She sinks with a great sigh of relief into a big chair._

BLANCHE. [_Takes her son to_ MRS. HUNTER.] Kiss grandmother good-by, and
then Leonard will take you home.

MRS. HUNTER. Good-by, dear. Be a good boy. Don't eat too much candy.

[_Kisses him carelessly._

MASTER STERLING. Good-by. [_Runs towards the door Left, shouting
happily._] Leonard! Leonard!

MRS. HUNTER. [_Tearfully._] My dears, it was a great success! Everybody
was there!

[_The three younger women stand and look about the room, as if it were
strange to them--as if it were empty. There is a moment's silence._

BLANCHE. [_Tenderly._] Mother, why don't you take off your bonnet?

MRS. HUNTER. Take it off for me; it _will_ be a great relief.

BLANCHE. Help me, Jess.

MRS. HUNTER. [_Irritably._] Yes, _do_ something, Jessie. You've
mortified me terribly to-day! That child hasn't shed a tear. People'll
think you didn't love your father. [_The two are taking off_ MRS.
HUNTER'S _bonnet._ MRS. HUNTER _waits for an answer from_ JESSICA; _none
comes._] I never saw any one so heartless! [_Tearful again._] And her
father adored her. _She_ was one of the things we quarrelled _most_
about!

[_Over_ MRS. HUNTER'S _head_ BLANCHE _exchanges a sympathetic look with_
JESSICA _to show she understands._

CLARA. I'm sure _I've_ cried enough. I've cried buckets.

[_She goes to_ MRS. HUNTER _as_ BLANCHE _and_ JESSICA _take away the
bonnet and veil and put them on the piano._

MRS. HUNTER. [_Kissing Clara._] Yes, dear, you are your mother's own
child. And _you_ lose the most by it, too.

[_Leaning against the side of her mother's chair, with one arm about her
mother._

CLARA. Yes, indeed, instead of coming out next month, and having a
perfectly lovely winter, I'll have to mope the whole season, and, if I
don't look out, be a wallflower without ever having been a bud!

MRS. HUNTER. [_Half amused but feeling_ CLARA'S _remark is perhaps not
quite the right thing._] Sh--

[_During_ CLARA'S _speech above,_ BLANCHE _has taken_ JESSICA _in her
arms a moment and kissed her tenderly, slowly. They rejoin_ MRS. HUNTER,
BLANCHE _wiping her eyes,_ JESSICA _still tearless._

CLARA. And think of all the clothes we brought home from Paris last
month!

MRS. HUNTER. My dear, don't think of clothes--think of your poor father!
That street dress of mine will dye very well, and we'll give the rest to
your aunt and cousins.

BLANCHE. Mother, don't you want to go upstairs?

JES