Brian: Now, who do you love? Carey Merton or me?
Anne: I've never met Carey Merton...
Brian: Then it must be me.
Anne: I bet he's fascinating.
Brian: I bet he's potty!
Anne: I bet he knows how to make love.
Brian: Meaning, I don't?
Anne: Oh, you're not bad, for an amateur.
Brian: I suppose he's a professional?
Anne: Of the highest rank.
Brian: Hmm. Rank is right!
Anne: You should read some of his books and learn some new ideas.
Brian: 'haven't learnt all the old ones yet.
Anne: Oh, strange. Didn't your granny teach you?
Brian: I scarcely remember.
Anne: Dear me, I thought you were quite old friends. I always think of you as grandma's boy.
Brian: Just the same, you love me.
Anne: Do I?
Brian: You wouldn't promise to marry me, if you didn't.
Anne: Well, marriage is a little old-fashioned, isn't it?
Brian: Is that what Carey Merton thinks?
Anne: He understands.
Brian: What?
Anne: Me. Every woman.
Brian: Now you're talking absolute rot.
Anne: You approve of convention, of course? A man can be free but a woman must be chained. Well, Carey Merton thinks differently. He isn't stuffy.
Brian: He ought to be horse-whipped! And you ought to be spanked.
Anne: Brian!
Brian: I'm sorry, Ann.
[grabbing her book]
Brian: But somehow this old fossil infuriated me.
Anne: If he were old, he couldn't write so beautifully.
Brian: If he were young, he wouldn't write so disgustingly.
Anne: We'll settle this, Brian.
Brian: How?
Anne: We'll call on him and find out.