(Relenting.) They'll say I married you for your money.
PRIMROSE DEANE.
Don't you care for me sufficiently, dear, not to mind what "they" say? (Looking him earnestly in the face.)
TED MORRIS.
(Looks at her, and then takes her face in his hands and kisses her.) Yes, dear, forgive me. (After this, in loverlike fashion, they commence walking about the room and talking with their arms round each other's waists.)
TED MORRIS.
Let me see. I shall pass my examination in November.
PRIMROSE DEANE.
And then we must look about for a nice little practice. We'll have one somewhere in the country, shall we?