H. (sarcastically). Getting you ready to graduate.

Maude (peeling off her gloves). Well sir, I've just been racing around! O, Valeria's going to have chiffon.

Madam (dramatically). Chiffon!

Maude (tossing her hat on the floor). Yes, and it's awfully pretty.

Madam Chiffon! Is she? (Sits, from sheer weakness.)

Maude (beginning to undo sundry packages). Yes, and–why, what's the matter?

Madam (gasping). Chiffon!

Maude (a light dawning). Am I? Am I?

Miss H. (winding yarn into a ball). Am you what? Sit down, child, sit down, you look like a statute!

Maude Am I to have chiffon?

Mrs. De S. (firmly). You are.

Maude We can't both have chiffon! I won't be a copy-tale! I won't!

Mrs. De S. (sitting erect and speaking with authority). Listen, dearie. The lace has given out.

Maude (stamping her foot). Get more!

Mrs. De S. We can't.

Madam And the gown is so modelled that we can use nothing else.

Maude I won't have chiffon! I won't–I won't–I won't.

Mrs. De S. (warningly). Do not let Madame Sateene see you in a passion.

Maude Madam would be in a passion herself! She knows how I feel! O dear! (begins to sob). Everything is going wrong! I w-w-won't graduate, so there now!

Miss H. (mounting a chair to straighten a picture). That's sensible! You needn't. I never did.

Mrs. De S. Matilda, do not encourage the child! Of course she must graduate. Everybody does.

Miss H. (sarcastically). If everybody stood on their heads, I suppose we'd have to!

Mrs. De S. You cannot judge in such matters, Matilda. You are very old-fashioned.

Miss H. (upsetting contents of work basket in lap). Maybe so, maybe so, but I am alive, and that child'll be dead if–

Mrs. De S. (holds her head). Matilda, for heaven's sake, stop!

Maude I'll telephone Valeria. May be she–

Mrs. De S. (with decision). Maude, sit down! You will do nothing of the sort. Mrs. Reynolds is such a talker! The whole town would know it in ten minutes. Besides, at the Tuesday Club she cut me–actually cut me! I will not permit it.

Maude I don't think that ought to count, now. I suppose I have to have something to wear.

Madam What do you say to a Paris muslin?

Maude (listlessly). What is a Paris muslin?

Madam A sort of fine organdie.

Maude Swell?

Mrs. De S. Maudie! Would Madam Sateene propose anything else? She doesn't want you to look like a fright. Now, I think,–(pauses, listening). Why there is papa's voice!

Maude Papa, bless his old bones! Papa, come in here, quick! Hurry up!

(Mr. De Smythe comes in hastily.)

Mr. De S. What is it–what is it? Is Mamma worse?

Maude (in tragic attitude). I can't graduate!

Mr. De S. (with profound astonishment). Can't graduate? Can't graduate? Didn't you pass?

Maude (scornfully). Pass! That doesn't matter! My dress, my dress, my dress!

Mr. De S. (immensely relieved). Oh, your dress! Isn't it fine enough?

Madam Why, you see, Mr. De Smythe, the–

Maude (sobbing and clinging to his neck). I got to have chiffon, ugly, limp, old chiffon! It is so–so–d–drabbled!

Mr. De S. Well, never mind! Hus-s-h! You'll make Mamma worse. You needn't graduate! Never mind.

Maude Oh, oh!

Mr. De S. Never mind, little girl, you needn't graduate! Never mind!

Maude Oh, I–I must. The presents are coming in.

Miss H. (shortly). Return 'em.

Maude You wouldn't, if they were yours! You know you wouldn't! Oh, you're all so mean!

Madam (soothingly). Let's have Paris muslin. It'll be lovely.

Mrs. De S. It's too stiff.

Miss H. And sounds too furrin! Haven't we got any American muslin? I'd rather wear gunny sack.

Mr. De S. Hurrah for Matilda! A female Patrick Henry!

Mrs. De S. Papa, don't speak so loud!

Mr. De S. (contritely). I beg your pardon, Mamma,–your poor head!

Maude I want something pretty! Not–not just–just any old thing!

Madam (with awful dignity). Paris muslin is beautiful.

Maude The other girls have silk.

Mr. De S. Then you must have silk, too,–decidedly. Mustn't she, Mamma?

Mrs. De S. (sighing). I do not know, Papa, I do not know. This is a dreadful time,–a dreadful time. I fear I shall not live to see her graduate! (sighs dismally). But you will all enjoy it. Matilda, will you heat the salt bags?

(Miss Hoppenhoer bounces out.)

Maude (flies to couch). O, you precious, precious Mamma! Don't you dare get sick and die!

(Katherine opens the door.)

Katherine Miss Reynolds and Mr. Hamilton.

Maude Hello, Valeria, how you vas? Jack, did you get 'em?

Jack (bows to ladies, shakes hands with Mr. De Smythe). Couldn't Maude, nothing but red.

Maude Red! I can't wear red! Madam Sateene, can I?

Madam (after due deliberation). Yes, you can. You will need a touch of color.

Valeria Why don't you carry pink ones?

Jack Pink roses are lovely. You carried pink ones at the Junior Banquet, didn't you, Val?

Valeria (thoughtfully). Did I? Yes, I did! Bridesmaid, I think they were.

Maude I hate pink roses!

Mrs. De S. Maudie, Maudie, do not be so vehement!

Mr. De S. Never mind about the roses. They are a side issue. The question is, "Wherewithal shall you be clothed!" I must be off to earn your daily cake. Let's decide.

Maude (pensively). Jack, do you like Paris muslin?