DORA (_putting the china in her apron_): The idea of me
stealing.... I do go to Sunday school, anyways....

MRS. BRAMSON: So that's the game. Wouldn't think butter would melt in
her mouth.... You'll have to go, of course; I can't have that sort of
thing in this house--and stop squeaking! You'll bring my heart on
again. It's all this modern life. I've always said so. All these films
and rubbish.

OLIVIA: My dear auntie, you can't have a baby by just sitting in the
pictures.

MRS. BRAMSON: Go away, and don't interfere.

OLIVIA _goes to the left window_. DORA _rises.

(Triumphantly_) So you're going to have a child. When?

DORA (_sniffling_): Last August Bank Holiday....

MRS. BRAMSON: What?... Oh!

DORA: I 'aven't got a penny only what I earn--and if I lose my job
'ere--

MRS. BRAMSON: He'll have to marry you.

DORA: Oh, I don't think he's keen....