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JESSICA. There are lots of ways nowadays for women to earn their living.
RUTH. Yes, typewriting we will consider.
MRS. HUNTER. Never!
[_No one pays any attention to her except_ CLARA, _who agrees with her._
RUTH. Jess, you learned enough to _teach_, didn't you?--even at that fas.h.i.+onable school your mother sent you to?
JESSICA. Oh, yes, I think I could teach.
MRS. HUNTER. Never!
[_Still no one pays any attention except_ CLARA _who again agrees with her._
CLARA. No, indeed! _I_ wouldn't teach!
BLANCHE. If we only knew some nice elderly woman who wanted a companion, Jess would be a G.o.dsend.
CLARA. If she was a nice _old_ lady with lots of money and delicate health, I wouldn't mind that position myself.
RUTH. Clara, you seem to take this matter as a supreme joke!
MRS. HUNTER. [_With mock humility._] May _I_ speak? [_She waits. All turn to her. A moment's, silence._] MAY I speak?
RUTH. Yes, yes. Go on, Florence; don't you see we're listening?
MRS. HUNTER. I didn't know! I've been so completely ignored in this entire conversation. But there is one thing for the girls--the easiest possible way for them to earn their living--which you don't seem for a moment to have thought of!
[_She waits with a smile of coming triumph on her face._
RUTH. Nursing!
MRS. HUNTER. [_Disgusted._] No!
CLARA. Manicuring?
MRS. HUNTER. _Darling!_
BLANCHE. Designing dresses and hats?
MRS. HUNTER. No!
JESSICA. Book-keeping?
MRS. HUNTER. No.
RUTH. Then what in the world is it?
MRS. HUNTER. Marriage!
CLARA. Oh, of course!
RUTH. Humph!
[JESSICA _and_ BLANCHE _exchange glances._
MRS. HUNTER. That young Mr. Trotter would be a fine catch for Jess.
JESSICA. Who loathes him!
MRS. HUNTER. Don't be old-fas.h.i.+oned! He's very nice.
RUTH. A little cad, trying to get into society--nice occupation for a _man_!
JESSICA. Mother, you can't be serious.
CLARA. Why wouldn't he do for _me_?
RUTH. He _would_! The very thing!
MRS. HUNTER. We'll see, darling; I think Europe is the place for you. I don't believe all the t.i.tles are gobbled up yet.
RUTH. Jess, I might get you some women friends of mine, to whom you could go mornings and answer their letters.
MRS. HUNTER. I should not allow my daughter to go in that capacity to the house of any woman who had refused to call on her mother, which is the way most of your friends have treated me.
RUTH. Do you realize, Florence, this is a question of bread and b.u.t.ter, a practical suggestion of life, which has nothing whatever to do with the society columns of the daily papers?
MRS. HUNTER. I do _not_ intend that my daughters shall lose their positions because their father has been--what shall we call it--criminally negligent of them.
RUTH. [_Rising._] How dare you! You are to blame for it all. If you say another word injurious to my brother's memory, I'll leave this house and let you starve for all I'll do for you.
BLANCHE. Aunt Ruth, please, for father's sake--
CLARA. Well, this house is ours, anyway!
BLANCHE. That is what _I've_ been thinking of. The house is yours. It's huge. You don't need it. You must either give it up altogether--
MRS. HUNTER. [_Interrupts._] _What! Leave it? My house! Never!_
BLANCHE. Or--let out floors to one or two friends,--bachelor friends.
Mr. Mason, perhaps--
CLARA. [_Interrupts, rising, furious._] Take in _boarders_!
MRS. HUNTER. [_Who has listened aghast, now rises in outraged dignity; she stands a moment glaring at_ BLANCHE, _then speaks._] Take--[_She chokes._] _That_ is the _last straw_!
