box, apparently.

    laura (returning to her accusation). I thought you had it.

    julia. You were mistaken. Had I had it here, you would have found it.

    laura. Did Martha never tell you what she did with it?

    julia. I never asked, Laura.

    laura. Julia, if you say that again I shall scream.

    julia. Won't you take your things off?

    laura. Presently. When I feel more at home. (Returning to the charge.) But most of our Mother's things are here.

    julia. Your share and mine.

    laura. How did you get mine here?

    julia. You brought them. At least, they came, a little before you did. Then I knew you were on your way.

    laura (impressed). Lor'! So that's how things happen?

(She goes and begins to take a look round, and Julia takes up her crochet again. As she does so her eye is arrested by a little old-fashioned hour-glass standing upon the table from which the tea-tray has been taken, the sands of which are still running.)

    julia (softly, almost to herself). Oh, but how strange! That was Martha's. Is Martha coming too? (She picks up the glass, looks at it, and sets it down again.)

    laura (who is examining the china on a side-table). Why, I declare, Julia! Here is your Dresden that was broken—without a crack in it!

    julia. No, Laura, it was yours that was broken.

    laura. It was not mine; it was yours. . . . Don't you remember I broke it?

    julia. When you broke it you said it was mine. Until you broke it, you said it was yours.

    laura. Very well, then: as you wish. It isn't broken now, and it's mine.

    julia. That's satisfactory. I get my own back again. It's the better one.

(Enter Hannah with a telegram on a salver.)

    hannah (in a low voice of mystery). A telegram, Ma'am.

(Julia opens it. The contents evidently startle her, but she retains her presence of mind.)

    julia. No answer.

(Exit Hannah.)

    julia. Laura, Martha is coming!

    laura. Here? Well, I wonder how she has managed that!

(Her sister hands her the telegram, which she reads.)

'Accident. Quite safe. Arriving by the 6.30.' Why, it's after that now!

    julia (sentimentally). Oh, Laura, only think! So now we shall be all together again.

    laura. Yes, I suppose we shall.

    julia. It will be quite like old days.

    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 first came here, did you find old friends and acquaintances? Did anybody recognise you?

    julia. A few called on me: nobody I didn't wish to see.

    laura. Is that odious man who used to be our next-door neighbour—the one who played on the 'cello—here still?

    julia. Mr. Harper? I see him occasionally. I don't find him odious.

    laura. Don't you?

    julia. It was his wife who was the—— She isn't here: and I don't think he wants her.

    laura. Where is she?

    julia. I didn't ask, Laura.

(Mrs. James gives a jerk of exasperation, but at that moment the bell rings and a low knock is heard.)

    julia (ecstatically). Here she is!

    laura. Julia, I wonder how it is Martha survived us. She's much the oldest.

    julia (pleasantly palpitating). Does it matter? Does it matter?

(The door opens and in comes Martha. She has neither the distinction of look nor the force of character which belongs to her two sisters. Age has given a depression to the plain kindliness of her face, and there is a harassed look about her eyes. She peeps into the room a little anxiously, then enters, carrying a large flat box covered in purple paper which, in her further progress across the room she lays upon the table. She talks in short jerks and has a quick, hurried way of doing things, as if she liked to get through and have done with them. It is the same when she submits herself to the embrace of her relations.)

    laura. Oh, so you've come at last. Quite time, too!

    martha. Yes, here I am.

    julia. My dear Martha, welcome to your old home! (Embracing her.) How are you?

    martha. I'm cold. Well, Laura.

(Between these two the embrace is less cordial, but it takes place.)

    laura. How did you come?

    martha. I don't know.

    julia (seeing harassment in her sister's eye). Arrived safely, at any rate.

    martha. I think I was in a railway accident, but I can't be sure. I only heard the crash and people shouting. I didn't wait to see. I just put