MARY. I won’t talk about it. I’ve been miserable not to come to see you, mother, but I couldn’t at first, and time went on and I didn’t like to. And I didn’t know what to do.
MRS. BROOME. Never mind that now.
[A ring at the doorbell is heard.]
MARY. That can’t be the doctor yet.
MRS. BROOME. You don’t have a many visitors, I s’pose.
MARY. I don’t have any—except sometimes Mrs. Timbrell.
MRS. BROOME. P’raps it’s her.
MARY. I’d like you to see her.
MRS. BROOME. Someone’s coming up.
MARY. I think it must be.