[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?