Through the upstage door we can see part of the cream colored kitchen which leads to the back porch. On the left are two doors, one leading to Rosalie’s bedroom, the other to the bedroom of her parents.

Although the room is essentially somber, it is spotlessly clean. And here and there are hurried attempts to give it a flash of color——a brilliant red pillow on the sofa, a few handmade ceramic ashtrays and plaques done in garish Florida hues and a new white lampshade on an ancient floor lamp.

There is a plethora of books overflowing the few shelves and extending to end tables and corners of the room. Downstage right is a table phonograph atop a case filled with records. Across from it is a decaying sofa.

At rise, sixteen-year-old ROSALIE KNOPF is stretched on the sofa, gazing soulfully through the window as though she had been siphoned of all energy. She is small and squat and rather homely. She has her hair in two skinny pigtails that almost, but not quite, reach each other at the top of her head. She wears glasses and braces and—well, it almost looks as though she might have come with the house.

She is listening to a lush rendition of "In Love In Vain". It is actually part of an album entitled "Music for Unrequited Lovers", which she has kept in a folder marked Beethoven’s Chamber Music. The folder is in her hands as the Kern song gushes from the phonograph.

In moment a car is hard driving up. ROSALIE glances out the window, bolts from the sofa, rushes to the phonograph, puts the record in the Beethoven container as NADINE KNOPF enters through the kitchen. She is short and plump, and though basically prettier than her daughter, there remains a striking similarity in figure and features. Her hands are trembling, and she is biting her handkerchief.