[_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?

JESSICA. [_Sincerely moved._] Yes, I hate this room now.

MRS. HUNTER. [_Rising._] Hate this room! When we've just had it done!
Louis Kinge!

BLANCHE. Louis _Quinze_, dear! She means the associations now, mother.