THE VOICE. O my prophetic soul, my uncle!
AUNT MARY. Then you’re my old friend Kate Harris’s daughter?
THE CALIFORNIAN. I might be her son, ma’am; but my mother’s name was Susan Wakeman.
AUNT MARY (in sharp disgust). Call the porter, please.
[She withdraws her head and pulls her curtains together; the rest look blankly at one another.]
CAMPBELL. Another failure, and just when we thought we were sure of you. I don’t know what we shall do about you, Mr. Sawyer.
THE VOICE. Adopt him.
CAMPBELL. That’s a good idea. We will adopt you. You shall be our adoptive—
THE VOICE. Baby boy.
ANOTHER VOICE. Wife.