MILDRED--[Dreamily.] With her pipe beside her--puffing in
Paradise.

AUNT--[With spite.] Yes, you are a natural born ghoul. You are
even getting to look like one, my dear.

MILDRED--[In a passionless tone.] I detest you, Aunt. [Looking at
her critically.] Do you know what you remind me of? Of a cold pork
pudding against a background of linoleum tablecloth in the kitchen
of a--but the possibilities are wearisome. [She closes her eyes.]

AUNT--[With a bitter laugh.] Merci for your candor. But since I am
and must be your chaperone--in appearance, at least--let us patch
up some sort of armed truce. For my part you are quite free to
indulge any pose of eccentricity that beguiles you--as long as you
observe the amenities--

MILDRED--[Drawling.] The inanities?

AUNT--[Going on as if she hadn't heard.] After exhausting the
morbid thrills of social service work on New York's East Side--how
they must have hated you, by the way, the poor that you made so
much poorer in their own eyes!--you are now bent on making your
slumming international. Well, I hope Whitechapel will provide the
needed nerve tonic. Do not ask me to chaperone you there, however.
I told your father I would not. I loathe deformity. We will hire
an army of detectives and you may investigate everything--they
allow you to see.

MILDRED--[Protesting with a trace of genuine earnestness.] Please