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_.