DORA _comes back to the front door, looks back, and beckons. She is followed by_ DAN, _who saunters past her into the room. He is a young fellow wearing a blue pill-box hat, uniform trousers, a jacket too small for him, and bicycle-clips: the stub of a cigarette dangles between his lips. He speaks with a rough accent, indeterminate, but more Welsh than anything else. His personality varies very considerably as the play proceeds: the impression he gives at the moment is one of totally disarming good humour and childlike unself-consciousness. It would need a very close observer to suspect that there is something wrong somewhere--that this personality is completely assumed._ DORA _shuts the front door and comes to the back of the sofa._ MRS. BRAMSON (_sternly_): Well? DAN (_saluting_): Mornin', all! MRS. BRAMSON: So you're Baby-face? DAN: That's me. (_Grinning._) Silly name, isn't it? (_After a pause._) I must apologise to all and sundry for this fancy dress, but it's my working togs. I been on duty this mornin', and my hands isn't very clean. You see, I didn't know as it was going to be a party. MRS. BRAMSON: Party? DAN (_looking at_ OLIVIA): Well, it's ladies, isn't it? HUBERT: Are you shy with ladies? DAN (_smiling at_ OLIVIA): Oh, yes. OLIVIA _moves away coldly._ DAN _turns to_ MRS. BRAMSON. MRS. BRAMSON (_cutting_): You smoke, I see. DAN: Yes. (_Taking the stub out of his mouth with alacrity and taking off his hat_) Oh, I'm sorry. I always forget my manners with a cigarette when I'm in company.... (_Pushing the stub behind his ear, as_ OLIVIA _crosses to the armchair_) I always been clumsy in people's houses. I am sorry. MRS. BRAMSON: You know my maid, Dora Parkoe, I believe? DAN: Well, we have met, yes ... (_with a grin at_ DORA). MRS. BRAMSON (_to_ DORA): Go away! DORA _creeps back into the kitchen_. You walked out with her last August Bank Holiday? DAN: Yes.... Excuse me smiling, but it sounds funny when you put it like that, doesn't it? MRS. BRAMSON: You ought to be ashamed of yourself. DAN (_soberly_): Oh, I am. MRS. BRAMSON: How did it happen? DAN (_embarrassed_): Well ... we went ... did _you_ have a nice bank holiday? MRS. BRAMSON: Answer my question! HUBERT: Were you in love with the wench? DAN: Oh, yes! MRS. BRAMSON (_triumphantly_): When did you first meet her? DAN: Er--bank holiday morning. MRS. BRAMSON: Picked her up, I suppose? DAN: Oh, no, I didn't pick her up! I asked her for a match, and then I took her for a bit of a walk, to take her mind off her work-- HUBERT: You seem to have succeeded. DAN (_smiling at him, then catching_ MRS. BRAMSON's _eye_): I've thought about it a good bit since, I can tell you. Though it's a bit awkward talking about it in front of strangers; though you all look very nice people; but it is a _bit_ awkward-- HUBERT: I should jolly well think it is awkward for a chap! Though of course, never having been in the same jam myself--