MRS. BRAMSON: Fetch that girl here. This minute.

MRS. TERENCE: Oh, leave the child alone.

MRS. BRAMSON: Leave her alone, the little sneak-thief? Fetch her here.

MRS. TERENCE (_at the top of her voice_): Dora! (_Opening the
front door and calling into the trees_) Dora!

OLIVIA: What's Dora done now?

MRS. BRAMSON: Broken three of my Crown Derby, that's all. Thought if
she planted them in the rose-bed I wouldn't be well enough ever to see
them, I suppose. Well, I _have_ seen.

MRS. TERENCE (_crossing and calling to the bedroom_): You're
wanted.

DORA'S VOICE: What for?

MRS. TERENCE: She wants to kiss you good morning, what d'you think....

_She collects the table-cloth, fetches a vase from the mantelpiece,
and goes into the kitchen._ DORA _enters gingerly from the
bedroom, carrying a cup and saucer on a tray._

DORA: Did you want me, mum?

MRS. BRAMSON: Crown Derby to you, my girl.