Miss H. (picking up things). The lace–?
Mrs. De S. (with infinite patience). The lace, you know, for Maude's dress.
Miss H. (blankly). Eh–what dress?
Madam (in polite surprise). Why, Miss Hoppenhoer, what dress?
Mrs. De S. (shrilly). What dress,–oh, Matilda!
Miss H. (commencing to "straighten" room in earnest). Oh, is that all? I thought the President had been assassinated!
Mrs. De S. Matilda! I must say you don't seem much interested. I should think you would,–your own niece, too!
Miss H. (tragically). Look at this room,–look at this room! It is a disgrace to a Christian community! Think of the breakfast we had–or rather, that we didn't have! And yesterday! And now you down sick–down sick! Does it take a month to graduate? (dusts an upholstered chair vigorously). It's such (bang) such non-(bang) nonsense!
Mrs. De S. Nonsense to graduate! Matilda Hoppenhoer! Do stop thrashing about! Ugh, that dust! (coughs weakly). Katherine will do that.
Miss H. (pounding sofa cushions). Katherine is busy; she has ten miles of flutin' to flute!