MRS. BRAMSON (_in the kitchen_): The most disgraceful thing I've ever heard--

HUBERT: She's coming back....

OLIVIA _rises and goes to the right window_. HUBERT _hurries into the sun-room._ MRS. BRAMSON _is wheeled back from the kitchen by_ MRS. TERENCE, _to the centre of the room. She_ (MRS. BRAMSON) _has found the pretext for the scene she has been longing to make since she got up this morning._

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.

DORA (_uncertain_): Beg pardon, mum?

MRS. BRAMSON: I suppose you think that china came from Marks and Spencer?

DORA: Oh.... (_Snivelling_) Oh ... oh ...

OLIVIA (_coming between_ DORA _and_ MRS. BRAMSON): Come along, Dora, it's not as bad as all that.

DORA: Oh, yes, it is.... Oh....

MRS. BRAMSON: You can leave, that's all. You can leave.

_Appalled,_ DORA _drops the tray and breaks the saucer._

That settles it. Now you'll _have_ to leave.

DORA (_with a cry_): Oh, please I ... (_Kneeling, and collecting broken china_) Oh, ma'am--I'm not meself, you see.... (_Snivelling_) I'm in a terrible trouble....

MRS. BRAMSON: Have you been stealing?

DORA (_shocked_): Oh, no!

OLIVIA (_after a pause_): Are you going to have a baby?

_After a pause, DORA nods._

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

MRS. BRAMSON: So that's the game. Wouldn't think b.u.t.ter 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....

MRS. BRAMSON: I'll _make_ him keen. Who is the gentleman?

DORA: A boy I know; Dan his name is--'leas' 'e's not a gentleman. He's a page-boy at the Tallboys.

MRS. BRAMSON: The Tallboys? D'you mean that new-fangled place all awnings and loud speakers and things?

DORA: That's right. On the by-pa.s.s.

MRS. BRAMSON: Just the nice ripe sort of place for mischief, it always looked to me. All those lanterns.... What's his character, the good- for-nothing scoundrel?

DORA: Oh, he's nice, really. He done the wrong thing by me, but he's all right, if you know what I mean....

MRS. BRAMSON: No, I don't. Where does he come from?

DORA: He's sort of Welsh, I think. 'E's been to sea, too. He's funny, of course. Ever so open. Baby-face they call him. Though I never seem to get 'old of what 'e's thinking, somehow--

MRS. BRAMSON: I'll get hold of what he's thinking, all right. I've had my knife into that sort ever since I was a girl.

DORA: Oh, mum, if I got him to let you speak to him--d'you think I could stay on?

MRS. BRAMSON (_after a pause): If_ he marries you at once.