Sorry to be rude,
and all that, but that's put the kybosh on it! People could call me a
thing or two, but I've never been called a bore!
OLIVIA: Bores never are. People are too bored with them to call them
anything.
HUBERT: I suppose you'd be more likely to say "Yes" if I were an
unmitigated bounder?
OLIVIA (_with a laugh_): Oh, don't be silly....
HUBERT (_going to her_): You're a rum girl, Olivia, upon my soul
you are. P'raps that's why I think you're so jolly attractive. Like a
mouse one minute, and then this straight-from-the-shoulder business....
What _is_ a sonnet?
OLIVIA: It's a poem of fourteen lines.
HUBERT: Oh, yes, Shakespeare.... Never knew you did a spot of rhyming,
Olivia! Now that's what I mean about you.... We'll have to start
calling you Elizabeth Bronte!
_She turns away. He studies her_.
You _are_ bored, aren't you?
_He walks to the sun-room. She rouses herself and turns to him
impetuously_.
OLIVIA: I'm being silly, I know--of course I _ought_ to get
married, and _of course_ this is a wonderful chance, and--HUBERT
(_moving to her_): Good egg! Then you will? OLIVIA (_stalling_):
Give me a--another week or two--will you?
HUBERT: Oh.
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