LAURA (_warningly, as she sits down again and prepares for
narrative_). Not _quite_, Julia. (_She leans forward, and speaks
with measured emphasis_) Martha's temper has got very queer! She never
had a very good temper, as you know: and it's grown on her.

(_A pause. Julia remains silent_)

I could tell you some things; but--(_Seeing herself unencouraged)_
oh, you'll find out soon enough! (_Then, to stand right with
herself_) Julia, _am_ I difficult to get on with?

JULIA. Oh well, we all have our little ways, Laura.

LAURA. But Martha: she's so rude! I can't introduce her to people! If
anyone comes, she just runs away.

JULIA (_changing the subject_). D'you remember, Laura, that charming
young girl we met at Mrs. Somervale's, the summer Uncle Fletcher stayed
with us?

LAURA (_snubbingly_). I can't say I do.

JULIA. I met her the other day: married, and with three children--and just
as pretty and young-looking as ever.

(_All this is said with the most ravishing air, but Laura is not to be
diverted_.)

LAURA. Ah! I daresay. When Martha behaves like that, I hold my tongue and
say nothing. But what people must think, I don't know. Julia, when you