HUBERT: She looks a bit off-colour, doesn't she?

OLIVIA: The atmosphere must be getting her down too.

HUBERT: I'm wondering if I'm going to be able to stand it myself.
Coming over here every day for another week.

OLIVIA (_smiling_): There's nothing to prevent you staying at
_home_ every day for another week ... is there?

HUBERT (_still apparently reading his paper_): Oh, yes, there is.
What d'you think I invite myself to lunch every day for? You don't
think it's the old geyser, do you?

OLIVIA (_smiling_): No.

_She comes down to the table._

HUBERT: Don't want to sound rude, et cetera, but women don't get men
proposing to them every day, you know ... (_Turning over a page_)
Gosh, what a wizard machine--

OLIVIA (_sitting at the left of the table_): I can't think
_why_ you want to marry me, as a matter of fact. It isn't the same
as if I were very pretty, or something.

HUBERT: You do say some jolly rum things, Olivia, upon my soul.

OLIVIA: I'll tell _you_ why, then, if it makes you feel any
better. You're cautious; and you want to marry me because I'm quiet.