MARTHA.  I haven’t!

LAURA.  Then where is it?

MARTHA.  I don’t know any more than Julia knows.

LAURA.  Then one of you is not telling the truth. ... (Very judicially she begins to examine the two culprits.) Julia, when did you last see it?

JULIA.  On the day, Laura, when we shared things between us.  It became
Martha’s:  and I never saw it again.

LAURA.  Martha, when did you last see it?

MARTHA.  I have not seen it—­for I don’t know how long.

LAURA.  That is no answer to my question.

MARTHA (vindictively). Well, if you want to know, it’s at the bottom of the sea.

LAURA (deliberately). Don’t talk—­nonsense.

MARTHA.  Unless a shark has eaten it.

LAURA.  When I ask a reasonable question, Martha, I expect a reasonable answer.

MARTHA.  I’ve given you a reasonable answer!  And I wish the Judgment Day would come, and the sea give up its dead, and then—­(At the end of her resources, the poor lady begins to gather herself up, so as once for all to have done with it.) Now, I am going downstairs to talk to Hannah.

LAURA.  You will do nothing of the kind, Martha.

MARTHA.  I’m not going to be bullied—­not by you or anyone.

LAURA.  I must request you to wait and hear what I’ve got to say.

MARTHA.  I don’t want to hear it.

LAURA.  Julia, are we not to discuss this matter, pray?

(Julia, who has her eye on Martha, and is quite enjoying this tussle of the two, says nothing)

MARTHA.  You and Julia can discuss it.  I am going downstairs.

(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.

LAURA.  You told her to do it!

JULIA.  She would have soon found out for herself. (Collectedly, she folds up her work and rises.) And now, I think, I will go to my room and wash my hands for supper.

(As she makes her stately move, her ear is attracted by a curious metallic sound repeated at intervals.  Turning about, she perceives, indeed they both perceive, in the centre of the small table, a handsome silver tea-pot which opens and shuts its lid at them, as if trying to speak.)