LAURA. Lor', Julia! Suppose he should be----
JULIA (_deprecatingly_). Oh, Laura!
LAURA. But, Julia, it's very awkward, not to know where one's own father
is. Don't people ever ask?
JULIA. Never, I'm thankful to say.
LAURA. Why not?
JULIA. Perhaps _they_ know better.
LAURA (_after a pause_). I'm afraid he didn't lead a good life.
MARTHA. Oh, why can't you let the thing be? If you don't remember him, I
do. I was fond of him. He was always very kind to us as children; and if
he did run away with the governess it was a good riddance--so far as she
was concerned. We hated her.
LAURA. I wonder whether they are together still. You haven't inquired
after _her_, I suppose?
JULIA (_luxuriating in her weariness_). I--have--_not_, Laura!
LAURA. Don't you think it's our solemn duty to inquire? I shall ask our
Mother.
JULIA. I hope you will do nothing of the sort.
LAURA. But we ought to know: otherwise we don't know how to think of him,
whether with mercy and pardon for his sins, or with reprobation.
MARTHA (_angrily_). Why need you think? Why can't you leave him
alone?
LAURA. An immortal soul, Martha. It's no good leaving him alone: that
won't alter facts.
JULIA. I don't think this is quite a nice subject for discussion.
LAURA. Nice? Was it ever intended to be nice? Eternal punishment wasn't
provided as a consolation prize for anybody, so far as I know.
MARTHA. I think it's very horrible--for us to be sitting here--by the
fire, and--(_But theology is not Martha's strong point_).
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