Mrs. Ritter. So that I’d have it when I’d get there.
Ritter. That’d do you a lot of good. You’d find a thousand there ahead of you, with letters from Mrs. Pampinellis. Nobody in New York knows Mrs. Pampinelli; and if they did, it’d probably kill any chance that a person might have otherwise. [Mrs. Pampinelli can contain herself no longer. She flips the window-drapery aside with a deft movement and stands looking at Ritter, from a great height. Mrs. Ritter, who is facing the window, utters an abrupt shriek of astonishment. Then Ritter turns, rather casually, to see the cause of his wife’s agitation, and finds himself looking into the frozen eyes of Mrs. Pampinelli. He regards her rather impersonally, and then quietly reaches up and secures his collar and tie. She steps majestically from the window-alcove and moves a bit nearer to him, still holding him with an icy stare.]
Mrs. Pampinelli. [After a devastating pause] You creature.
Ritter. [Turning smoothly away, to his left, as though he had been suddenly struck by something, in the right eye] Another actress. [He moves along a few steps to the left, in front of the table, then turns and speaks to Mrs. Pampinelli over his left shoulder.] What did you do, come through the window?
Mrs. Pampinelli. I’ve been hiding here.
Ritter. [Resuming his walk over to the left] I don’t blame you,—after that show; I’ve been doing the same thing myself. [He sits in the arm-chair over at the left.]
Mrs. Ritter. [Who has been standing in a panic in the middle of the room, staring wide-eyed at Mrs. Pampinelli] Oh, Mrs. Pampinelli,—you didn’t hear what he’s been saying?
Mrs. Pampinelli. Every word. [She very regally deposits her fan upon the piano, and Mrs. Ritter, turning to Ritter, makes a long, moaning sound.]
Mrs. Ritter. Now, Fred Ritter, you see what you’ve done! [She bursts into tears, and comes down to the chair at the left of the table below the piano and sits down.]
Mrs. Pampinelli. [Moving to a point above the table] And I wouldn’t have missed it. I’ll know how to regard this gentleman in the future. I came home hurriedly with these few flowers as a little acknowledgment of the appreciation your work deserved; and all I hear is abuse; and a very crude, but very venomous attempt at satire. [Mrs. Ritter weeps aloud.] Control yourself, darling, I wouldn’t please him.