ever talk to a man at all.

BROADBENT. I don't understand that. I don't admit that. I am
sincere; and my intentions are perfectly honorable. I think you
will accept the fact that I'm an Englishman as a guarantee that I
am not a man to act hastily or romantically, though I confess
that your voice had such an extraordinary effect on me just now
when you asked me so quaintly whether I was making love to you--

NORA [flushing] I never thought--

BROADHHNT [quickly]. Of course you didn't. I'm not so stupid as
that. But I couldn't bear your laughing at the feeling it gave
me. You--[again struggling with a surge of emotion] you don't
know what I-- [he chokes for a moment and then blurts out with
unnatural steadiness] Will you be my wife?

NORA [promptly]. Deed I won't. The idea! [Looking at him more
carefully] Arra, come home, Mr Broadbent; and get your senses
back again. I think you're not accustomed to potcheen punch in
the evening after your tea.

BROADBENT [horrified]. Do you mean to say that I--I--I--my God!
that I appear drunk to you, Miss Reilly?

NORA [compassionately]. How many tumblers had you?

BROADBENT [helplessly]. Two.

NORA. The flavor of the turf prevented you noticing the strength