are unobtrusively in evidence. On the mantelpiece, an ornate chiming
clock. The remains of breakfast on a tray on the table_.

MRS. BRAMSON _is sitting in a wheeled chair in the centre of the
room. She is a fussy, discontented, common woman of fifty-five, old-
fashioned both in clothes and coiffure_; NURSE LIBBY, _a kindly,
matter-of-fact young north-country woman in district nurse's uniform,
is sitting on the sofa, massaging one of her hands_. OLIVIA GRAYNE
_sits on the old woman's right; holding a book; she is a subdued
young woman of twenty-eight, her hair tied severely in a knot, wearing
horn-rimmed spectacles; there is nothing in any way remarkable about
her at the moment_. HUBERT LAURIE _is sitting in the armchair,
scanning the "Daily Telegraph." He is thirty-five, moustached, hearty,
and pompous, wearing plus fours and smoking a pipe.

A pause. The church bells die away_.

MRS. BRAMSON (_sharply_): Go on.

OLIVIA (_reading_): "... Lady Isabel humbly crossed her attenuated
hands upon her chest. 'I am on my way to God,' she whispered, 'to
answer for all my sins and sorrows.' 'Child,' said Miss Carlyle, 'had
_I_ anything to do with sending you from ...' (_turning over_)
'... East Lynne?' Lady Isabel shook her head and cast down
her gaze."

MRS. BRAMSON (_aggressively_): Now that's what I call a beautiful
character.

NURSE: Very pretty. But the poor thing'd have felt that much better