When the curtain rises Harriet Wilde is discovered standing precisely in the middle of her great-grandfather's carpet which is precisely in the middle of the floor. To Harriet, ancestors are a passion, the future an imposition. Added to this, she is in her way, intelligent. Therefore even before she speaks, you who are observant know that she is a formidable person. Her voice is low, even, and—what is the adjective? Christian. Yes, Harriet is a good woman. But don't let that mislead you.]
Harriet [calling]. Lydia!
[Lydia comes into the room from the garden. In fact, she has been coming and going for more than fifteen years at the word of her aunt, although she is now twenty-seven. Her hands appear sensitive and in some way, deprived and restless. She is dressed in a slim black gown which could be worn gracefully by no one else, although Lydia is not aware of this fact. In one hand she carries a pair of garden shears with handles painted scarlet; in the other, a bright spray of portulaca; while over her wrist is slung a garden hat. During their conversation Lydia moves fitfully about the room. Her manner changes from bitter drollery to a lonely timidness and from timidness to something akin to sulkiness. Harriet, whether seated or standing, gives the impression of having been for a long hour with dignity in the same position. She has no sympathy for Lydia nor any understanding of her. There is a wall of mistrust between the two. Both stoop to pick up stones, not to throw, but to build the wall even higher. Lydia employs by turns an attitude of cheerful cynicism and one of indifference, both planned to annoy her aunt, though without real malice. But this has become a habit.]
Harriet. What are you doing, Lydia?
Lydia. I had been trimming the rose hedge along the south garden, Aunt Harriet.
Harriet. But surely you can find something better to do than that, my dear. [She cannot help calling people "my dear." It is because she is so superior.] Some one might see in if you trim it too much. We want a bit of privacy in these inquisitive times.
Lydia. The young plants on the edge of the walk needed sun.
Harriet. Move the young plants. Don't sacrifice the rose hedge. [Pausing as she straightens the candle in an old brass candlestick on the mantel.] I—it seems to me that the furniture has been disarranged.
Lydia. I was changing it a little this morning.
Harriet. May I ask why?