“Sweetheart,” he said, anxiously.
“Larry, you told a lie.”
“Many of ’em, darlin’. Which one?”
“You said I was going to marry you.”
“Aren’t you, crickety-Cricket?”—anxiously.
“I haven’t decided—yet.”
“But won’t ye decide, dearie?”
“I may—when I’m properly asked.”
“What is properly, Mavourneen?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been proposed to before, except by Jean Jacques Petard.”