Divine: (In confusion) I beg your pardon. You know what I mean?
Mr. Icky: (Aching with whimsey) You want to marry my little Ulsa?...
Divine: I do.
Mr. Icky: Your record is clean.
Divine: Excellent. I have the best constitution in the world—
Ulsa: And the worst by-laws.
Divine: At Eton I was a member at Pop; at Rugby I belonged to Near-beer. As a younger son I was destined for the police force—
Mr. Icky: Skip that.... Have you money?...
Divine: Wads of it. I should expect Ulsa to go down town in sections every morning—in two Rolls Royces. I have also a kiddy-car and a converted tank. I have seats at the opera—
Ulsa: (Sullenly) I can’t sleep except in a box. And I’ve heard that you were cashiered from your club.