Serlo.
Oh, yes, it is. You see, I’m a bit knocked silly myself, and that makes you precious far-sighted.
Ethel.
You!
Serlo.
All right, you needn’t get up on your hind legs. I’m not goin’ to propose to you now. I know it would be no precious good. At first I didn’t care twopence; it was just a business arrangement—half a million down on one side and an old-established marquisate on the other. But now.... Well, you know I’m rather an ass at saying what I mean—when I really mean it.
Ethel.
I’m very sorry. I’m afraid I’ve been unkind to you.
Serlo.
Oh, no, you haven’t. I do seem a rotten little bounder, don’t I?