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. MRS. CROWLEY. [_Puzzled._] The man's mad. The man's nothing short of a raving lunatic. DICK. I wanted to see if you were really attached to me. You have given me a proof of esteem which I promise you I will never forget. MRS. CROWLEY. [_Laughing._] You're a perfect idiot, Mr. Lomas! DICK. It's one of my cherished convictions that a really nice woman is never so cruel as to marry a man she cares for. MRS. CROWLEY. You're much too flippant to marry anybody, and you're perfectly odious into the bargain. [_She goes out._ DICK, _chuckling, lights a cigarette_. ALEC _comes in and lies down lazily on the sofa_. ALEC. Why, Dick, what's the matter? You look as pleased as Punch. DICK. My dear fellow, I feel like the Terrible Turk. I've been wrestling, and I thought I was going to have a fall. But by the display of considerable agility I've managed to keep my legs. ALEC. What _do_ you mean? DICK. Nothing. It's merely the gaiety of forty-two. [BOULGER _comes into the room, followed immediately by_ MALLINS _and_ CARBERY. _He starts slightly when he sees_ ALEC, _but then goes over to the table on which is the whiskey_. MALLINS. May we smoke here, Bobby? BOULGER. Certainly. Dick insisted that this room should be particularly reserved for that purpose. [_The_ BUTLER _comes in with a small silver salver, and takes up one or two dirty glasses_. DICK. Lady Kelsey is the most admirable of all hostesses. ALEC. [_Taking a cigarette from his case._] Give me a match, Bobby, there's a good boy. [BOULGER, _with his back turned to_ ALEC, _takes no notice. He pours himself out some whiskey._ ALEC _smiles slightly._] Bobby, throw me over the matches! BOULGER. [_With his back still turned._] Miller! BUTLER. Yes, sir? BOULGER. Mr. Mackenzie is asking for something. BUTLER. Yes, sir!