As she is going, Colonel Wharton enters from the garden with a basket of cherries. He is a thin old man, much older than his wife, with white hair; but though very frail he still carries himself erectly. His face is bronzed by long exposure to tropical suns, but even so it is the face of a sick man. He wears a light tweed suit which hangs about him loosely, as though he had shrunk since it was made for him. He has a round tweed hat of the same material.
Colonel Wharton.
Has the paper come yet, Kate?
Kate.
Yes, sir. I’ll bring it.
[Exit Kate
Colonel Wharton.
I’ve brought you in some cherries, Evelyn. They’re the only ripe ones I could find.
Mrs. Wharton.