REMSON. And no folks at all there?

ETHEL. Not since her father died.

REMSON. [Shakes his head.] Humph! She'd ought to be glad to get home,
Miss Ethel.

ETHEL. She didn't seem to feel that way. [Takes book and seats herself
by fireplace.] But we'll try to make her change her mind. Just think
of it . . . she's been forty-six days on the steamer!

REMSON. Can it be possible, miss?

ETHEL. Wasn't that the street door just now, Remson?

REMSON. I thought so, Miss Ethel. [Moves to door.] Oh! Mrs. Masterson.

MRS. MASTERSON. [In doorway; a Boston Brahman, aged fifty, wearing
street costume, black.] Any news yet, Remson?

REMSON. None, madam.

MRS. MASTERSON. Master Frederick is at the dock?

REMSON. Yes, madam.

DR. MASTERSON. [Enters; slightly younger than his wife, a dapper
little man, bald and henpecked.] No news from the steamer, my dear?