But perhaps she will be
getting married herself soon.
GEORGE. I see no prospect of it.
OLIVIA. It would make it so much easier, George, if she did.
GEORGE (_rising_). Is this a threat, Olivia? (_Crossing up to_ OLIVIA.)
Are you telling me that if I do not allow young Strange to marry Dinah,
you will not marry me?
OLIVIA. A threat? Oh, no, George. But I was just wondering if you love me
as much as Brian loves Dinah. You do love me?
GEORGE (_from his heart_). Of course I do, old girl.
OLIVIA. You're sure it's not just my pretty face that attracts you. Love
which is based upon mere outward appearances cannot result in lasting
happiness--as one of our thinkers has observed. (_Moving down to settee_
R.)
GEORGE. Why should you doubt my love? You can't pretend that we haven't
been happy together. (OLIVIA _sits on settee_ R.) I've--(_taking a chair
from_ L. _of table_ R.C. _brings it down to_ L. _of_ OLIVIA) I've been a
good pal to you, eh? We--we suit each other, old girl.
OLIVIA. Do we?
GEORGE (_sitting_). Well, of course we do.
OLIVIA. I wonder. When two people of our age think of getting married,
one wants to be quite sure that there is real community of ideas between
them. Supposing that after we have been married some years we found
ourselves getting estranged from each other upon such questions as
Dinah's future, or the comparatively trivial matter like the right colour
for a curtain, or the advice to be given to a friend who had innocently
contracted a bigamous marriage.
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