The Naturewoman | Page 4

She must be! Oceana! [To
REMSON, an old, white- haired family servant, who enters with
flowers in vase.] No message from my brother yet?
REMSON. Nothing, Miss Ethel.
ETHEL. Look at this, Remson.
REMSON. [Takes photograph.] Is that your cousin, Miss Ethel?
ETHEL. That's she. Isn't she lovely?
REMSON. 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.] No news from the steamer, my dear?
MRS. MASTERSON. None.
REMSON. Anything further, madam?
MRS. MASTERSON. Nothing.
[Exit REMSON.]
DR. MASTERSON. It'll be too bad if Oceana has to spend this evening
on the steamer.
MRS. MASTERSON. Have you taken to calling her by that ridiculous
name also?

DR. MASTERSON. Surely she has a right to select her name!
MRS. MASTERSON. I was present when she was christened; and so
were you, Quincy. For ME she will remain Anna Talbot until the day
she dies.
DR. MASTERSON. Anna or Oceana . . . there's not much difference, it
seems. [Takes paper and sits by window; they do not see ETHEL.]
Weren't Letitia and Henry to be here?
MRS. MASTERSON. Letitia was . . . but she's never on time. There's
the bell now. [Looks at photograph.] Humph! So Ethel's had it framed!
I declare . . . people ought not to be shown a photograph like that . . .
it's not decent.
DR. MASTERSON. My dear! It's the South Sea Islands!
MRS. MASTERSON. [Severely.] This is Back Bay. Oh! Letitia!
LETITIA. [Enters; aged about twenty-eight, prim and decorous,
Patterned after her mother; black street costume, with furs.] No news
from the steamer, it seems! Dear me, such weather!
MRS. MASTERSON. You didn't walk, I hope?
LETITIA. No, but even getting into the stores! I'm exhausted.
DR. MASTERSON. [Looking from paper.] Henry coming?
LETITIA. He said he might drop in. He's curious to see the lady.
DR. MASTERSON. Humph! No doubt!
LETITIA. Mother, I wish you'd try to do something with Henry. He's
so restless and discontented . . . he's getting to be simply impossible.
MRS. MASTERSON. I'm going to talk to him to-day, my dear.
LETITIA. Fancy my going out and burying myself in the country! And

he means it . . . he's at me all the time about it!
MRS. MASTERSON. Well, don't go, my dear!
LETITIA. Don't worry yourself . . . I've not the least intention of going.
Such things as we modern women have to endure! Only fancy, he's got
an idea he wants to be where he can work with his hands!
MRS. MASTERSON. Henry ought to have discovered these yearnings
before he married one of the Mastersons. As my daughter, you have
certain social obligations to fill . . . your friends have a claim upon you,
quite as much as your husband.
LETITIA. He says he wants to take the bungalow and make it over . . .
wants to plan it and work at it himself. And with me and the children
sitting out on the mountain-top in the snow until he finishes, I suppose!
MRS. MASTERSON. Quincy, do you know anything about this whim
of Henry's for a day-laborer's life?
DR. MASTERSON. My dear, Henry's a big, active man, and he wants
something to do.
MRS. MASTERSON. But hasn't he his business?
DR. MASTERSON. I dare say there are things more thrilling to a man
than commercial law-cases. And Henry's been