_She._ Yes; it isn't much, and you have done it before. But as you say, it is certainly something. _He._ You are always flattering! Really, one wouldn't have expected you to be light now, when it is my deepest affections and all that sort of touching thing with which you are trifling. _She._ You are a humbug! _He._ Of course; so are you; so is everybody. Civilization is merely the apotheosis of humbug. _She._ My friend, that trick of striving after epigram is fast making you as bad as a confirmed punster. _He._ Still, it is all true. I am a humbug in proposing to you; you, if you reject me-- _She._ I certainly do, most emphatically and finally! _He._ You make me the happiest of men. _She._ You make your system of humbug far too complicated for me to follow. _He._ Why, this is genuine. _She._ Anything genuine from you, I fear, is impossible. _He._ Oh, no; I have to be genuine occasionally, for the sake of contrast. The humbug was in asking you to marry me, and I wouldn't have had you say yes for the world. _She._ I never suspected you of insanity, Mr. Chester. Am I to infer that the climate of Cuba, or the wines-- _He._ Oh, neither, I assure you. Besides, Cuba has no wines, as you ought to know. Now, see; I'll do you the rare honor of telling you the truth. Of course, you are at liberty to believe it or not, as you please; and very likely you won't, because it happens to be as true as the Gospel, revised version. Some days since, I asked Annie Cleaves to marry me. _She._ What particular thing had she been playing to rouse you to that point of enthusiasm? _He._ If my memory serves me, it was the Chopin Nocturne in G minor. She did play extremely well, and as we happened to be in the conservatory afterward, I improved the opportunity to propose. _She._ Oh, very naturally! _He._ It is a form of words that comes very readily to my lips, as you know. Annie confessed to that very superfluous and old-fashioned sentiment called love, which wasn't in good form, I'll admit; but in consideration for the object of her attachment, and the fact that on that particular evening I was in love myself, I managed to overlook it. _She._ Very good of you, I'm sure. I hope Annie appreciated your generosity. _He._ Very likely she didn't. Your sex very seldom do appreciate masculine virtues; but Annie has a far more old-fashioned and worse vice than love. Why, the girl, in the midst of these enlightened nineteenth-century days, actually goes to the nonsensical bother of keeping a conscience! It must be more trouble to attend to, Agnes, than her aunt Wheeler's seven pet poodles and three red-headed parrots. _She._ I suppose you are right. You don't speak from experience, though, do you? _He._ Oh, no; I never had a conscience: as a boy, I preferred white mice; now I have my horses, you know. _She._ And your innumerable loves. _He._ If such trifles are to be taken into account. _She._ Go on about Annie.