Yardsley. Maybe the house is haunted.
Dorothy. I fancy it was your imagination; or perhaps it was the wind blowing through the hall. The pantry window is open.
Barlow. I guess maybe that's it. How fine it must be in the country now!
[Jennie pokes her head in through the portières again, and follows it with her arm and hand, in which is a feather-duster, which she waves wildly in an endeavor to attract Yardsley's attention.
Dorothy. Divine. I should so love to be out of town still. It seems to me people always make a great mistake returning to the city so early in the fall. The country is really at its best at this time of year.
[Yardsley turns half around, and is about to speak, when he catches sight of the now almost hysterical Jennie and her feather-duster.
Barlow. Yes; I think so too. I was at Lenox last week, and the foliage was gorgeous.
Yardsley (feeling that he must say something). Yes. I suppose all the feathers on the maple-trees are turning red by this time.
Dorothy. Feathers, Mr. Yardsley?
Barlow. Feathers?