OLIVIA: I wonder.
HUBERT: Damn clever job, you know, quietly…. That was a rum touch, finding that broken lipstick in the rubbish-heap…. You know, the fact they still have no idea where this woman's head is——
OLIVIA (convulsively): Don't….
HUBERT: Sorry.
OLIVIA (after a pause): It's a bit of a strain.
HUBERT (earnestly): Then why don't you leave?
OLIVIA: I—I couldn't afford it.
HUBERT: But you could, if you married me! Now, look here—— (Going to her) You said you'd tell me to-day. So here I am—er— popping the question again. There's nothing much to add, except to go over the old ground again, and say that I'm not what you'd call a terribly brainy chap, but I am straight.
OLIVIA: Yes, I know.
HUBERT: Though, again, I'm not the sort that gets into corners with a pipe and never opens his mouth from one blessed year's end to the other. I can talk.