OLIVIA. You've never had time to take it up, dear.
GEORGE. I know what I like, of course. Can't say I see much in this new-fangled stuff. If a man can paint, why can't he paint like—like Rubens or—or Reynolds?
OLIVIA. I suppose we all have our own styles. Brian will find his directly. Of course, he's only just beginning. . . .
GEORGE. But they think a lot of him, what?
OLIVIA. Oh yes!
GEORGE. H'm! . . . Good-looking fellow. (There is rather a longer silence this time, GEORGE continues to hope that he is appearing casual and unconcerned. He stands looking at OLIVIA'S work for a moment.)
GEORGE. Nearly finished 'em?
OLIVIA. Very nearly. Are my scissors there?
GEORGE (looking round). Scissors?
OLIVIA. Ah, here they are. . . .