George. I beg your pardon! Oh, I see. (Taking her hand in his he gives it a good slap and she winces.) Olivia, I–(Hesitates.)
Olivia. I don't want to interrupt, but oughtn't you to be on your knees? It is–usual, I believe.
George. Really, Olivia, you must allow me to manage my own proposal in my own way.
Olivia (meekly–and resuming her coyness). I'm sorry. Do go on.
George. Well–er–confound it, Olivia, I love you. Will you marry me?
Olivia. Thank you, George, I will think it over.
George (laughing). Silly girl. (Pats her on the shoulder and crosses to R.) Well, then, to-morrow morning. No wedding cake, I'm afraid, Olivia. (He laughs again and moves up centre.) But we'll go and have a good lunch somewhere.
Olivia. I will think it over, George.
George (good-humouredly and coming down to back of settee to her R.). Well, give me a kiss while you're thinking.
Olivia. I'm afraid you mustn't kiss me until we are actually engaged.