MICHAEL (growing solemn). At what time was I born, mother?
MRS. DARLING. At two o’clock in the night-time, dearest.
MICHAEL. Oh, mother, I hope I didn’t wake you.
MRS. DARLING. They are rather sweet, don’t you think, George?
MR. DARLING (doting). There is not their equal on earth, and they are ours, ours!
(Unfortunately NANA has come from the bathroom for a sponge and she collides with his trousers, the first pair he has ever had with braid on them.)
MR. DARLING. Mary, it is too bad; just look at this; covered with hairs. Clumsy, clumsy!
(NANA goes, a drooping figure.)
MRS. DARLING. Let me brush you, dear.
(Once more she is successful. They are now by the fire, and MICHAEL is in bed doing idiotic things with a teddy bear.)
MR. DARLING. (depressed). I sometimes think, Mary, that it is a mistake to have a dog for a nurse.
