Jamie [endeavoring to smother a yawn]. Wha's mat'r?
Hilda [looking up at him and making a little moüe]. I can't find my key!
Jamie [with a quick show of interest]. You haven't lost it, have you?
Hilda [snappishly]. Well, it isn't here, anyway. Oh, oh, oh, how mad it makes me to lose things—but—I remember now; I left it on the chiffonier while we were dressing. Just to think I should have come away and left it lying there—oh, dear! [She gazes up at him appealingly.]
Jamie [a note of resignation in his voice, perhaps, which she, however, does not seem to perceive]. What's the difference? We'll wait for 'em. Minnie'll have hers, won't she? It'll be nicer waiting out here, anyway. Look at that moon! Beaut, isn't it? [He takes up the basket and moves away.]
Hilda. Where are you going?
Jamie [perhaps significantly]. 'Round on the side porch; this is too near the street.
Hilda [following him, and aside]. I can't see why they don't come. [Aloud.] Can we hear them?
Jamie. Sure! [He sets the basket beside one of the pillars of the north porch. They both sit on the top step, she with her elbows on her knees, her chin in her two hands. For a space he whistles softly between his teeth. Thereafter they converse in half-whispers.]