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.
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