George : You know, if it wasn't me talking, I'd say you were the prettiest girl in town. Mary : Well, why don't you say it? George : I don't know. Maybe I will say it. How old are you anyway? Mary : Eighteen. George : Eighteen! Why, it was only last year you were seventeen. Mary : Too young or too old? George : Oh, no. Just right. Your age fits you. Yes, sir, you look a little older without your clothes on...I mean, without a dress. You look older...I mean, younger. You look just... [George steps on the end of the belt on Mary's bathrobe] George : Oh-oh... Mary : Sir, my train, please. George : A pox upon me for a clumsy lout. [throws the belt across her arm] Your...your caboose, my lady. Mary : You may kiss my hand. George : Ummmm [holding her hand, George moves in closer] Hey — hey, Mary.

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