JULIA. Mr. Harper? I see him occasionally. I don't find him odious.
LAURA. Don't you?
JULIA. It was his wife who was the—She isn't here: and I don't think he wants her.
LAURA. Where is she?
JULIA. I didn't ask, Laura.
(Mrs. James gives a jerk of exasperation, but at that moment the bell rings and a low knock is heard.)
JULIA (ecstatically). Here she is!
LAURA. Julia, I wonder how it is Martha survived us. She's much the oldest.
JULIA (pleasantly palpitating). Does it matter? Does it matter?
(The door opens and in comes Martha. She has neither the distinction of look nor the force of character which belongs to her two sisters. Age has given a depression to the plain kindliness of her face, and there is a harassed look about her eyes. She peeps into the room a little anxiously, then enters, carrying a large flat box covered in purple paper which, in her further progress across the room she lays upon the table. She talks in short jerks and has a quick, hurried way of doing things, as if she liked to get through and have done with them. It is the same when she submits herself to the embrace of her relations)