JULIA (_deprecatingly_). Oh, Laura!

LAURA. But, Julia, it's very awkward, not to know where one's own father
is. Don't people ever ask?

JULIA. Never, I'm thankful to say.

LAURA. Why not?

JULIA. Perhaps _they_ know better.

LAURA (_after a pause_). I'm afraid he didn't lead a good life.

MARTHA. Oh, why can't you let the thing be? If you don't remember him, I
do. I was fond of him. He was always very kind to us as children; and if
he did run away with the governess it was a good riddance--so far as she
was concerned. We hated her.

LAURA. I wonder whether they are together still. You haven't inquired
after _her_, I suppose?

JULIA (_luxuriating in her weariness_). I--have--_not_, Laura!

LAURA. Don't you think it's our solemn duty to inquire? I shall ask our
Mother.

JULIA. I hope you will do nothing of the sort.

LAURA. But we ought to know: otherwise we don't know how to think of him,
whether with mercy and pardon for his sins, or with reprobation.