It is to Miss Julia Robinson's credit--and she herself places
it there emphatically--that she always treats servants humanly, though at
a distance. And when she now speaks she confers her slight remark just a
little as though it were a favour_.
JULIA. How the days are drawing out, Hannah.
HANNAH. Yes, Ma'am; nicely, aren't they?
(_For Hannah, being old-established, may say a thing or two not in the
strict order. In fact, it may be said that, up to a well-understood point,
character is encouraged in her, and is allowed to peep through in her
remarks_.)
JULIA. What time is it?
HANNAH (_looking with better eyes than her mistress at the large ormolu
clock which records eternally the time of the great Exhibition_).
Almost a quarter to six, Ma'am.
JULIA. So late? She ought to have been here long ago.
HANNAH. Who, Ma'am, did you say, Ma'am?
JULIA. My sister, Mrs. James. You remember?
HANNAH. What, Miss Martha, Ma'am? Well!
JULIA. No, it's Miss Laura this time: you didn't know she had married, I
suppose?
HANNAH (_with a world of meaning, well under control_). No, Ma'am.
(_A pause_.) I made up the bed in the red room; was that right,
Ma'am?
JULIA (_archly surprised_). What? Then you knew someone was coming?
Why did you pretend, Hannah?
HANNAH. Well, Ma'am, you see, you hadn't _told_ me before.
JULIA. I couldn't. One cannot always be sure. (_This mysteriously_.)
But something tells me now that she is to be with us.
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