MRS. HUNTER. I haven't seen it; I'll ask the servants to look. Excuse me, I'm quite tired out; we've been receiving a long visit of condolence.

[_She goes out, Right, with_ CLARA, _who links her arm in her mother's._

BLANCHE. [_Finding the case, which has fallen beneath the table._] Here it is. Dear old pocket-book--

[_Her voice breaks on the last word, and turning her face away to hide her tears, she hands him the well-worn letter case._

WARDEN. Mrs. Sterling, I'm glad they left us alone, because Mr. Mason said he hadn't been able to manage it--to see you alone--and yet he wanted _you only_ to examine these. They are private papers of Mr.

Hunter; he thought they ought not to be destroyed without being read, and yet _he_ hesitated to read them. We thought that duty devolved best upon _you_. [_He hands back the letter case._] Shall I wait and take back the case to Mr. Mason with the papers you wish him to have?

BLANCHE. Oh, no, I will send them; I mustn't keep you while I read them.

I'm always taking more of your time than I ought.

WARDEN. [_Speaks with sincerity, but without any suggestion of love-making._] But never as much as I want to give you! Don't forget, Mrs. Sterling, what you promised me at your wedding,--that your husband's best man should be your best friend.

BLANCHE. And n.o.body knows what it means to a woman, even a happily married woman like me--[_This is spoken with a slight effort, as if she is persuading herself that she is a happily married woman._]--to have an honest friend like you. It's those people who have failed that say there is no such thing as a platonic friendship.

WARDEN. We'll prove them wrong.

BLANCHE. We will. Good-by, and thank you.

WARDEN. And thank _you_! [_Starting to go, he turns._] Shall I bring that Russian pianist around to play for you some day next week?

BLANCHE. Do--I want some music.

WARDEN. Only let me know what day. [_He goes out Left._ BLANCHE _sits by the table and opens the case. She looks first at a memoranda and reads what is on the outside._] A business memoranda. Lists of bonds. [_She opens and looks at the next paper only a second, and then closes it._]

This, Mr. Mason will understand better than I. [_She puts it back in the pocket case. She finds a photograph in the case._] My picture!--[_She looks for others, but finds none._]--and _only_ mine! Oh, father!...

[_She wipes away tears from her eyes so as to see the picture, which is an old one._] Father, I returned _your_ love. [_She reads on the back of photograph._] "Blanche, my darling daughter, at fourteen years of age!"

That's mine! that's my own! [_And she puts the picture away separately.

She takes up a small packet of very old love-letters tied with faded old pink tape._] Old letters from mother; they must be her love-letters. She shall have them,--they may soften her. [_She takes up a slip of paper and reads on the outside._] This is something for Mason, too. [_She puts it back in the case. She takes up a sealed envelope, blank._] Nothing on it, and sealed. [_She looks at it a moment, thinking._] Father, did you want this opened? If you didn't, why not have destroyed it? Ah! I needn't be afraid; _you_ had nothing to hide from the world. [_Tearing it open, she reads._] "I have discovered my son-in-law, Richard Sterling, in irregular business dealing. He is not honest. I will watch him as long as I live; but when you read this, Mason, keep your eye upon him for my daughter's sake. He has been warned by me--he may never trip again, and her happiness lies in ignorance." [_She starts, and looks about her to make sure she is alone. She then sits staring ahead for a few seconds; then she speaks._] My boy's father dishonest! Disgrace--he owned it--threatening _my_ boy! It mustn't come! It mustn't! _I'll_ watch now. [_She goes to the fireplace, tearing the paper as she crosses the room, she burns the letter; then she gathers up the other letters and the pocket case._] He must give me his word of honor over Richard's little bed to-night that he will do nothing to ever make the boy ashamed of bearing his father's name!

[_She watches to see that every piece of the paper burns, as_

THE CURTAIN FALLS

ACT II

_Christmas Eve; fourteen months later; the dining room of the Hunters'

house, which is now lived in jointly by the_ STERLINGS _and_ MRS. HUNTER _and her daughters. It is a dark wainscoted room, with curtains of crimson brocade. It is decorated with laurel roping, mistletoe, and holly, for Christmas. It is the end of a successful dinner party, fourteen happy and more or less congenial persons being seated at a table, as follows:_ WARDEN, RUTH, MASON, CLARA, TROTTER, MRS. HUNTER, BLANCHE, STERLING, MISS SILLERTON, MR. G.o.dESBY, JESSICA, DOCTOR STEINHART, _and_ MISS G.o.dESBY. _The room is dark on all sides, only a subdued light being shed on the table by two large, full candelabra with red shaded candles. As the curtain rises the bare backs of the three women nearest the footlights gleam out white. Candied fruit and other sweetmeats are being pa.s.sed by four men servants, including_ JORDAN _and_ LEONARD.

RUTH. My dear Blanche, what delicious candy!

MISS SILLERTON. Isn't it!

MISS G.o.dESBY. Half of the candy offered one nowadays seems made of _papier-mache_.

MRS. HUNTER. [_To_ MISS G.o.dESBY.] Julia, do tell me how Mr. Tomlins takes his wife's divorce?

MISS G.o.dESBY. He takes it with a grain of salt!

MRS. HUNTER. But isn't he going to bring a counter suit?

STERLING. No.

RUTH. I hope not. I am an old-fashioned woman and don't believe in divorce!

MISS G.o.dESBY. Really! But then you're not married!

MISS SILLERTON. What is the reason for so much divorce nowadays?

RUTH. Marriage is the princ.i.p.al one.

BLANCHE. _I_ don't believe in divorce, either.

MISS SILLERTON. My dear, no woman married to as handsome a man as Mr.

Sterling would.

TROTTER. You people are all out of date! More people get divorced nowadays than get married.

BLANCHE. Too many people do--that's the trouble. I meant what I said when I was married--"for better, for worse, till death us do part."--What is the opera Monday?

TROTTER. Something of Wagner's. He's a Dodo bird! Bores me to death! Not catchy enough music for me.

MRS. HUNTER. You'd adore him if you went to Bayreuth. Which was that opera, Clara, we heard at Bayreuth last summer? Was it _Faust_ or _Lohengrin_! They play those two so much here I'm always getting them mixed!

MISS SILLERTON. Wagner didn't write _Faust_!

MRS. HUNTER. Didn't he? I thought he had; he's written so many operas the last few seasons!

CLARA. I like _Tannhauser_, because as soon as you hear the "twinkle, twinkle, little stars" song, you can cheer up and think of your wraps and fur boots.

TROTTER. My favorite operas are _San Toy_ and the _Roger Brothers_, though I saw _Florodora_ thirty-six times!

BLANCHE. Mother would have gone with you every one of those thirty-six _Florodora_ times. She's not really fond of music.

MRS. HUNTER. Not fond of music! Didn't I have an opera box for four years?

TROTTER. Why doesn't Conried make some arrangement with Weber and Fields and introduce their chorus into _Faust_ and _Carmen_?

DR. STEINHART. Great idea! [_To_ MISS G.o.dESBY.] Did you get a lot of jolly presents?

MISS G.o.dESBY. Not half bad, especially two fine French bulls!

[_All are laughing and talking together._