BRIAN (_looking round dubiously at_ DINAH). I'll do my best to avoid it,
sir.
DINAH (_cheekily_). May I take his arm if we go up a hill?
OLIVIA. I'm sure you'll know how to behave--both of you.
BRIAN (R. _of writing-table_). Come on, then, Dinah.
DINAH (_following him_). Right-o. (_They exeunt through windows and off
to_ L.)
GEORGE (_as they go_). And if you do see any clouds, Strange, take a good
look at them. (_He chuckles to himself_.) Triangular clouds--I never
heard of such nonsense. (_He goes back to his chair at the writing-table
and sits_.) Futuristic rubbish... Well, Olivia?
OLIVIA (_sewing curtains_). Well, George?
GEORGE. What are you doing?
OLIVIA. Making curtains--(_grunt of disapproval from_ GEORGE)--George.
Won't they be rather sweet? Oh, but I forgot--you don't like them.
GEORGE. No. I don't like them, and what is more, I don't mean to have
them in my house. As I told you yesterday, this is the house of a simple
country gentleman, and I don't want any of these new-fangled ideas in it.
OLIVIA. Is marrying for love a new-fangled idea?
GEORGE. We'll come to that directly. None of you women can keep to the
point. What I am saying now is that the house of my fathers and
forefathers is good enough for me.
OLIVIA. Do you know, George, I can hear one of your ancestors saying that
to his wife in their smelly old cave--(GEORGE _looks up annoyed at her
levity_)--when the new-fangled idea of building houses was first
suggested.
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