JULIA. We live where it suits us, Laura.
LAURA. Julia, I wasn't addressing myself to you. Mother, where are you living?… Why, where has she gone to?
(For now we perceive that this gentle Old Lady so devious in her conversation has a power of self-possession, of which, very retiringly, she avails herself.)
JULIA (improving the occasion, as she hands back the cup, with that touch of superiority so exasperating to a near relative). Now you see! If you press her too much, she goes…. You'll have to accommodate yourself, Laura.
LAURA (imposing her own explanation). I think you gave me green tea, Julia … or have had it yourself.
JULIA (knowing better). The dear Mother seldom stays long, except when she finds me alone.
(Having insinuated this barb into the flesh of her 'dear sister,' she takes up her crochet with an air of great contentment. Mrs. James, meanwhile, to make herself more at home, now that tea is finished, undoes her bonnet-strings with a tug, and lets them hang. She is not in the best of tempers.)
LAURA. I don't believe she recognised me. Why did she keep on calling me
'Jane'?
JULIA. She took you for poor Aunt Jane, I fancy.
LAURA (infuriated at being taken for anyone 'poor').
Why should she do that, pray?