Dean.
I beg your pardon?... You were saying?...
Mrs. O’Farrel.
I didn’t say anything. I was thinking.
Dean.
Ah, thinking—yes, thinking.... So was I.... By the way, Eileen, your—er—cherished project for marrying Clare to your son doesn’t appear to be materialising quite—er—satisfactorily.
Mrs. O’Farrel.
No, it doesn’t.
Dean.