Mrs. G. You'll help best by doing what he asks.
Peter. I really think you might, Margaret. It's not a new plan. I'm only asking you to carry out the arrangement you made this very evening. You didn't object then, I can't see what your scruple is now.
Mar. If you can't see for yourself that it's vulgar and hideous and horrible to drag our love into the glare of an election, I'm afraid I can't help you to see it.
Peter. I don't see it. Love's not a hole-and-corner business. Why shouldn't everybody know?
Mar. All who matter know already.
Peter. Only our own circle.
Mar. It doesn't concern the rest.
Peter (arguing hotly). Except as an advertisement. We shan't have too much money to spend on printers' bills. We ean't buy hoardings like the capitalist parties. And here's a glorious advertisement simply going begging. We can have it at the cost of your forgetting some imaginary scruple of delicacy. Elections aren't delicate affairs.
Mar. No. But our love is.
Mrs. G. If your love's so finicky it can't stand daylight, it's not worth much. A love like that 'ull not last long.