Mrs. Mar. (C. shortly) Sir Joseph's sister.
Miss Tre. What an angelic face! The outline so pure. Such heavenly eyes. (returns R. and puts frame back)
Mrs. Mar. (C.) She was marked with smallpox, and had a pronounced squint.
Miss Tre. (disconcerted) Ah! I have noticed these photographs before. I have a passion for photographs. This one—? (coming C.—she takes up another)
Mrs. Mar. (takes photo from Miss Tre.) Sir Joseph's mother. The other ladies are his cousin, his aunt by marriage, and—me. (Miss Tre. goes R.)
Miss Tre. (with surprise) You!
Mrs. Mar. (with dignity) My late husband, Captain Martelli, of his Majesty's Indian army, was a friend of Sir Joseph's (C.). I trust you find nothing remarkable in his widow's photograph reposing on Sir Joseph's mantelpiece?
Miss Tre. (comes down R. and sits R. C. chair) Oh, not at all, not at all.... My father was Canon Treable—he preached before the Queen.
Mrs. Mar. (puts photo back R. and comes down R. C.) So I have frequently heard. But I admit it is a theme on which one cannot dwell too often. None the less I consider it my duty, as Sir Joseph's housekeeper, to inform Canon Treable's daughter that this room is, as it were, consecrated to Sir Joseph.
(Miss Tre. rises and crosses L. and sits on stool.)