Copyright, 1924, by
J. M. BARRIE

Printed in the United States of America

All rights reserved under the International Copyright Act.
Performance forbidden and right of representation reserved.
Application for the right of performing this play must be
made to Charles Frohman, Inc., Empire Theatre, New York.

[2]

The scene is a room in a small Sussex manor housethat has long been for sale. It is such a silent roomthat whoever speaks first here is a bold one, unlessindeed he merely mutters to himself, which theyperhaps allow. All of this room’s past which can betaken away has gone. Such light as there is comesfrom the only window, which is at the back and isincompletely shrouded in sacking. For a momentthis is a mellow light, and if a photograph could betaken quickly we might find a disturbing smile onthe room’s face, perhaps like the Mona Lisa’s,which came, surely, of her knowing what only thedead should know. There are two doors, one leadingdownstairs; the other is at the back, very insignificant,though it is the centre of this disturbing history. Thewall-paper, heavy in the adherence of other papers of astill older date, has peeled and leans forward here andthere in a grotesque bow, as men have hung in chains;one might predict that the next sound heard here willbe in the distant future when another piece of paperloosens. Save for two packing-cases, the only furniture[4]is a worn easy-chair doddering by the unlit fire,like some foolish old man. We might play with thedisquieting fancy that this room, once warm withlove, is still alive but is shrinking from observation,and that with our departure they cunningly set toagain at the apparently never-ending search whichgoes on in some empty old houses.

Some one is heard clumping up the stair, and thecaretaker enters. It is not she, however, who clumps;she has been here for several years, and has becomesufficiently a part of the house to move noiselessly init. The first thing we know about her is that she doesnot like t