MRS. TERENCE: The butcher wants paying. And 'e says there's men ferreting at the bottom of the garden looking for that Mrs. Chalfont and do you know about it.

MRS. BRAMSON (_furious_): Well, they won't ferret long, not among my pampas grass!... (_Calling_) Olivia!... Oh, that girl's never there. (_Wheeling herself furiously towards the kitchen as_ MRS. TERENCE _makes a move to help her_) Leave me alone. I don't want to be pushed into the nettles to-day, thank you ... (_Shouting loudly as she disappears into the kitchen_) Come out of my garden, you! Come out!

MRS. TERENCE (_looking towards the kitchen as_ DAN _takes the stub from behind his ear and lights it_): Won't let me pay the butcher, so I won't know where she keeps 'er purse; but I do know, so put that in your pipe and smoke it!

DAN (_going to her and jabbing her playfully in the arm_): They say down at the Tallboys she's got enough inside of 'er purse, too. MRS. TERENCE: Well, nobody's seen it open. If you 'ave a peep inside, young fellow, you'll go down in 'istory, that's what you'll do ... (_Dan salutes her. She sniffs_) Something's boiling over.

_She rushes back into the kitchen as_ OLIVIA _comes back from the sun-room_.

OLIVIA: Did Mrs. Bramson call me, do you know?

_A pause. He surveys her from under drooping lids, rolling his cigarette on his lower lip_.

DAN: I'm sorry, I don't know your name.

OLIVIA: Oh....

_She senses his insolence, goes self-consciously to the desk and takes out the wool_.

DAN: Not much doin' round here for a girl, is there?

_No answer_.

It is not a very entertaining quarter of the world for a young lady, is it?

_He gives it up as a bad job_. DORA _comes in from the kitchen_.

DORA (_eagerly_): What did she ... (_confused, seeing_ OLIVIA) Oh, beg pardon, miss....

_She hurries back into the kitchen_. DAN _jerks head after her with a laugh and looks at_ OLIVIA.

OLIVIA (_arranging wool at the table_): I'm not a snob, but, in case you ever call here again, I'd like to point out that though I'm employed by my aunt, I'm not quite in Dora's position.

DAN: Oh, I hope not ... (_She turns away, confused. He moves to her._) Though I'll be putting it all right for Dora. I'm going to marry her. And--

OLIVIA (_coldly_): I don't believe you.

DAN (_after a pause_): You don't like me, do you?

OLIVIA: No.

DAN (_with a smile_): Well, everybody else does!

OLIVIA (_absorbed in her wool-sorting_): Your eyes are set quite wide apart, your hands are quite good ... I don't really know what's wrong with you.

DAN _looks at his outspread hands. A pause. He breaks it, and goes nearer to her_.

DAN (_persuasively_): You know, I've been looking at you too. You're lonely, aren't you? I could see--

OLIVIA: I'm sorry, it's a waste of time doing your stuff with me. I'm not the type. (_Crossing to the desk and turning suddenly to him_) Are you playing up to Mrs. Bramson?

DAN: Playin' up?

OLIVIA: It crossed my mind for a minute. You stand a pretty poor chance there, you know.

DAN (_after a pause, smiling_): What d'you bet me?

OLIVIA _turns from him, annoyed, and puts the wool away_.

MRS. BRAMSON _careers in from the kitchen in her chair_.

MRS. BRAMSON: They say they've got permits to look for that silly woman--who are _they_, I'd like to know? If there's anything I hate, it's these men who think they've got authority.

OLIVIA: I don't think they're quite as bad as men who think they've got charm.

_She goes back into the sun-room_. DAN _whistles_.

MRS. BRAMSON: What did she mean by that?

DAN: Well, it's no good her thinkin' _she's_ got any, is it?

MRS. BRAMSON (_sternly_). Now, young man, what about Dora? I--

DAN: Wait a minute ... (_Putting his hat on the table and going to her_) Are you sure you're comfortable like that? Don't you think, Mrs. Bramson, you ought to be facin' ... a wee bit more this side, towards the sun more, eh? (_He moves her chair round till she is in the centre of the room, facing the sun-room_) You're looking pale, you know. (_As she stares at him, putting the stub in an ashtray on the table_) I am sorry. Excuse rudeness ... Another thing, Mrs. Bramson--you don't mind me sayin' it, do you?--but you ought to have a rug, you know. This October weather's very treacherous.

MRS. BRAMSON (_blinking_): Pale? Did you say pale?

DAN: Washed out. (_His wiles fully turned on, but not overdone in the slightest_) The minute I saw you just now, I said to myself, now there's a lady that's got a lot to contend with.

MRS. BRAMSON: Oh ... Well, I have. Nobody knows it better than me.

DAN: No, I'm sure ... Oh, it must be terrible to watch everybody else striding up and down enjoying everything, and to see everybody tasting the fruit--

_As she looks at him, appreciation of what he is saying grows visibly in her face_.

I'm sorry ... (_Diffidently_) I didn't ha' ought to say that.

MRS. BRAMSON: But it's true! As true as you are my witness, and nobody else--(_Pulling herself together_) Now look here, about that girl--

DAN: Excuse me a minute.... (_Examining her throat, like a doctor_) Would you mind sayin' something?

MRS. BRAMSON (_taken aback_): What d'you want me to say?

DAN: Yes ...

MRS. BRAMSON: Yes. What?

DAN: There's a funny twitching in your neck when you talk--very slight, of course--nerves, I expect--But I hope your doctor knows all about it ... D'you mind if I ask what your ailments are?

MRS. BRAMSON: ... Hadn't you better sit down?

DAN (_sitting_): Thank you.

MRS. BRAMSON: Well, I have the most terrible palpitations. I--

DAN: Palpitations! (_Whistling_.) But the way you get about!

MRS. BRAMSON: Oh?

DAN: It's a pretty bad thing to have, you know. D'you know that nine women out of ten in your position'd be just sittin' down givin' way?

MRS. BRAMSON: Would they?