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ULSA: (Sullenly) No, feyther; ploughing's such a beyther. I'd reyther not.

(Though her accent is broad, the content of her speech is sweet and clean.)

DIVINE: (Conciliatingly) See here, Ulsa. Let's come to an understanding.

(He advances toward her with the graceful, even stride that made him captain of the striding team at Cambridge.)

ULSA: You still say it would be Jack?

MR. ICKY: What does she mean?

DIVINE: (Kindly) My dear, of course, it would be Jack. It couldn't be Frank.

MR. ICKY: Frank who?

ULSA: It would be Frank!

(Some risqué joke can be introduced here.)

MR. ICKY: (Whimsically) No good fighting...no good fighting...

DIVINE: (Reaching out to stroke her arm with the powerful movement that made him stroke of the crew at Oxford) You'd better marry me.

ULSA: (Scornfully) Why, they wouldn't let me in through the servants' entrance of your house.

DIVINE: (Angrily) They wouldn't! Never fear&mdash;you shall come in through the mistress' entrance.

ULSA: Sir!

DIVINE: (In confusion) I beg your pardon. You know what I mean?

MR. ICKY: (Aching with whimsey) You want to marry my little Ulsa?...

DIVINE: I do.

MR. ICKY: Your record is clean.

DIVINE: Excellent. I have the best constitution in the world&mdash;

ULSA: And the worst by-laws.