DAN (studying her): As a matter o' fact—
MRS. BRAMSON: Yes?
DAN: Oh, no, it's a daft thing—
MRS. BRAMSON (the old tart note creeping back): Come along now!
Out with it!
DAN: It's only fancy, I suppose … but … you remind me a bit of her.
MRS. BRAMSON: Of your mother? (As he nods simply, her sentimentality stirring) Oh …
DAN: Have you got a son?
MRS. BRAMSON (self-pityingly): I haven't anybody at all.
DAN: Oh … But I don't like to talk too much about my mother. (Putting a finger unobtrusively to his eye) Makes me feel … sort of sad … (With a sudden thought) She had the same eyes very wide apart as you, and—and the same very good hands.
MRS. BRAMSON (looking interestedly at her fingers): Oh?… And the same palpitations?