Catherine [callously]. How'll they know? Look here, Sally; you go along as fast as you can, and fetch your young one. And when you've got back, perhaps I'll step out a minute, two or three doors up street, and you can answer the bell while I'm gone. Now hurry into your things. I'll give you your car-fare.
Sally. Miss Catherine, you're just as good as you can be, and I'll do something to oblige you, too, sometime. [Exeunt.]
[Enter Mrs. Darling from bedroom in evening
dress. Takes her cousin's photo from
dressing-table and holds it at arm's length.
Mrs. Darling. Well, sir, does your charming cousin reach your standard of feminine appearance? Or is she still far from that pinnacle of elegance to which she aspires? She should be perfect indeed when she is to pose before the world as the highly-favored of the distinguished Mr. Goodhue.... And all the time, I know perfectly well that he prefers Quaker gowns, or hospital caps and aprons.... Well, I'm not exactly a lily of the field, but when it comes to Solomon in all his glory!... The morning papers will say so, at least. "The Reverend Dorel Goodhue, accompanied by his cousin, Mrs. Darling," and so forth. Oh, sometimes I do grow so tired of it all! It's such a farce!... Now, this won't do at all. The Reverend Dorel Goodhue may preach to me on Sunday mornings, from a properly elevated pulpit, in a proper and decorous and conventional manner, but—— Just be kind enough to turn your reproachful face away, sir, and let your cousin finish her prinking. [Replaces photo face down.] Bonnet, why don't you come and do my hair?
[Enter Bonnet, slowly waving a hot curling iron.
Bonnet. Yes, Mrs. Darling.
[Mrs. Darling sits before mirror beautifying
her finger-nails, while Bonnet curls
a few straggling locks of hair.
Mrs. D. [diligently polishing, murmurs]. Mind what you are about.
[Bonnet removes tongs and catches the lock
with greater precaution.
Mrs. D. [louder, with a warning acid in her voice]. Mind what you are about!