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. Anyone else?
WILLIAM. Off and on I have friends staying.
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