LAURA
My, isn't he different?
HOLROYD (laughing forcedly)
I'm no different.
CLARA
Yes, you are. You shouldn't 'ave brought us if you was going to turn funny over it.
HOLROYD
I'm not funny.
CLARA
No, you're not. (She begins to laugh. Laura joins in in spite of herself) You're about as solemn as a roast potato. (She flings up her hands, claps them down on her knees, and sways up and down as she laughs, Laura joining in, hand on breast) Are you ready to be mashed? (She goes off again—then suddenly wipes the laughter off her mouth and is solemn) But look 'ere, this'll never do. Now I'm going to be quiet. (She prims herself)