Mrs. Brauer.
[Caressing her.] I think she has cause to be conceited.
George.
As my future wife, she certainly has cause to be that.
Brauer.
There, there, don't you overrate yourself.
George.
I don't, dear uncle; I am too practical for that.
Brauer.
So, so, you are too practical, eh? then what the devil possessed you to leave this piece of paper on my desk? eh?