What a bother the old mane is; I’ve been scorching myself at the stove for the last half hour (_taking from one of the boxes a yellow silk purse and holding it out to Augusta_). Pretty colour, eh?—It’s only just a little joke; has he had many purses? AUGUSTA (_busy with her jacket, which she is brushing; shrugs her shoulders_). Don’t know (_she looks critically with her short-sighted eyes at the purse_). H’m, h’m, rather loosely knitted (_immediately returning to her jacket_). The plush is done for. IDA (_displaying a little box of cigars_). I—_am_ pleased—to think you have never dressed a Christmas tree! AUGUSTA. If you come to think of it—it’s really not the sort of thing for grown-up people! MRS SCHOLZ. No indeed! If ever I’d suggested one, my husband would have never let me hear the end of it. With my dear parents—Ah! when I remember—what a beautiful family life that was. Never a Christmas without a tree! (_Imitating her father’s gait and manner._) And then in the evening when father came from the office and brought the beau—u—tiful gingerbread with him (_joining thumb and fore-finger as if she held a piece of the famous cake between them—she puts them to her mouth_). Ah yes—those days are gone. My husband—he wouldn’t even eat his dinner with us—he lived upstairs—we down—a perfect hermit. If one wanted anything from him—good Lord—the only way was to get hold of Friebe. AUGUSTA (_feeding the stove_). Oh don’t go on like that everlastingly! MRS SCHOLZ. Don’t pile up the stove in that senseless fashion! AUGUSTA. Can’t we even have the room warm then? MRS SCHOLZ. All the heat flies up the chimney to-day. AUGUSTA (_demurring crossly_). Is that a reason for letting it go quite out? MRS SCHOLZ. Leave me in peace! AUGUSTA (_throwing the shovel noisily back into the box_). Have it your own way! [_Exit Augusta in a rage._] IDA. Ah, Gussie! stay with us!—Just wait—I’ll soon bring her round. [_Goes out after her._ MRS SCHOLZ (_with resignation_). All my children are like that!—ah—what a girl! There’s no holding her! First she wants one thing, then another:—all of a sudden—she takes it into her head—she must study. She’ll stick upstairs and not say a word for weeks; and the next thing is—she’s no use—nobody wants her.—Oh, good Heavens, yes—you’re to be envied—a sweet little thing like _your_ daughter—— MRS BUCHNER. Oh, but Gussie too!— MRS SCHOLZ. How charmingly she plays the piano, and that delicious voice—How I love to listen to a voice like that! MRS BUCHNER. Why don’t you ever play now? MRS SCHOLZ. Oh that would be a fine thing. The little peace I have would be done for. Augusta is so nervous—just like her father—he’d run away from the piano as if he were hunted. MRS BUCHNER. You should hear your William play now; he has improved!—What would Ida be without him! She’s learnt all she knows from him. MRS SCHOLZ.