Yes.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I don't positively dislike that.
DICK.
And I've ordered a souffle with an ice in the middle of it.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I shan't come.
DICK.
I shouldn't have thought you kept very well abreast of dramatic art if you insist on marrying every man who takes you to a theatre.
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Demurely._] I was very nicely brought up.
DICK.
Of course, if you're going to make yourself systematically disagreeable unless I marry you, I suppose I shall have to do it in self-defence.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I don't know if you have the least idea what you're talking about. I'm sure I haven't!
DICK.
I was merely asking you in a rather well-turned phrase to name the day.
The lamb shall be ready for the slaughter!
MRS. CROWLEY.
Couldn't you infuse a little romance into it? You might begin by going down on your bended knees.
DICK.
I assure you that's quite out of fashion. Lovers, nowadays, are much too middle-aged, and their joints are creaky. Besides, it ruins the trousers.
MRS. CROWLEY.
At all events, there can be no excuse for your not saying that you know you're utterly unworthy of me.
DICK.
Wild horses wouldn't induce me to make a statement which is so remote from the truth.
MRS. CROWLEY.
And, of course, you must threaten to commit suicide if I don't consent.
DICK.
Women are such sticklers for routine. They have no originality.
MRS. CROWLEY.
Very well, have it your own way. But I must have a proposal in due form.
DICK.
Only four words are needed. [_Counting them on his fingers._] Will you marry me?
MRS. CROWLEY.
That is both clear and simple. I reply in one: No!
DICK.
[_As though he were not sure that he had heard correctly._] I beg your pardon?
MRS. CROWLEY.
The answer is in the negative.
DICK.
You're joking. You're certainly joking.
MRS. CROWLEY.
I will be a sister to you.
DICK.
Do you mean to say you deliberately refuse me?
MRS. CROWLEY.
[_Smiling._] I promised you I would.
DICK.
[_With much seriousness._] I thank you from the bottom of my heart.