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Narry—Coming—

Helen—(Her mind wandering to her feet, which carry her around the room to the sound of her voice.) “The moments pass into hours—the hours pass into years—and as she smiles through—”

Peremptory voice with the maternal rising accent ascends the stairs, and curls into the bedroom.

Voice—Hel-en.

Helen—(With more volume than you would imagine could go with such a deliciously useless figure) Yes, Mother.

Mother—(Drawing near.) Are you very nearly ready, dear? I am coming up. I have had such a hard time with one of the waiters.

Helen—I know, Mother. Tight as he could be. Narry and I watched him try to get up when they threw him outside into the yard.

Mother—(Now on the stairway landing) You and Narry should not have done any such thing, Helen dear. I am surprised at Narry. I—(She seems to pause and pant.)

Narry—(Almost shouting) I do declare, Mrs. Halycon. I—

Mrs. Halycon appears in the doorway and becomes the center of the stage. She is distinctly a factor in the family life. Neither her daughter’s slang nor her son’s bills discourage her in the least. She is jeweled and rouged to the dowager point.