Mrs. F. My dear child, how do you do?
Kitty. (Shaking hands with her, and afterwards with Dora.) I'm delighted to see you! Hope you are quite well, and Dora.
Mrs. F. Quite well—aren't you, Dora?
Dora. Quite, mamma.
Kitty. Pray be seated, ladies. (They sit on lounge.) Mrs. Hopkins, Mrs. Fastone.
Aunt H. (Steps over and shakes hands.) Hope you are pretty well, ma'am, and you, too, miss, though you do look awful delicate! And how's your husband? He's a broker—ain't he? (Sits in rocking-chair, and keeps it in motion.)
Mrs. F. Yes, Mrs. Hopkins, Mr. Fastone is a broker, engaged day after day in the busy vortex of fluctuating enterprises.
Aunt H. Well, I never hearn tell of that business afore; but I s'pose it's profitable, or you couldn't afford to dress so. Is that a silk or a poplin you've got on?
Kitty. (Brings her chair; sits, C.) Aunt Hopkins!—Mother has stepped out to make a call.
Aunt H. No, she hain't; she's only gone to the butcher's.