MILDRED—[Looking up with affected dreaminess.] How the black smoke swirls back against the sky! Is it not beautiful?

AUNT—[Without looking up.] I dislike smoke of any kind.

MILDRED—My great-grandmother smoked a pipe—a clay pipe.

AUNT—[Ruffling.] Vulgar!

MILDRED—She was too distant a relative to be vulgar. Time mellows pipes.

AUNT—[Pretending boredom but irritated.] Did the sociology you took up at college teach you that—to play the ghoul on every possible occasion, excavating old bones? Why not let your great-grandmother rest in her grave?

MILDRED—[Dreamily.] With her pipe beside her—puffing in Paradise.

AUNT—[With spite.] Yes, you are a natural born ghoul. You are even getting to look like one, my dear.

MILDRED—[In a passionless tone.] I detest you, Aunt. [Looking at her critically.] Do