HUNTER _waits for an answer from_ JESSICA; _none
comes._] I never saw any one so heartless! [_Tearful again._] And her
father adored her. _She_ was one of the things we quarrelled _most_
about!
[_Over_ MRS. HUNTER'S _head_ BLANCHE _exchanges a sympathetic look with_
JESSICA _to show she understands._
CLARA. I'm sure _I've_ cried enough. I've cried buckets.
[_She goes to_ MRS. HUNTER _as_ BLANCHE _and_ JESSICA _take away the
bonnet and veil and put them on the piano._
MRS. HUNTER. [_Kissing Clara._] Yes, dear, you are your mother's own
child. And _you_ lose the most by it, too.
[_Leaning against the side of her mother's chair, with one arm about her
mother._
CLARA. Yes, indeed, instead of coming out next month, and having a
perfectly lovely winter, I'll have to mope the whole season, and, if I
don't look out, be a wallflower without ever having been a bud!
MRS. HUNTER. [_Half amused but feeling_ CLARA'S _remark is perhaps not
quite the right thing._] Sh--
[_During_ CLARA'S _speech above,_ BLANCHE _has taken_ JESSICA _in her
arms a moment and kissed her tenderly, slowly. They rejoin_ MRS. HUNTER,
BLANCHE _wiping her eyes,_ JESSICA _still tearless._
CLARA. And think of all the clothes we brought home from Paris last
month!
MRS.
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