(Mrs. James crosses the room, locks the door, and, standing mistress of all she surveys, inquires with grim humour.)
laura. And where are you going to be, Julia?
julia. I am where I am, Laura. I'm not going out of the window, or up the chimney, if that's what you mean.
(She continues gracefully to do her crochet.)
laura. Now, Martha, if you please.
martha (goaded into victory). I'm sorry, Julia. You'd better explain. I'm going downstairs.
(Suiting the action to the word, she commits herself doggedly to the experiment, descending bluntly and without grace through the carpet into the room below. Mrs. James stands stupent.)
laura. Martha! . . . Am I to be defied in this way?
julia. You brought it on yourself, Laura.
