STERLING. [Wavering.] Oh, you’re too damned preachy!

[MRS. HUNTER enters Right with CLARA.  MRS. HUNTER shakes hands with WARDEN silently, happy in the feeling that she is in great affliction, and satisfied with the appearance and impression she is making.  She carries her handkerchief, with its black border, ready in her hand. CLARA has silently shaken hands with WARDEN, after her mother.  She afterwards goes to STERLING and hands him several of the letters of condolence.  She then goes to the window at Left, pulling aside the curtain, and stands looking out, rather bored, wishing she could go out and take a walk.

MRS. HUNTER.  We will never forget your kindness.  Will the evening papers have anything in, do you think?

WARDEN.  No, not before morning.

MRS. HUNTER. [Sighs.] Every one was there.

STERLING.  Where’s Blanche?

MRS. HUNTER.  Upstairs.  She said she was going after Aunt Ruth.

STERLING. [Frightened.] After Aunt Ruth? [Strongly.] What for?

MRS. HUNTER.  I don’t know. [Whimpering.] I’m not considered in the family any longer!

STERLING.  I shall stop and take her home.

[JORDAN enters.

JORDAN.  Will you see visitors, madam?

STERLING.  No.

[He goes out Right.

MRS. HUNTER.  “No”?  Yes, we will!  I need to see some one, or I shall break down.  Go upstairs, Clara!

CLARA.  No, why need I?

MRS. HUNTER.  You’re not out yet.

CLARA.  I don’t care!  At this rate I’ll never get “out.”  Who are they,
Jordan?

JORDAN.  Miss Sillerton, Miss Godesby, and Mr. Trotter, miss.

WARDEN.  I must go, Mrs. Hunter.

MRS. HUNTER. [Relieved.] So sorry.  Could you go straight to Mr. Mason? 
He wishes to see you?

[Shaking hands.

WARDEN.  Certainly.

MRS. HUNTER.  Thank you.

[WARDEN inclines his head to CLARA.

CLARA. [Lightly.] Good-by!

[WARDEN goes out Left.

MRS. HUNTER.  I don’t think we ought to receive Mr. Trotter.

CLARA.  Pshaw! why not?  If there’s really any idea of my mar—­

[She stops short, silenced by a look from her mother and an indication toward JORDAN.

MRS. HUNTER.  Show them up, Jordan. [JORDAN bows and goes out.] How do I look, dear?

[Arranges her handkerchief.

CLARA. [Looking in the mirror.] How do I?

MRS. HUNTER. [With her back to CLARA.] I asked you first how I looked!

CLARA. [Not observing.] Oh, you’re all right, how am I?

MRS. HUNTER. [Not looking at CLARA.] Charming!  We’ll go upstairs and come down again; I don’t think it nice to be found here as if we were expecting visitors.