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