Car. Yes. (stops work)
Dor. I'm a bad hand at getting my notions into words. P'raps if you go on doing—whatever you're doing—I may manage to make a start. (she resumes work) That ought to look exceptional pretty when it's finished.
Car. Do you think so?
Dor. Yes! What—is it?
Car. A pudding cloth.
Dor. Jove! You don't say so? (laughs) I say, you mustn't think me an awful ass!
Car. It doesn't matter what I think.
Dor. It matters to me.
Car. It oughtn't to matter. (pause—he takes up the weekly journal)
Dor. Been doing a bit of reading? (sits on table R. corner)