HUBERT: Oh, yes, Shakespeare.... Never knew you did a spot of rhyming,
Olivia! Now that's what I mean about you.... We'll have to start
calling you Elizabeth Bronte!

_She turns away. He studies her_.

You _are_ bored, aren't you?

_He walks to the sun-room. She rouses herself and turns to him
impetuously_.

OLIVIA: I'm being silly, I know--of course I _ought_ to get
married, and _of course_ this is a wonderful chance, and--HUBERT
(_moving to her_): Good egg! Then you will? OLIVIA (_stalling_):
Give me a--another week or two--will you?

HUBERT: Oh. My holiday's up on the twenty-seventh.

OLIVIA: I know I'm being tiresome, but--

MRS. BRAMSON (_in the kitchen_): The most disgraceful thing I've
ever heard--

HUBERT: She's coming back....

OLIVIA _rises and goes to the right window_. HUBERT _hurries
into the sun-room._ MRS. BRAMSON _is wheeled back from the kitchen
by_ MRS. TERENCE, _to the centre of the room. She_ (MRS. BRAMSON)
_has found the pretext for the scene she has been longing to make since
she got up this morning._