George (rising). Is this a threat, Olivia? (Crossing up to Olivia.) Are you telling me that if I do not allow young Strange to marry Dinah, you will not marry me?
Olivia. A threat? Oh, no, George. But I was just wondering if you love me as much as Brian loves Dinah. You do love me?
George (from his heart). Of course I do, old girl.
Olivia. You're sure it's not just my pretty face that attracts you. Love which is based upon mere outward appearances cannot result in lasting happiness–as one of our thinkers has observed. (Moving down to settee R.)
George. Why should you doubt my love? You can't pretend that we haven't been happy together. (Olivia sits on settee R.) I've–(taking a chair from L. of table R.C. brings it down to L. of Olivia) I've been a good pal to you, eh? We–we suit each other, old girl.
Olivia. Do we?
George (sitting). Well, of course we do.
Olivia. I wonder. When two people of our age think of getting married, one wants to be quite sure that there is real community of ideas between them. Supposing that after we have been married some years we found ourselves getting estranged from each other upon such questions as Dinah's future, or the comparatively trivial matter like the right colour for a curtain, or the advice to be given to a friend who had innocently contracted a bigamous marriage. Think how bitterly we should regret our hasty plunge into a matrimony which was no true partnership, whether of tastes or ideas or even of consciences. (With a sigh.) Ah me!
George (turning to her quickly). Unfortunately for your argument, Olivia, I can answer you out of your own mouth. You seem to have–(laughing)–forgotten what you said this morning in the case of–er–young Strange.
Olivia (with exaggerated reproach). Oh, but is it quite fair, George, to drag up what was said this morning?