DINAH. That's your fault, Brian. You would tell Olivia that she ought to have orange-and-black curtains.
BRIAN. But she wants orange-and-black curtains.
DINAH. Yes, but George says he's not going to have any futuristic nonsense in an honest English country house, which has been good enough for his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather, and—and all the rest of them. So there's a sort of strained feeling between Olivia and George just now, and if Olivia were to—sort of recommend you, well, it wouldn't do you much good.
BRIAN (looking at her). I see. Of course I know what you want, Dinah.
DINAH. What do I want?
BRIAN. You want a secret engagement, and notes left under door-mats, and meetings by the withered thorn, when all the household is asleep. I know you.
DINAH. Oh, but it is such fun! I love meeting people by withered thorns.
BRIAN. Well, I'm not going to have it.
DINAH (childishly). Oh, George! Look at us being husbandy!
BRIAN. You babe! I adore you. (He kisses her and holds her away from him and looks at her) You know, you're rather throwing yourself away on me. Do you mind?