Sydney. [Settling it] He can cut across the fields. [Aloud] Kit, what about a bone for the angel? You might go and make love to Bassett. [She puts the dog into his arms. They stroll off together into the inner room.]
Kit. [Earnestly, as he goes out through the baize door] He ought to be kept to biscuits.
Sydney. [Calling to him] Just one to gnaw. [Then, over her shoulder] Mother, the bells have been going quite a while.
Margaret. [To Gray] Listen, don’t you love them?
Gray. Church bells?
Margaret. Wedding bells.
Gray. Margaret, you’ve stepped straight out of a Trollope novel.
Margaret. [Flushing] I suppose you think I’m sentimental.
Gray. No, but you’re pure nineteenth century.
Margaret. I’m not. [Telephone bell rings] Oh!