[The three younger women stand and look about the room, as if it were strange to them—as if it were empty. There is a moment's silence.
Blanche. [Tenderly.] Mother, why don't you take off your bonnet?
Mrs. Hunter. Take it off for me; it will be a great relief.
Blanche. Help me, Jess.
Mrs. Hunter. [Irritably.] Yes, do something, Jessie. You've mortified me terribly to-day! That child hasn't shed a tear. People'll think you didn't love your father. [The two are taking off Mrs. Hunter's bonnet. Mrs. Hunter waits for an answer from Jessica; none comes.] I never saw any one so heartless! [Tearful again.] And her father adored her. She was one of the things we quarrelled most about!
[Over Mrs. Hunter's head Blanche exchanges a sympathetic look with Jessica to show she understands.
Clara. I'm sure I've cried enough. I've cried buckets.
[She goes to Mrs. Hunter as Blanche and Jessica take away the bonnet and veil and put them on the piano.
Mrs. Hunter. [Kissing Clara.] Yes, dear, you are your mother's own child. And you lose the most by it, too.
[Leaning against the side of her mother's chair, with one arm about her mother.