John.
Good-bye, dear child.
[She goes out quickly. In a minute Kate comes in. She is carrying a square wooden box in which are papers, firewood, a hearth-brush, and a large soiled glove.
Kate.
Please, sir, Mrs. Wharton says, will you go upstairs now?
John.
Yes.
[He goes out. Kate goes to the fire-place, kneels down, puts on the glove, and begins to rake out the ashes. The Cook enters. She is a stout homely body of forty-five.
Cook.
The butcher’s come, Kate. I don’t exactly like to go up to Mrs. Wharton just now. I’ve got the cold beef for lunch, but they’ll be wanting something for dinner.