[Returning hastily.] They’re coming up!

Justina.

Let ’em!

Mrs. Cloys enters, and stands surveying the room. Mrs. Emptage follows her. Mrs. Cloys is about fifty-three, handsome, dignified in bearing, richly but soberly dressed, in manner a mixture of sweetness and acerbity.

Mrs. Cloys.

Justina—is it?

Justina.

[Going to her.] How do you do, Aunt Harriet?

Mrs. Cloys.

[Kissing her, then eyeing her keenly.] H’m! you’re not married yet, I believe?