Henry—Now and again.
Kate—And how’s your father? [Not pausing for an answer—almost to herself.] I remember—he was always mad. He used to wear a green cloth suit, and he carried white rats all over his shoulders. [Remembering the three.] Ah, yes, your father—he was a barber, wasn’t he?
Henry—No, a chemist.
Kate—[Laughing uneasily.] I have a bad memory after all. Well, anyway, in those days he had begun to be queer—everyone noticed it—even that funny man who had those three flaxen-haired daughters with the thin ankles who lives at the end of the street—— And your mother—a prostitute, I believe.
Henry—[Calmly.] At times.
Kate—A dancing girl without a clean word in her vocabulary, or a whole shirt to her name——
James—But a woman with fancies.
Kate—[Sarcastically.] And what ability?
Henry—Oh, none, just a burning desire.
Kate—What’s the use of going into that? How did you get here—what for?