I can just remember her. MRS. BRAMSON: Oh? DAN: She died when I was six. I know that, because my dad died two years before that. MRS. BRAMSON (_vaguely_): Oh. DAN (_studying her_): As a matter o' fact-- MRS. BRAMSON: Yes? DAN: Oh, no, it's a daft thing-- MRS. BRAMSON (_the old tart note creeping back_): Come along now! Out with it! DAN: It's only fancy, I suppose ... but ... you remind me a bit of her. MRS. BRAMSON: Of your mother? (_As he nods simply, her sentimentality stirring_) Oh ... DAN: Have you got a son? MRS. BRAMSON (_self-pityingly_): I haven't anybody at all. DAN: Oh ... But I don't like to talk too much about my mother. (_Putting a finger unobtrusively to his eye_) Makes me feel ... sort of sad ... (_With a sudden thought_) She had the same eyes very wide apart as you, and--and the same very good hands. MRS. BRAMSON (_looking interestedly at her fingers_): Oh?... And the same palpitations? DAN: And the same palpitations. You don't mind me talking about your health, do you? MRS. BRAMSON: No. DAN: Well, d'you know, you ought to get used to letting _other_ people do things for you. MRS. BRAMSON (_a great truth dawning on her_): Yes! DAN: You ought to be very careful. MRS. BRAMSON: Yes! (_After a pause, eyeing him as he smiles at her_) You're a funny boy to be a page-boy. DAN (_shyly_): D'you think so? MRS. BRAMSON: Well, now I come to talk to you, you seem so much better class--I mean, you know so much of the world-- DAN: I've knocked about a good bit, you know. Never had any advantages, but I always tried to do the right thing. MRS. BRAMSON (_patronisingly_): I think you deserve better-- (_sharply again_) Talking of the right thing, what about Dora? DAN (_disarming_): Oh, I know I'm to blame; I'm not much of a chap, but I'd put things straight like a shot if I had any money ... But, you see, I work at the Tallboys, get thirty bob a week, with tips--but listen to me botherin' you with my worries and rubbish the state you're in ... well! MRS. BRAMSON: No, I can stand it. OLIVIA _comes back from the sun-room_. (_Pursing her lips, reflectively_) I've taken a liking to you. DAN: Well ... (_looking round at OLIVIA_) That's very kind of you, Mrs. Bramson ... MRS. BRAMSON: It's the way you talked about your mother. That's what it was. DAN: Was it? OLIVIA (_at the left window_): Shall I pack these books? DAN (_going to her with alacrity, taking the parcel from her_): I'll post them for you. OLIVIA: Oh ... DAN: I'm passing Shepperley post office on the bike before post time to-morrow morning. With pleasure! MRS. BRAMSON: Have you got to go back? DAN: Now? Well, no, not really ... I've finished on duty now I done that errand, and this is my half day. MRS. BRAMSON (_imperiously_): Stay to lunch. DAN (_apparently taken aback, after a look at_ OLIVIA): Well--I don't like to impose myself-- MRS. BRAMSON: In the kitchen, of course. DAN: Oh, I know-- MRS. BRAMSON: There's plenty of food! Stay to lunch!