CAPT. G. How could I help it? You were you, you know.

MRS. G. Did you ever want to help it? Speak the truth!

CAPT. G. (A twinkle in his eye.) I did, darling, just at the first.
Rut only at the very first. (Chuckles.) I called you-stoop low and
I'll whisper-"a little beast." Ho! Ho! Ho!

MRS. G. (Taking him by the mous'ache and making him sit up.)
"A-little-beast!" Stop laughing over your crime! And yet you had
the-the -awful cheek to propose to me!

CAPT. C. I'd changed my mind then. And you weren't a little beast
any more.

MRS. G. Thank you, sir! And when was I ever?

CAPT. G. Never! But that first day, when you gave me tea in that
peach-colored muslin gown thing, you looked-you did indeed,
dear-such an absurd little mite. And I didn't know what to say to
you.

MRS. G. (Twisting moustache.) So you said "little beast." Upon
my word, Sir! I called you a "Crrrreature," but I wish now I had
called you something worse.

CAPT. G. (Very meekly.) I apologize, but you're hurting me
awf'ly. (Interlude.) You're welcome to torture me again on those
terms.