Rodney. I don’t consider a man a fool because he’s married.
Martin. That’s because you’ve never tried it.
Rodney. I intend to try it.
Martin. Who is the girl?
Rodney. (Nervously) The girl?
Martin. Yes, girl—you’re not going to marry an automobile or a polo pony—you’re going to marry a girl, aren’t you? Some blue-eyed, doll-faced, gurgling, fluttering little fool. Oh, why doesn’t God give young men some sense about women?
Rodney. I object very strongly to your speaking in that way of Miss Grayson.
Martin. Miss Grayson? Miss Grayson? You’re not going to marry a typewriter?
Rodney. Yes, sir.
Martin. Does she know it?