Evans.
Cook thought you would care for that piece of cake, Miss.
Miss Woodward.
I would. Thank cook for me.
Evans.
Yes, Miss. [He goes to door.] There’s still a hominous silence at the lunch-table, Miss.
Miss Woodward.
[Taking a sandwich.] That’s all right, Evans. [Exit Evans, L.] After all, one must have food. [She takes a respectable bite out of a sandwich.] And who could over-estimate the consolations of literature? [Opens a book and reads.]
“Is the calm thine of stoic souls who weigh