On an April afternoon, Marcher visits May at her home. Despite the warm weather, he notices a stiffness in her demeanor upon arrival, her unnaturally pale face resembling that of a sphinx. As May reflects on their relationship, she questions whether they’ve ever truly connected intimately. May hints that she might know what his fate is, and if her belief is correct, it would be the worst thing to happen to him. Desperate for answers, Marcher pleads with her, fearing her silence is a form of abandonment. May hesitates to divulge her belief, implying his knowing would be burdensome, and she prefers to carry the burden of knowing herself.

Feeling frustrated by her refusal to share, Marcher accuses her of deserting him. May reassures him she hasn’t forsaken him. When Marcher asks if her belief is based on him having made mistakes, May soothes him with the certainty that he can still be redeemed. For a moment, Marcher recognizes that May has always had more to give him. Then, he asks her again to reveal the belief, but she responds cryptically: “Don’t you know—now?” (57). Marcher remains oblivious to her meaning.