[Clara half exclaims in astonishment, but on being pinched surreptitiously on the arm by Mrs. Hunter she grasps the situation and starts in to do her share.
Clara. Oh, no, mama! I'm sure it was more than that!
Mrs. Hunter. Well, perhaps it was two—twenty or two—twenty-five.
Trotter. That's cheap, isn't it?
Miss Godesby. Shut up.
[Tompson's face is always a perfect blank, showing no expression or surprise; she has lived with Mrs. Hunter for many years and "knows her business."
Miss Godesby. [In a very different tone of voice, influenced by the big price.] Of course, I see it's made of the best material. But it isn't my color.
Mrs. Hunter. It's the very latest shade.
Miss Godesby. Yes, I know; but I think as you said a little while ago, perhaps it is a trifle too old for me.
Mrs. Hunter. I might let you have it for a little less; say one hundred and eighty.