George (following them up). Now mind, Strange, no love-making. I put you on your honour about that.
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.