Left and right from the spectator’s point of view.
Before the sewing-machine, Mrs. Loving is seated. She looks worried. She is sewing swiftly and deftly by hand upon a waist in her lap. It is a white, beautiful thing and she sews upon it delicately. It is about half-past four in the afternoon; and the light is failing. Mrs. Loving pauses in her sewing, rises and lets the window-shade near her go up to the top. She pushes the sash-curtains to either side, the corner of a red brick house wall being thus brought into view. She shivers slightly, then pushes the window down at the bottom and lowers it a trifle from the top. The street noises become less distinct. She takes off her thimble, rubs her hands gently, puts the thimble on again, and looks at the clock on the mantel. She then reseats herself, with her chair as close to the window as possible and begins to sew. Presently a key is heard, and the door opens and shuts noisily. Rachel comes in from the vestibule. In her left arm she carries four or five books strapped together; under her right, a roll of music. Her hat is twisted over her left ear and her hair is falling in tendrils about her face. She brings into the room with her the spirit of abounding life, health, joy, youth. Mrs. Loving pauses, needle in hand, as soon as she hears the turning key and the banging door. There is a smile on her face. For a second, mother and daughter smile at each other. Then Rachel throws her books upon the dining-room table, places the music there also, but with care, and rushing to her mother, gives her a bear hug and a kiss.
Rachel: Ma dear! dear, old Ma dear!
Mrs. Loving: Look out for the needle, Rachel! The waist! Oh, Rachel!
Rachel (On her knees and shaking her finger directly under her mother’s nose.): You old, old fraud! You know you adore being hugged. I’ve a good mind....
Mrs. Loving: Now, Rachel, please! Besides, I know your tricks. You think you can make me forget you are late. What time is it?
Rachel (Looking at the clock and expressing surprise): Jiminy Xmas! (Whistles) Why, it’s five o’clock!
Mrs. Loving (Severely): Well!
Rachel (Plaintively): Now, Ma dear, you’re going to be horrid and cross.
Mrs. Loving (Laughing): Really, Rachel, that expression is not particularly affecting, when your hat is over your ear, and you look, with your hair over your eyes, exactly like some one’s pet poodle. I wonder if you are ever going to grow up and be ladylike.