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?
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.