Lillian. Cheer up, Effie, we’ll all come to the wake.
Enter Maude and Beatrice, arms entwined.
Maude. To whose wake?
Beatrice. Are any of you girls going to commit suicide? If so, count me out. I positively decline.
Betty. It’s only my small sister here—no one that counts.
Effie. Don’t I? You may find out yet, Miss Bettina. You think you’re so grown-up!
Lillian. What you dying of, Effie? Unrequited affection for the butcher’s boy?
Effie. No, nor for the Professor’s boy, either.
Maude. Good for you, Effie! Oh, Lil!