GEORGE. What are you doing?
OLIVIA. Making curtains, George. Won't they be rather sweet? Oh, but I forgot—you don't like them.
GEORGE. I don't like them, and what is more, I don't mean to have them in my house. As I told you yesterday, this is the house of a simple country gentleman, and I don't want any of these new-fangled ideas in it.
OLIVIA. Is marrying for love a new-fangled idea?
GEORGE. We'll come to that directly. None of you women can keep to the point. What I am saying now is that the house of my fathers and forefathers is good enough for me.
OLIVIA. Do you know, George, I can hear one of your ancestors saying that to his wife in their smelly old cave, when the new-fangled idea of building houses was first suggested. "The Cave of my Fathers is—"
GEORGE. That's ridiculous. Naturally we must have progress. But that's just the point. (Indicating the curtains) I don't call this sort of thing progress. It's—ah—retrogression.
OLIVIA. Well, anyhow, it's pretty.
GEORGE. There I disagree with you. And I must say once more that I will not have them hanging in my house.
OLIVIA. Very well, George. (But she goes on working.)