I fancy.

    laura (infuriated at being taken for anyone 'poor'). Why should she do that, pray?

    julia. Well, there always was a likeness, you know; and you are older than you were, Laura.

    laura (crushingly). Does 'poor Aunt Jane' wear widow's weeds? (This reminds her not only of her own condition, but of other things as well. She sits up and takes a stiller bigger bite into her new world.) Julia! . . . Where's William?

    julia. I haven't inquired.

    laura (self-importance and a sense of duty consuming her). I wish to see him.

    julia. Better not, as it didn't occur to you before.

    laura. Am I not to see my own husband, pray?

    julia. He didn't ever live here, you know.

    laura. He can come, I suppose. He has got legs like the rest of us.

    julia. Yes, but one can't force people: at least, not here. You should remember that—before he married you—he had other ties.

(Mrs. James preserves her self-possession, but there is battle in her eye.)

    laura. He was married to me longer than he was to Isabel.

    julia. They had children.

    laura. I could have had children if I chose. I didn't choose. . . . Julia, how am I to see him?

    julia (washing her hands of it). You must manage for yourself, Laura.

    laura. I'm puzzled! Here are we in the next world just as we expected, and where are all the—? I mean, oughtn't we to be seeing a great many more things than we do?

    julia. What sort of things?

    laura. Well, . . . have you seen Moses and the Prophets?

    julia. I haven't looked for them, Laura. On Sundays, I still go to hear Mr. Moore.

    laura. That's you all over! You never would go to the celebrated preachers. But I mean to. (Pious curiosity awakens.) What happens here, on Sundays?

    julia (smiling). Oh, just the same.

    laura. No High Church ways, I hope? If they go in for that here, I shall go out!

    julia (patiently explanatory). You will go out if you wish to go out. You can choose your church. As I tell you, I always go to hear Mr. Moore; you can go and hear Canon Farrar.

    laura. Dean Farrar, I suppose you mean.

    julia. He was not Dean in my day.

    laura. He ought to have been a Bishop—Archbishop, I think—so learned, and such a magnificent preacher. But I still wonder why we don't see Moses and the Prophets.

    julia. Well, Laura, it's the world as we knew it—that for the present. No doubt other things will come in time, gradually. But I don't know: I don't ask questions.

    laura (doubtfully). I suppose it is Heaven, in a way, though?

    julia. Dispensation has its own ways, Laura; and we have ours.

    laura (who is not going to be theologically dictated to by anyone lower than Dean Farrar). Julia, I shall start washing the old china again.

    julia. As you like; nothing ever gets soiled here.

    laura. It's all very puzzling. The world seems cut in half. Things don't seem real.

    julia. More real, I should say. We have them—as we wish them to be.

    laura. Then why can't we have our Mother, like other things?

    julia. Ah, with persons it is different. We all belong to ourselves now. That one has to accept.

    laura (stubbornly). Does William belong to himself?

    julia. I suppose.

    laura. It isn't Scriptural!

    julia. It's better.

    laura. Julia, don't be blasphemous!

    julia. To consult William's wishes, I meant.

    laura. But I want him. I've a right to him. If he didn't mean to belong to me, he ought not to have married me.

    julia. People make mistakes sometimes.

    laura. Then they should stick to them. It's not honourable. Julia, I mean to have William!

    julia (resignedly). You and he must arrange that between you.

    laura (making a dash for it). William! William, I say! William!

    julia. Oh, Laura, you'll wake the dead! (She gasps, but it is too late: the hated word is out.)

    laura (as one who will be obeyed). William!

(The door does not open; but there appears through it the indistinct figure of an elderly gentleman with a weak chin and a shifting eye. He stands irresolute and apprehensive; clearly his presence there is perfunctory. Wearing his hat and carrying a hand-bag, he seems merely to have looked in while passing.)

    julia. Apparently you are to have your wish. (She waves an introductory hand; Mrs. James turns, and regards the unsatisfactory apparition with suspicion.)

    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.