Beatrice. Does it matter? Certainly it matters. If you can’t tell when you were born, you can’t prove you were born at all, and if, like Topsy, you “just growed,” you certainly cannot be admitted to this select society, every member of which was born.
Dorothy (laughing). Don’t be silly, Bee! Of course I was born.
Beatrice. Were you present at the occasion?
Dorothy. Sure! But I don’t remember much about it.
Beatrice. Was your mother present?
Dorothy. I suppose she was.
Beatrice. Suppose! Write to her immediately and ask her if you were born. She may know, and it is very essential. Miss Warren, it is your turn.
Betty. Let us drop family matters, since they appear so disgraceful, and find out if the candidate’s mental achievements are such as entitle her to admission to our select association. Can you read?
Dorothy. I think so.
Betty (putting a book in her hand). Read this, please, aloud, slowly, and with expression. Begin at the place marked and read seven paragraphs. (Dorothy attempts to pull bandage from eyes. Girls prevent her.)