[A ray of sunlight falls across the room and strikes one of the chairs near the sewing table. In the other chair, untouched by the sunshine, sits Christine, running strings thro' muslin sash-curtains. Elis enters wearing a winter overcoat, unbuttoned. He carries a bundle of legal documents which he puts on the writing table. After that he takes off his overcoat and hangs it at L.]
ELIS. Hello, sweetheart.
CHRISTINE. Hello, Elis.
ELIS [Looks around]. The double windows are off, the floor scoured, fresh curtains at the windows—yes, it is spring again! The ice has gone out of the river, and the willows are beginning to bud on the banks—yes, spring has come and I can put away my winter overcoat. [Weighs his overcoat in his hand and hangs it up.] You know, it's so heavy—just as tho' it had absorbed the weight of the whole winter's worries, the sweat and dust of the school-room.
CHRISTINE. But you have a vacation now.
ELIS. Yes, Easter. Five days to enjoy, to breathe, to forget. [Takes Christine's hand a minute, and then seats himself in arm-chair.] Yes, the sun has come again. It left us in November. How well I remember the day it disappeared behind the brewery across the street. Oh, this winter, this long winter.
CHRISTINE [With a gesture toward kitchen]. Sh! Sh!
ELIS. I'll be quiet—But I'm so happy that it's over with. Oh, the warm sun! [Rubs his hands as tho' bathing them in the sunshine.] I want to bathe in the sunshine and light after all the winter gloom—
CHRISTINE. Sh! Sh!
ELIS. Do you know, I believe that good luck is coming our way—that hard luck is tired of us.