Part 2 (1/2)

ETHEL. You know, perfectly well, mother; that it's impossible for anybody to preserve any individuality in contact with you... that as a matter of fact, neither father nor Let.i.tia nor Freddy nor myself have preserved a shred of it. Grandfather said that to you himself, the last time you ever saw him... I know it, for I've heard father say it a hundred times.

DR. MASTERSON. Well!

MRS. MASTERSON. It seems to me there's more than a trace of individuality in this present outburst, Ethel.

ETHEL. Yes, but it's the first time, mother.

LEt.i.tIA. Some one is coming. [Turns to door.] Oh! Henry!

HENRY. [Enters; a handsome, powerfully-built man; smooth shaven, immaculate, reserved in manner.] Well, has the sea-witch arrived?

MRS. MASTERSON. Not yet.

DR. MASTERSON. Freddy's gone to meet her with the limousine.

HENRY. I see. And the steamer?

MRS. MASTERSON. It was to have docked two hours ago.

HENRY. Well, that means that I won't see her till tomorrow evening. I've got to run down to Providence to-night.

LEt.i.tIA. What's the matter?

HENRY. Nothing important... just a business matter that requires my presence. Make my apologies; and goodbye, my dear.

[Kisses LEt.i.tIA.]

LEt.i.tIA. Henry, I wish you'd wait a moment.

HENRY. What for, my dear?

LEt.i.tIA. Mother has something to say...

MRS. MASTERSON. I want to talk to you about this idea of going to the country in the winter-time.

HENRY. Oh! There's no use talking about that, Mrs. Masterson. I see I can't have my way, so there's no more to be said. I'm not the sort of man to sulk.

MRS. MASTERSON. But such an idea, Henry! For a delicate woman like Let.i.tia...

HENRY. I know... I know. I'd have taken care of her... but that doesn't interest her. And, of course, I can't take the children away from her, and there's not much fun in the country alone. So what's the use? I give up... as I give up everything. Good-bye, all.

[Exit.]

LEt.i.tIA. I declare-such a trial! A husband who's lost his interest in life!

MRS. MASTERSON. It's that new cook of yours, Let.i.tia.

LEt.i.tIA. Every cook is worse.

MRS. MASTERSON. What he needs is some liver-pills. Quincy, you should attend to it! [Rises.] Well, I'm going upstairs. You'll stay to dinner, Let.i.tia?