TREMAYNE. You quarrelled?
BELINDA. Yes. It was his fault entirely.
TREMAYNE. I'm sure it was.
BELINDA. How sweet of you to say that!
TREMAYNE. Belinda, I want you to marry me and forget about him.
BELINDA (happily to herself). This is the proposal that those lamb cutlets interrupted this morning.
TREMAYNE. Belinda, I love you—do you understand?
BELINDA. Suppose my first husband turns up suddenly like—like E. A.?
TREMAYNE. Like who?
BELINDA. Well, like anybody.