[The PORTER appears in shirt-sleeves at the door]
MRS. MILER. The lady wants a cab. Wait and carry 'er trunk down.
CLARE comes from the bedroom in her hat and coat.
MRS. MILER. [TO the PORTER] Now.
They go into the bedroom to get the trunk. CLARE picks up from the floor the bunch of violets, her fingers play with it as if they did not quite know what it was; and she stands by the armchair very still, while MRS. MILER and the PORTER pass her with trunk and bag. And even after the PORTER has shouldered the trunk outside, and marched away, and MRS. MILER has come back into the room, CLARE still stands there.
MRS. MILER. [Pointing to the typewriter] D'you want this 'ere, too?
CLARE. Yes.
MRS. MILER carries it out. Then, from the doorway, gazing at CLARE taking her last look, she sobs, suddenly. At sound of that sob CLARE throws up her head.
CLARE. Don't! It's all right. Good-bye!
She walks out and away, not looking back. MRS. MILER chokes her sobbing into the black stuff of her thick old jacket.