Mrs. Hunter. Hungry! How can you!
Ruth. Because I'm not a hypocrite!
Mrs. Hunter. [Whimpering.] I suppose that's a slur at me!
Ruth. If the slipper fits! But I confess I haven't eaten much for several days; I couldn't touch anything this morning, and I begin to feel exhausted; I must have food and, thank Heaven, I want it. Thank you.
[To Blanche, taking the cup from her.
Mrs. Hunter. I think it's awful, Ruth, and I feel I have a right to say it—I think you owed it to my feelings to have worn a long veil; people will think you didn't love your brother.
Ruth. [Dryly.] Will they? Let them! You know as well as I do that George loathed the very idea of crêpe and all display of mourning.
Mrs. Hunter. [Feeling out of her element, changes the subject.] You stayed behind?
Ruth. Yes. I wanted to be the last there. [Her voice chokes; she tries to control herself.] Ah! you see my nerves are all gone to pieces. I won't cry any more!
Mrs. Hunter. I don't see how you could bear it—staying; but you never had any heart, Ruth.