Mrs. Fell. [Quietly detaching herself] I must find that out. [She passes back of Mrs. Pampinelli and across towards Ritter. Mrs. Ritter and Mrs. Pampinelli continue in conversation.] Frederick, I want to ask you something. [He steps forward, excusing himself to Twiller.] Pardon me, Ralph.
Twiller. That’s all right, Nelly. [He crosses again to Teddy.]
Mrs. Fell. Frederick, what did you think when you heard Jimmy Sheppard was dead?
Ritter. Why, I thought he was dead, of course. [Mrs. Ritter leaves Mrs. Pampinelli, passing back of her, and goes up to assist Jenny with her arrangements. Mrs. Pampinelli busies herself with making notations on the margin of the manuscript, at the little table.]
Mrs. Fell. [Flipping the tip of her fan in his face] Oh, did you, Smarty! [Ritter raises his right hand, as though to ward off the blow.] Well, listen, Frederick. [He attends, and she becomes confidential.] He left quite a bit of insurance, didn’t he?
Ritter. Yes—about three hundred thousand, I believe.
Mrs. Fell. [Becoming generally stoney] Is there a will, do you know?
Ritter. I don’t know; I suppose there is.
Mrs. Fell. Well, I hope she was sharp enough to see that there is. Because if there isn’t, you know, she’s only entitled to a third in this state. That’s all the widow’s entitled to. And, you know, Frederick, Clara Sheppard could never in this world get along on a bare hundred thousand dollars; you know that as well as I do.
Ritter. Well, she has quite a bit of money of her own, hasn’t she?