TOM: What did he leave his widow?

AMANDA: He never married! Gracious, you talk as though all of my old admirers had turned up their toes to the daisies!

TOM: Isn’t this the first you’ve mentioned that still survives?

AMANDA: That Fitzhugh boy went North and made a fortune – came to be known as the Wolf of Wall Street! He had the Midas touch, whatever he touched turned to gold! And I could have been Mrs. Duncan J. Fitzhugh, mind you! But – I picked yourfather!

LAURA [rising]: Mother, let me clear the table.

AMANDA: No, dear, you go in front and study your typewriter chart. Or practise your shorthand a little. Stay fresh and pretty! It’s almost time for our gentlemen callers to start arriving. [She flounces girlishly toward the kitchenette.] How many do you suppose we’re going to entertain this afternoon?

[Tom throws down the paper and jumps up with a groan.]

LAURA [alone in the dining-room]: I don’t believe we’re going to receive any, Mother.

AMANDA [reappearing, airily]: What? Not one – not one? You must be joking!

[LAURA nervously echoes her laugh. She slips in a fugitive manner through the half-open portières and draws them in gently behind her. A shaft of very clear light is thrown on her face against the faded tapestry of the curtains.]

[MUSIC: “THE GLASS MENAGERIE” UNDER FAINTLY. Lightly.]

Not one gentleman caller? It can’t be true! There must be a flood, there must have been a tornado!

LAURA: It isn’t a flood, it’s not a tornado, Mother. I’m just not popular like you were in Blue Mountain. … [Tom utters another groan. LAURA glances at him with a faint, apologetic smile. Her voice catching a little.]Mother’s afraid I’m going to be an old maid.