I could tell you some things; but—(Seeing herself unencouraged) oh, you'll find out soon enough! (Then, to stand right with herself) Julia, am I difficult to get on with?
JULIA. Oh well, we all have our little ways, Laura.
LAURA. But Martha: she's so rude! I can't introduce her to people! If anyone comes, she just runs away.
JULIA (changing the subject). D'you remember, Laura, that charming young girl we met at Mrs. Somervale's, the summer Uncle Fletcher stayed with us?
LAURA (snubbingly). I can't say I do.
JULIA. I met her the other day: married, and with three children—and just as pretty and young-looking as ever.
(All this is said with the most ravishing air, but Laura is not to be diverted.)
LAURA. Ah! I daresay. When Martha behaves like that, I hold my tongue and say nothing. But what people must think, I don't know. Julia, when you first came here, did you find old friends and acquaintances? Did anybody recognise you?
JULIA. A few called on me: nobody I didn't wish to see.
LAURA. Is that odious man who used to be our next-door neighbour—the one who played on the 'cello—here still?