my fingers in my ears, and ran away.

    laura. Why do you think it was a railway accident?

    martha. Because I was in a railway carriage. I was coming to your funeral. If you'd told me you were ill I'd have come before. I was bringing you a wreath. And then, as I tell you, there was a crash and a shout; and that's all I know about it.

    laura. Lor', Martha! I suppose they'll have an inquest on you.

    martha (stung). I think they'd better mind their own business, and you mind yours!

    julia. Laura! Here we don't talk about such things. They don't concern us. Would you like tea, Martha, or will you wait for supper?

    martha (who has shaken her head at the offer of tea, and nodded a preference for supper). You know how I've always dreaded death.

    julia. Oh, don't, my dear Martha! It's past.

    martha. Yes; but it's upset me. The relief, that's what I can't get over: the relief!

    julia. Presently you will be more used to it.

(She helps her off with her cloak.)

    martha. There were people sitting to right and to left of me and opposite; and suddenly a sort of crash of darkness seemed to come all over me, and I saw nothing more. I didn't feel anything: only a sort of a jar here.

(She indicates the back of her neck. Julia finds these anatomical details painful, and holds her hands deprecatingly; but Laura has no such qualms. She is now undoing the parcel which, she considers, is hers.)

    laura. I daresay it was only somebody's box from the luggage-rack. I've known that happen. I don't suppose for a minute that it was a railway accident.

(She unfurls the tissue paper of the box and takes out the wreath.)

    julia. Why talk about it?

    laura. Anyway, nothing has happened to these. 'With fondest love from Martha.' H'm. Pretty!

    julia. Martha, would you like to go upstairs with your things? And you, Laura?

    martha. I will presently, when I've got warm.

    laura. Not yet. Martha, why was I put into that odious shaped coffin? More like a canoe than anything. I said it was to be straight.

    martha. I'd nothing to do with it, Laura. I wasn't there. You know I wasn't.

    laura. If you'd come when I asked you, you could have seen to it.

    martha. You didn't tell me you were dying.

    laura. Do people tell each other when they are dying? They don't know. I told you I wasn't well.

    martha. You always told me that, just when I'd settled down somewhere else. . . . Of course I'd have come if I'd known! (testily).

    julia. Oh, surely we needn't go into these matters now! Isn't it better to accept things?

    laura. I like to have my wishes attended to. What was going to be done about the furniture? (This to Martha.) You know, I suppose, that I left it to the two of you—you and Edwin?

    martha. We were going to give it to Bella, to set up house with.

    laura. That's not what I intended. I meant you to keep on the house and live there. Why couldn't you?

    martha (with growing annoyance). Well, that's settled now!

    laura. It wasn't for Arabella. Arabella was never a favourite of mine. Why should Arabella have my furniture?

    martha. Well, you'd better send word, and have it stored up for you till doomsday! Edwin doesn't want it; he's got enough of his own.

    laura (in a sleek, injured voice). Julia, I'm going upstairs to take my things off.

    julia. Very well, Laura.

(And Laura makes her injured exit.)

So you've been with Edwin, and his family?

    martha. Yes. I'm never well there; but I wanted the change.

    julia. You mean, you had been staying with Laura?

    martha. I always go and stay with her, as long as I can—three months, I'm supposed to. But this year—well, I couldn't manage with it.

    julia. Is she so much more difficult than she used to be?

    martha. Of course, I don't know what she's like here.

    julia. Oh, she has been very much herself—poor Laura!

    martha. I know! Julia, I know! And I try to make allowances. All her life she's had her own way with somebody. Poor William! Of course I know he had his faults. But he used to come and say to me: 'Martha, I can't please her.' Well, poor man, he's at peace now, let's hope! Oh, Julia, I've just thought: whatever will poor William do? He's here, I suppose, somewhere?

    julia. Oh yes. He's here, Martha.

    martha. She'll rout him out, depend on it.

    julia. She has routed him out.

    martha (awe-struck). Has she?

    julia (shaking her head wisely). William won't live with her; he knows better.

    martha. Who will live with her, then? She's bound to get hold of somebody.

    julia. Apparently she means to live here.

    martha. Then it's going to be me! I know it's going to be me! When we lived here before, it used to be poor Mamma.

    julia. The dear Mother is quite capable of looking after herself, you'll find. You needn't belong to Laura if you don't like, Martha. I never let her take possession of me.

    martha. She seems never to want to. I don't know how you manage it.

    julia. Oh, we've had our little tussles. But here you will find it much easier. You can vanish.

    martha. What do you mean?

    julia. I mean—vanish. It takes the place of wings. One does it almost without knowing.

    martha. How do you do it?

    julia. You just wish yourself elsewhere; and you come back when you like.

    martha. Have you ever done it?

    julia (with a world of meaning). Not yet.

    martha.