An afternoon twelve days later. The weather is a little duller.
MRS. BRAMSON is sitting on the right of the table in her invalid chair, puzzling out a game of patience. She has smartened up her appearance in the interval and is wearing purple, and earrings. OLIVIA _is sitting opposite her, smoking a cigarette, a pencil and pad on the table in front of her; she is pondering and writing. A portable gramophone on a small table next the desk is playing the H.M.V. dance record of "Dames."
A pause_. MRS. BRAMSON coughs. She coughs again, and looks at OLIVIA, waving her hand before her, clearing away billows of imaginary smoke.
OLIVIA: I'm sorry. Is my cigarette worrying you?
MRS. BRAMSON (temper): Not at all. I like it!
OLIVIA stubs out her cigarette with a resigned look and goes on making notes. DAN enters from the kitchen, keeping time to the music, carrying a bunch of roses, wearing overalls over flannel trousers and a brown golf jacket, and smoking. He goes to the fireplace and clumps the roses into a vase on the mantelpiece, humming the tune. He crosses to the gramophone, still in rhythm, MRS. BRAMSON keeping time skittishly with her hands. He turns off the gramophone and looks over OLIVIA'S shoulder at what she is writing.
DAN (singing): "Their home addresses … and their caresses … linger in my memory of … those beautiful dames" … (His hand to his forehead) That's me!
OLIVIA looks at him coldly and continues her notes.
MRS. BRAMSON: It won't come out….
DAN shrugs his shoulders, stands behind MRS. BRAMSON'S chair, and studies her play. OLIVIA follows his example from her side.