HUBERT: But you _could_, if you married me! Now, look here---- (_Going to her_) You said you'd tell me to-day. So here I am--er-- popping the question again. There's nothing much to add, except to go over the old ground again, and say that I'm not what you'd call a terribly brainy chap, but I am straight. OLIVIA: Yes, I know. HUBERT: Though, again, I'm not the sort that gets into corners with a pipe and never opens his mouth from one blessed year's end to the other. I can talk. OLIVIA: Yes, you can. HUBERT: An all-round chap, really--that's me. OLIVIA: Yes. HUBERT: Well? OLIVIA: I'm sorry, Hubert, but I can't. HUBERT: You can't? But you told me that day we might make a go of it, or words to that effect---- OLIVIA: I've thought it over since then, and I'm afraid I can't. _A pause._ HUBERT: What's changed you? OLIVIA: Nothing's changed me, Hubert. I've just thought the matter over, that's all. _A pause. He crosses towards the fireplace._ HUBERT: Is it another man? OLIVIA (_startled_): Don't be silly. (_Collecting herself_) What man could I possibly meet, cooped up here? HUBERT: Sorry. Can't be helped. Sorry. DAN (_in the garden_): There we are.--Nice outing, eh-- OLIVIA: So am I. _The front door opens and_ DAN _wheels in_ MRS. BRAMSON. _He is as serene as ever, but more animated than before. He is dressed the same as in the previous scene, and is smoking his usual cigarette._ HUBERT _sits at the table._ DAN (_hanging up her rug in the hall_): Back home again.--I put your gloves away---- MRS. BRAMSON (_as he wheels her in_): I feel dead. (_To_ HUBERT) Oh, it's you.... I feel dead. DAN (_sitting beside her on the sofa, full of high spirits_): Don't you be a silly old 'oman, you look as pretty as a picture-- strawberries and cream in your face, and not a day over forty; and when I've made you a nice cup of tea you'll be twenty-five in the sun and eighteen with your back to the light, so you think yourself lucky! MRS. BRAMSON (_as he digs her in the side_): Oh, Danny, you are a terror! (_To the others_) He's been at me like this all the way. I must say it keeps me alive. DAN (_as she hands him her hat and cape_): But you feel dead. I get you. MRS. BRAMSON (_kittenish_): Oh, you caution! You'll be the death of me! DAN (_wagging his finger at her_): Ah-ha! (_Hanging up her things in the hall_) Now what'd you like a drop of in your tea--gin, whisky, liqueur, brandy, or a nice dollop of sailor's rum, eh? MRS. BRAMSON: Just listen to him! Now don't make me laugh, dear, because there's always my heart. DAN (_sitting beside her again_): You've lost your heart, you know you have, to the little feller that pushes your pram--you know you have! MRS. BRAMSON (_laughing shrilly_): Pram! Well! (_Her laugh cut short_) It's wicked to laugh, with this--this thing all round us.