LARRY. May I ask how long it took you to come to business? You
can hardly have known her for more than a couple of hours.

BROADBENT. I am afraid it was hardly a couple of minutes. She was
not here when I arrived; and I saw her for the first time at the
tower.

LARRY. Well, you are a nice infant to be let loose in this
country! Fancy the potcheen going to your head like that!

BROADBENT. Not to my head, I think. I have no headache; and I
could speak distinctly. No: potcheen goes to the heart, not to
the head. What ought I to do?

LARRY. Nothing. What need you do?

BROADBENT. There is rather a delicate moral question involved.
The point is, was I drunk enough not to be morally responsible
for my proposal? Or was I sober enough to be bound to repeat it
now that I am undoubtedly sober?

LARRY. I should see a little more of her before deciding.

BROADBENT. No, no. That would not be right. That would not be
fair. I am either under a moral obligation or I am not. I wish I
knew how drunk I was.

LARRY. Well, you were evidently in a state of blithering
sentimentality, anyhow.