(A country kitchen. Elizabeth in middy and skirt, enters slowly toward centre of stage, examining an envelope.)

Elizabeth—(still examining envelope.) I wonder who this letter’s from. I don’t know the writing and it’s from New York City. But there’s lot of people I know there. Perhaps it’s from one of those little girls at Erskine College that were always getting a crush on us bigger girls and bothering us to death with their gushing. Now, who is it from anyway? (laughing.) Say, I never thought of it, but perhaps if I opened it I’d find out. (Opens and glances over it, and seems amazed and reads very slowly aloud.)

(Elizabeth looks up bewildered.)

Elizabeth—What a queer letter! I wonder if any of the girls are playing a trick on me. (thinks.) Now, I have it. I’ve heard mother mention her brother, Jerry Neilson, who went to the city and his aristocratic wife made him cut his country relations when they got rich. So this must be from my cousin. But how could any girl write such a rude, insolent letter like that! She certainly was forced to write against her will. I bet her father never saw that letter. It would serve her right if I sent it to him. I’d feel out of place in a city home and in her set! Well, (laughing) that’s a joke, when I’ve been in some of the best homes in New York City. I wonder what Edith Browning would say to that and a lot of the other girls at dear old Erskine. Well, my dear cousin, I’ll just write you a polite note of refusal.

(Goes to table and writes, then reads aloud).

“Miss Edith Norton regrets with pleasure the sincerely cordial and hospitable invitation of Miss Margaret Neilson.” Oh, (suddenly jumping and clapping her hands.) I’ve an idea! I’ll accept my kind and hospitable cousin’s invitation since she’s so anxious to have me and since she expects me to be such a queer freak from the backwoods, it would be too bad to disappoint her, so I’ll dress and act the part of the poor country cousin she’s looking for. Oh, (dancing around) it will be heaps of fun. I’ll stay there a day and then I’ll pay Edith Browning that visit I’ve promised her for ages. (Going towards the exit.) The girls at Erskine always said I was a born actress and now I’ll have the chance to prove whether they were just flattering me or not. (Stops and glances at the address, 14 Riverside Drive.) Why, Mildred Ewing lives just a couple houses from there. I’ll dress there and just slip over when the coast is clear. There’s some of my masquerade costumes up in the attic. I’ll run and see if I can find something suitable for my new role. Say, but won’t I lead my dear cousin a merry dance! (Laughs and runs off the stage.)