Rodney. (Trying to grab her) You angel!
Mary. (Eluding him) Wait!
Rodney. We’ll be married right away.
Mary. But suppose your father disapproves?
Rodney. He won’t know anything about it until we’re married, and then what could he do?
Mary. He might cut you off.
Rodney. Would you care?
Mary. (Hastily) I? No, no, indeed. I was thinking of you, dear.
Rodney. Don’t you bother about me. We’ll be married to-morrow, and then come home for the parental blessing.
Mary. Oh, I couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be square. I’m his private secretary: he trusts me. To bring me here to his home and then to find I’d married his son on the sly—we couldn’t do that.