Mrs. Ritter. [Laying the remaining roses on the table] She says I ought to go on with the work.
Ritter. [Dryly] She meant the housework. [He replaces his cigar in his mouth.]
Mrs. Ritter. [Looking at him with a touch of resentment] No, she didn’t mean anything of the kind. She says I ought to go to New York. [He takes the cigar from his mouth and looks at her keenly.]
Ritter. And what would you do when you’d get there?
Mrs. Ritter. Why, I’d go on the stage, of course.
Ritter. [Very level] How?
Mrs. Ritter. Why, I’d go to the people that have charge of it.
Ritter. And, do you think they’d put you on the stage simply because you wanted to go on it?
Mrs. Ritter. Well, Mrs. Pampinelli could give me a letter—