LAURA. That reminds me. Where is our Mother?
JULIA. She comes--sometimes.
LAURA. Why isn't she here always?
JULIA (_with pained sweetness_). I don't know, Laura. I never ask
questions.
LAURA. Really, Julia, I shall be afraid to open my mouth presently!
JULIA (_long-suffering still_). When you see her you will understand.
I told her you were coming, so I daresay she will look in.
LAURA. 'Look in'!
JULIA. Perhaps. That is her chair, you remember. She always sits there,
still.
(ENTER _Hannah with the coal_.)
Just a little on, please, Hannah--only a little.
LAURA. This isn't China tea: it's Indian, three and sixpenny.
JULIA. Mine is ten shilling China.
LAURA. Lor', Julia! How are you able to afford it?
JULIA. A little imagination goes a long way here, you'll find. Once I
tasted it. So now I can always taste it.
LAURA. Well! I wish I'd known.
JULIA. Now you _do_.
LAURA. But I never tasted tea at more than three-and-six. Had I known, I
could have got two ounces of the very best, and had it when----
JULIA. A lost opportunity. Life is full of them.
LAURA. Then you mean to tell me that if I had indulged more then, I could
indulge more now?
JULIA. Undoubtedly. As I never knew what it was to wear sables, I have to
be content with ermine.
LAURA. Lor', Julia, how paltry!
(_While this conversation has been going on, a gentle old lady has
appeared upon the scene, unnoticed and unannounced.
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