LAURA. William, is that you?

WILLIAM (_nervously_). Yes, my dear; it's me.

LAURA. Can't you be more distinct than that?

WILLIAM. Why do you want me?

LAURA. Have you forgotten I'm your wife?

WILLIAM. I thought you were my widow, my dear.

LAURA. William, don't prevaricate. I am your wife, and you know it.

WILLIAM. Does a wife wear widow's weeds? A widow is such a distant
relation: no wonder I look indistinct.

LAURA. How did I know whether I was going to find you here?

WILLIAM. Where else? But you look very nice as you are, my dear. Black
suits you.

(_But Mrs. James is not to be turned off by compliments._)

LAURA. William, who are you living with?

WILLIAM. With myself, my dear.

LAURA. Anyone else?