JULIA. Well, there always was a likeness, you know; and you are older than you were, Laura.
LAURA (crushingly). Does 'poor Aunt Jane' wear widow's weeds? (This reminds her not only of her own condition, but of other things as well. She sits up and takes a stiller bigger bite into her new world.) Julia!… Where's William?
JULIA. I haven't inquired.
LAURA (self-importance and a sense of duty consuming her.) I wish to see him.
JULIA. Better not, as it didn't occur to you before.
LAURA. Am I not to see my own husband, pray?
JULIA. He didn't ever live here, you know.
LAURA. He can come, I suppose. He has got legs like the rest of us.
JULIA. Yes, but one can't force people: at least, not here. You should remember that—before he married you—he had other ties.
(Mrs. James preserves her self-possession, but there is battle in her eye.)