LAURA. But I want him. I've a right to him. If he didn't mean to belong to me, he ought not to have married me.
JULIA. People make mistakes sometimes.
LAURA. Then they should stick to them. It's not honourable. Julia, I mean to have William!
JULIA (resignedly). You and he must arrange that between you.
LAURA (making a dash for it). William! William, I say! William!
JULIA. Oh, Laura, you'll wake the dead! (She gasps, but it is too late: the hated word is out.)
LAURA (as one who will be obeyed). William!
(The door does not open; but there appears through it the indistinct figure of an elderly gentleman with a weak chin and a shifting eye. He stands irresolute and apprehensive; clearly his presence there is perfunctory. Wearing his hat and carrying a hand-bag, he seems merely to have looked in while passing.)
JULIA. Apparently you are to have your wish. (She waves an introductory hand; Mrs. James turns, and regards the unsatisfactory apparition with suspicion.)
LAURA. William, is that you?