George. Yes–yes, I know, but why do you keep on saying it? What's the matter with you? You're so strange to-day. You're not like the Olivia I know.
Olivia (sits on settee to R.). Perhaps you don't know me so very well, after all.
George (sitting–affectionately to her L.). Oh, that's nonsense–old girl. You're just my Olivia. Now we can get married again quietly and nobody will be any the worse.
Olivia. Married again! Oh, I see, you want me to marry you at a registry office to-morrow?
George. If we can arrange it by then. (Rising and crossing below Olivia to centre.) I don't know how long these things take, but I should imagine there would be no difficulty.
Olivia. Oh, no, I think that part of it ought to be quite easy. But–(She hesitates.)
George. But what?
Olivia. Well, if you want to marry me to-morrow, George, oughtn't you to propose to me first?
George (amazed). Propose?
Olivia. Yes. It is usual, isn't it, to propose to a person before you marry her? And–and we want to do the usual thing, don't we?