Mrs. Ritter. [Coming forward holding the glass of water] I think I did. [She sips.]
Jenny. [As she crosses the center-door] Do you want that suit-case taken up, Mr. Ritter? [Mrs. Ritter turns round to the right and watches Jenny.]
Ritter. Yes, you can take it up if you will, Jenny, thanks. [Jenny lifts the suit-case from the partition-seat and goes out and up the stairs.]
Mrs. Ritter. [Turning to Ritter] You know, I wrote you about poor Jimmy Sheppard—
Ritter. Yes, what was that, had he been sick?
Mrs. Ritter. Why, not a day, my dear! that’s the reason it was all so dreadful. Of course, he’d always had more or less of a weak heart; but nothing to threaten anything of that kind. And just three days before the performance, mind you:—couldn’t happen any other time. And poor Mrs. Sheppard playing one of the leading parts. [She turns to her left and goes up to the center-door, where she looks out toward the right hallway expectantly.]
Ritter. [Casually depositing the band from his cigar on the tray at his left] Did he know she was to play one of the leading parts?
Mrs. Ritter. [Turning at the center-door and looking at him] Who,—Mr. Sheppard?
Ritter. Yes.
Mrs. Ritter. [Coming forward again] Why, of course he did—She’d just finished telling him when he fell over. [Ritter appears to be unduly occupied with his cigar, and Mrs. Ritter takes advantage of the circumstance to refresh herself with another sip from the glass.] My dear, poor Clara Sheppard is a wreck—You want to write her a note, Fred, when you get time. And he never spoke—not a solitary word. But, she says—just as he was dying,—he gave her the funniest look. Oh, she says—if she lives to be a thousand, she’ll never forget the way he looked at her. [She goes up to the center-door and sets the glass down on the tray.]