(The morning-room at Marden House (Buckinghamshire) decided more than a hundred years ago that it was all right, and has not bothered about itself since.  Visitors to the house have called the result such different adjectives as “mellow” “old-fashioned,” “charming”—­even “baronial” and “antique”; but nobody ever said it was “exciting.”  Sometimes OLIVIA wants it to be more exciting, and last week she let herself go over some new curtains.  At present they are folded up and waiting for her; she still has the rings to put on.  It is obvious that the curtains alone will overdo the excitement; they will have to be harmonised with a new carpet and cushions.  OLIVIA has her eye on just the things, but one has to go carefully with GEORGE.  What was good enough for his great-great-grandfather is good enough for him.  However, we can trust OLIVIA to see him through it, although it may take time.)

(There are two ways of coming into the room; by the open windows leading from the terrace or by the door.  On this pleasant July morning MR. PIM chooses the latter way—­or rather ANNE chooses it for him; and old MR. PIM, wistful, kindly, gentle, little MR. PIM, living in some world of his own whither we cannot follow, ambles after her.)

ANNE.  I’ll tell Mr. Marden you’re here, sir.  Mr. Pim, isn’t it?

PIM (coming back to this world).  Yes—­er—­Mr. Carraway Pim.  He doesn’t know me, you understand, but if he could just see me for a moment—­er—­(He fumbles in his pockets) I gave you that letter?

ANNE.  Yes, sir, I’ll give it to him.

PIM (bringing out a letter which is not the one he was looking for, but which reminds him of something else he has forgotten).  Dear me!

ANNE.  Yes, sir?

PIM.  I ought to have sent a telegram, but I can do it on my way back. 
You have a telegraph office in the village?

ANNE.  Oh yes, sir.  If you turn to the left when you get outside the gates, it isn’t more than a hundred yards down the hill.

PIM.  Thank you, thank you.  Very stupid of me to have forgotten.

    [ANNE goes out.

(MR. PIM wanders about the room humming to himself, and looking vaguely at the pictures.  He has his back to the door as DINAH comes in.  She is nineteen, very pretty, very happy, and full of boyish high spirits and conversation.)

DINAH.  Hullo!

PIM (turning round).  Ah, good morning, Mrs. Marden.  You must forgive my—­er—­

DINAH.  Oh I say, I’m not Mrs. Marden.  I’m Dinah.

PIM (with a bow).  Then I will say, Good morning, Miss Diana.

DINAH (reproachfully).  Now, look here, if you and I are going to be friends you mustn’t do that.  Dinah, not Diana.  Do remember it, there’s a good man, because I get so tired of correcting people.  Have you come to stay with us?

PIM.  Well no, Miss—­er—­Dinah.

DINAH (nodding).  That’s right.  I can see I shan’t have to speak to you again.  Now tell me your name, and I bet you I get it right first time.  And do sit down.