"Then, of course, you will have to propose."
"I propose!"
"And, of course, to make love."
"I make love!"
Professor Maedler's colour died away. He stood still before his friend, his pocket-handkerchief in hand, and stared.
"I have not the remotest idea how to do it."
"You must try."
"I've had no experience. I am going on to fifty-three. As well ask me to dance on the trapeze. It is not proper. It is downright indecent."
"Then you must do without the wax moon."