temper. But once she told me she left it here with _you_.

(_The fierce eye and the accusing tone make no impression on that
cushioned fortress of gentility. With suave dignity Miss Robinson makes
chaste denial._)

JULIA. No.

LAURA (_insistent)._ Yes; in a box.

JULIA. In a box? Oh, she may have left anything in a box.

LAURA. It was that box she always travelled about with and never opened.
Well, I looked in it once (never mind how), and the tea-pot wasn't there.

JULIA (_gently, making allowance_). Well, I _didn't_ look in it,
Laura.

(_Like a water-lily folding its petals she adjusts a small shawl about
her shoulders, and sinks composedly into her chair_.)

LAURA. The more fool you!... But all the other things she had of our
Mother's _were_ there: a perfect magpie's nest! And she, living in
her boxes, and never settling anywhere. What did she want with them?

JULIA. I can't say, Laura.

LAURA. No--no more can I; no more can anyone! Martha has got the miser
spirit. She's as grasping as a caterpillar. _I_ ought to have had
that tea-pot.