[Changing her position.] Mrs. Cloys——
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Eyeing Olive, and returning quickly.] Er—is there a question more vital, more absorbing, than this great vexed question of Education? Is there a question which calls more imperatively upon the attention of thinking men——?
Olive.
[Turning to him with a forced smile.] But, Sir Fletcher, you surely haven’t brought Mrs. Cloys all the way to Epsom that she may hear you discuss Education with my husband?
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
[Disconcerted.] No, no. Good! ha, ha! good! Excellent! Er—— [Suddenly.] Now, this cottage—I wonder whether I may ask how many rooms?
Olive.
How many rooms!
John.