Every chance, dear.
BRIAN (_coming to above table_ L.C.). I say, do you really? Have you
squared him? I mean has he----
(GEORGE _is heard humming the tune of "Pop goes the weasel" off_ R.)
OLIVIA. You go and catch them up now. We'll talk about it later on.
BRIAN. Bless you. Right-o!
(_Going up_ L. _and off up_ L.)
(_As he goes out by the windows,_ GEORGE _comes in at the doors_ R.
GEORGE _stands_ R.C., _and then turns to_ OLIVIA, _who is absorbed in her
curtain. He walks up and down the room, fidgeting with things, waiting
for her to speak. As she says nothing, he begins to talk himself, but in
an obviously unconcerned way. There is a pause after each answer of hers,
before he gets out his next remark_.)
GEORGE (_casually_). Good-looking fellow, Strange. What?
OLIVIA (_equally casually_). Brian, yes, isn't he? And such a nice boy.
GEORGE. Yes, yes! (_Catching sight of curtain she is sewing. Hums the
tune of "Pop goes the weasel"--crossing down_ R. _to piano, plays a few
notes of "Pop goes the weasel" with one finger_.) Got fifty pounds for a
picture the other day, didn't he? (_Moving up stage a little_.)
OLIVIA. Ah, yes! Of course he has only just begun----
GEORGE. The critics think well of him, (_Slight pause_.) What?
(_Up C. by chair front of writing-table_.)
OLIVIA. They all say he has genius. Oh, I don't think there's any doubt
about it. (_Pause_.)
(GEORGE _left of writing-table_.
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