Nor. D’you think she’ll have me—really!
Bea. Of course, I don’t know who the lady is.
Nor. Oh, yes you do, Miss Derwent.
Bea. (rises suddenly) Miss Derwent?
Nor. Yes, of course. You must have seen I’m awfully gone on her.
Bea. And you propose to marry her.
Nor. Well I should like to.
Bea. (drops back into seat) What am I to say?
Nor. What do you mean?
Bea. Nothing. I only meant—rather a mésalliance, isn’t it?