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Mrs. Halycon—(Outside) Oh, Helen!

Helen—Coming, Mother.

She opens the top bureau drawer, takes out a silver cigarette case, and a miniature silver flask, and places them in a side drawer of the writing desk. Then she turns out all the lights and opens the door. The tuning of violins comes in nervous twangs and discord up the stairs. She turns once more and stands by the window. From below, there is a sudden burst of sound, as the orchestra swings into “Poor Butterfly.” The violins and faint drums and a confused chord from a piano, the rich odor of powder and new silk, a blend of laughters all surge together into the room. She dances toward the mirror, kisses the vague reflection of her face, and runs out the door.

Silence for a moment. Bundled figures pass along the hall, silhouetted against the lighted door. The laughter heard from below becomes doubled and multiplied. Suddenly a moving blur takes shape behind the bureau. It resolves itself into a human figure, which arises, tip-toes over and shuts the door. It crosses the room, and the lights go on again. Cecilia looks about her and, with the light of definite purpose in her rich green eyes, goes to the desk drawer, takes out the minature flask and the cigarette case. She lights a cigarette and, puffing and coughing, walks to the pier-glass.