half-chuckle.] I'd rather
hear something that sounded more like home. [A growing tremulousness in
his voice.] I expect you've about forgot everything like that, haven't
you?
ETHEL [gently].
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