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 butter,
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.
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