LAURA.  What?  Come back, has she?

JULIA.  I found her here when I came, seven years ago.  I didn’t ask questions.  Here she is.

(Enter Hannah with the tea-tray.)

LAURA (with a sort of grim jocosity).  How d’ye do, Hannah?

HANNAH.  Nicely, thank you, Ma’am.  How are you, Ma’am?

(Hannah, as she puts down the tray, is prepared to have her hand shaken:  for it is a long time (thirty years or so in earthly measure) since they met.  But Mrs. James is not so cordial as all that.)

LAURA.  I’m very tired.

JULIA.  You’ve come a long way.
(But Laura’s sharp attention has gone elsewhere.)

LAURA.  Hannah, what have you got my best tray for?  You know that is not to be used every day.

JULIA.  It’s all right, Laura.  You don’t understand.

LAURA.  What don’t I understand?

JULIA.  Here one always uses the best.  Nothing wears out or gets broken.

LAURA.  Then where’s the pleasure of it?  If one always uses them and they never break—­’best’ means nothing!

JULIA.  It is a little puzzling at first.  You must be patient.

LAURA.  I’m not a child, Julia.

JULIA (beautifully ignoring).  A little more coal, please, Hannah. (Then to her sister as she pours out the tea.) And how did you leave everybody?

LAURA.  Oh, pretty much as usual.  Most of them having colds.  That’s how I got mine.  Mrs. Hilliard came to call and left it behind her.  I went out with it in an east wind and that finished me.

JULIA.  Oh, but how provoking! (She wishes to be sympathetic; but this is a line of conversation she instinctively avoids!)

LAURA. No, Julia! ... (This, delivered with force, arrests the criminal intention.) No sugar.  To think of your forgetting that!

JULIA (most sweetly).  Milk?

LAURA.  Yes, you know I take milk.

(Crossing over, but sitting away from the tea-table, she lets her sister wait on her.)

JULIA.  Did Martha send me any message?

LAURA.  How could she?  She didn’t know I was coming.

JULIA.  Was it so sudden?

LAURA.  I sent for her and she didn’t come.  Think of that!

JULIA.  Oh!  She would be sorry.  Tea-cake?

LAURA (taking the tea-cake that is offered her).  I’m not so sure.  She was nursing Edwin’s boy through the measles, so of course I didn’t count. (Nosing suspiciously.) Is this China tea?

JULIA.  If you like to think it.  You have as you choose.  How is our brother, Edwin?

LAURA.  His wife’s more trying than ever.  Julia, what a fool that woman is!

JULIA.  Well, let’s hope he doesn’t know it.

LAURA.  He must know.  I’ve told him.  She sent a wreath to my funeral, ’With love and fond affection, from Emily.’  Fond fiddlesticks!  Humbug!  She knows I can’t abide her.