HUBERT _and_ OLIVIA _are alone_.

OLIVIA: That's the fifth action she's threatened to bring this week.

(_She crosses to the right window._)

HUBERT: She's a good one to talk about putting away. Crikey! She'll be found murdered one of these days.... (_Suddenly reading from his paper_) "In India a population of three and a half hundred million is loyal to Britain; now----"

OLIVIA: Oh, Hubert! (_Good humouredly_) I thought I'd cured you of that.

HUBERT: Sorry.

OLIVIA: You've only had two weeks of her. I've had six.

_A pause. She sighs restlessly._

HUBERT: Fed up?

OLIVIA: It's such a very inadequate expression, don't you think?...

(_After a pause_) How bright the sun is to-day....

_She is pensive, far-away, smiling._

HUBERT: A penny for 'em.

OLIVIA: I was just thinking ... I often wonder on a very fine morning what it'll be like ... for night to come. And I never can. And yet it's got to.... (_Looking at his perplexed face_) It is silly, isn't it?

_DORA comes in from the kitchen with a duster and crosses towards the bedroom. She is a pretty, stupid, and rather s.l.u.ttish country girl of twenty, wearing a maid's uniform. She looks depressed_.

Who are those men, Dora?

DORA: What men, miss?

OLIVIA: Over there, behind the clearing.

DORA: Oh.... (_Peering past her_) Oh. 'Adn't seen them. What are they doing poking about in that bush?

OLIVIA (_absently_): I don't know. I saw them yesterday too, farther down the woods.

DORA (_lamely_): I expect they're looking for something.

_She goes into the bedroom._

HUBERT: She looks a bit off-colour, doesn't she?

OLIVIA: The atmosphere must be getting her down too.

HUBERT: I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to stand it myself.

Coming over here every day for another week.

OLIVIA (_smiling_): There's nothing to prevent you staying at _home_ every day for another week ... is there?

HUBERT (_still apparently reading his paper_): Oh, yes, there is.

What d'you think I invite myself to lunch every day for? You don't think it's the old geyser, do you?

OLIVIA (_smiling_): No.

_She comes down to the table._

HUBERT: Don't want to sound rude, et cetera, but women don't get men proposing to them every day, you know ... (_Turning over a page_) Gosh, what a wizard machine--

OLIVIA (_sitting at the left of the table_): I can't think _why_ you want to marry me, as a matter of fact. It isn't the same as if I were very pretty, or something.

HUBERT: You do say some jolly rum things, Olivia, upon my soul.

OLIVIA: I'll tell _you_ why, then, if it makes you feel any better. You're cautious; and you want to marry me because I'm quiet.

I'd make you a steady wife, and run a home for you.

HUBERT: There's nothing to be ashamed of in being steady. I'm steady myself.

OLIVIA: I know you are. HUBERT: Then why aren't you keen?

OLIVIA (_after a pause, tolerant but weary_): Because you're an unmitigated bore.

HUBERT: A bore? (_Horrified_) _Me_, a bore? Upon my word, Olivia, I think you're a bit eccentric, I do really. Sorry to be rude, and all that, but that's put the kybosh on it! People could call me a thing or two, but I've never been called a bore!

OLIVIA: Bores never are. People are too bored with them to call them anything.

HUBERT: I suppose you'd be more likely to say "Yes" if I were an unmitigated bounder?

OLIVIA (_with a laugh_): Oh, don't be silly....

HUBERT (_going to her_): You're a rum girl, Olivia, upon my soul you are. P'raps that's why I think you're so jolly attractive. Like a mouse one minute, and then this straight-from-the-shoulder business....

What _is_ a sonnet?

OLIVIA: It's a poem of fourteen lines.

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--