G. (_A twinkle in his eye._) I did, darling, just at the first.
But only at the very first. (_Chuckles._) I called you--stoop low and
I'll whisper--'a little beast.' Ho! Ho! Ho!
MRS. G. (_Taking him by the moustache and making him sit up._)
'A--little--beast!' Stop laughing over your crime! And yet you had
the--the--awful cheek to propose to me!
CAPT. G. I'd changed my mind then. And you weren't a little beast any
more.
MRS. G. Thank you, Sir! And when was I ever?
CAPT. G. _Never!_ But that first day, when you gave me tea in that
peach-coloured muslin gown thing, you looked--you did indeed, dear--such
an absurd little mite. And I didn't know what to say to you.
MRS. G. (_Twisting moustache._) So you said 'little beast.' Upon my
word, Sir! _I_ called _you_ a 'Crrrreature,' but I wish now I had
called you something worse.
CAPT. G. (_Very meekly._) I apologise, but you're hurting me awf'ly.
(_Interlude._) You're welcome to torture me again on those terms.
MRS. G. Oh, _why_ did you let me do it?
CAPT. G. (_Looking across valley._) No reason in particular, but--if
it amused you or did you any good--you might--wipe those dear little
boots of yours on me.
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