OCEANA. Ah, you've never been there, or you wouldn't feel that way!
Picture it as it is at this moment . . . the broad white beach . . .
the sun setting and the clouds aflame . . . the great green breakers
rolling in . . . the frigate- birds calling . . . the palm trees
rustling in the wind! And you don't have to wrap yourself up in
clothes . . . you don't have to shut yourself up in houses! You plunge
through the surf, you dance upon the beach . . . naked . . .

MRS. MASTERSON. [Aghast.] My dear girl!

OCEANA. Oh, oh! That's so! I beg your pardon!

MRS. MASTERSON. [Coldly.] It will take you, a little while to get used
to civilized ways . . .

OCEANA. Oh, no, no, no! I know about that . . . I know how it is.
Father told me about Boston.

MRS. MASTERSON. My dear . . .

OCEANA. Don't worry about me. I'm really going to try to behave myself
. . . in every way. I want to get the right sort of clothes, you know.
I couldn't get them on my trip . . .

MRS. MASTERSON. It's just as well, my dear. You'd best have us attend
to that. You will need mourning for quite a while, you understand.

OCEANA. Mourning!