Yes, miss. Is that the way they dress in those parts?
ETHEL. The natives don't even wear that much, Remson.
REMSON. It must be right warm there, I fancy.
ETHEL. Oh, yes . . . they never know what cold weather is.
REMSON. What is the name of it, Miss Ethel?
ETHEL. Maukuri - it's in the South Seas.
REMSON. It seems like I've heard of cannibals in those parts,
somewhere.
ETHEL, Yes, in some of the groups. But this is just one little island
by itself . . . nothing else for a hundred miles and more.
REMSON. And she's lived there all this time, Miss Ethel?
ETHEL. Fifteen years, Remson.
REMSON. And no folks at all there?
ETHEL. Not since her father died.
REMSON. [Shakes his head.] Humph! She'd ought to be glad to get home,
Miss Ethel.
ETHEL. She didn't seem to feel that way. [Takes book and seats herself
by fireplace.] But we'll try to make her change her mind. Just think
of it . . . she's been forty-six days on the steamer!
REMSON. Can it be possible, miss?
ETHEL. Wasn't that the street door just now, Remson?
REMSON. I thought so, Miss Ethel. [Moves to door.] Oh! Mrs. Masterson.
MRS. MASTERSON. [In doorway; a Boston Brahman, aged fifty, wearing
street costume, black.] Any news yet, Remson?
REMSON. None, madam.
MRS. MASTERSON. Master Frederick is at the dock?
REMSON. Yes, madam.
DR. MASTERSON. [Enters; slightly younger than his wife, a dapper
little man, bald and henpecked.
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