LAURA. Martha!… Am I to be defied in this way?
JULIA. You brought it on yourself, Laura.
LAURA. You told her to do it!
JULIA. She would have soon found out for herself. (Collectedly, she folds up her work and rises.) And now, I think, I will go to my room and wash my hands for supper.
(As she makes her stately move, her ear is attracted by a curious metallic sound repeated at intervals. Turning about, she perceives, indeed they both perceive, in the centre of the small table, a handsome silver tea-pot which opens and shuts its lid at them, as if trying to speak.)
JULIA. Oh, look, Laura! Martha's tea-pot has arrived.
LAURA. She told a lie, then.
JULIA. No, it was the truth. She wished for it. The sea has given up its dead.
LAURA. Then now I have got it at last!
(But, as she goes to seize the disputed possession, Martha rises through the floor, grabs the tea-pot, and descends to the nether regions once more.)