LAURA. Mother! Where are you living now?
MRS. R. I'm living, my dear.
LAURA. I said 'where?'
JULIA. We live where it suits us, Laura.
LAURA. Julia, I wasn't addressing myself to you. Mother, where are you living? . . . Why, where has she gone to?
(For now we perceive that this gentle Old Lady so devious in her conversation has a power of self-possession, of which, very retiringly, she avails herself.)
JULIA (improving the occasion, as she hands back the cup, with that touch of superiority so exasperating to a near relative). Now you see! If you press her too much, she goes. . . . You'll have to accommodate yourself, Laura.
LAURA (imposing her own explanation). I think you gave me green tea, Julia . . . or have had it yourself.
JULIA (knowing better). The dear Mother seldom stays long, except when she finds me alo