You must love me always, Alec, for now I have only you. [_He bends down and kisses her hand._] Come! [_He gives her his arm and they walk out._ MRS. CROWLEY. I feel as if I should rather like to cry. DICK. Do you really? So do I. MRS. CROWLEY. Don't be so silly. DICK. By the way, you don't want to dance with me, do you? MRS. CROWLEY. Certainly not. You dance abominably. DICK. It's charming of you to say so. It puts me at my ease at once. MRS. CROWLEY. Come and sit on the sofa and talk seriously. DICK. Ah, you want to flirt with me, Mrs. Crowley. MRS. CROWLEY. Good heavens, what on earth makes you think that? DICK. It's what a woman always means when she asks you to talk sensibly. MRS. CROWLEY. I can't bear a man who thinks women are in love with him. DICK. Bless you, I don't think that. I only think they want to marry me. MRS. CROWLEY. That's equally detestable. DICK. Not at all. However old, ugly, and generally undesirable a man is, he'll find a heap of charming girls who are willing to marry him. Marriage is still the only decent means of livelihood for a really nice girl. MRS. CROWLEY. But, my dear friend, if a woman really makes up her mind to marry a man, nothing on earth can save him. DICK. Don't say that, you terrify me. MRS. CROWLEY. You need not be in the least alarmed, because I shall refuse you. DICK. Thanks, awfully. But all the same I don't think I'll risk a proposal. MRS. CROWLEY. My dear Mr. Lomas, your only safety is in immediate flight. DICK. Why? MRS. CROWLEY. It must be obvious to the meanest intelligence that you've been on the verge of proposing to me for the last month. DICK. Oh, I assure you, you're quite mistaken. MRS. CROWLEY. Then I shan't come to the play with you to-morrow? DICK. But I've taken the seats, and I've ordered an exquisite dinner at the Carlton. MRS. CROWLEY. What have you ordered? DICK. Potage Bisque... [_She makes a little face._] Sole Normande... [_She shrugs her shoulders._] Wild Duck. MRS. CROWLEY. With an orange salad? DICK. Yes. MRS. CROWLEY. I don't positively dislike that. DICK. And I've ordered a soufflé 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.