A corner table in a Broadway restaurant, at evening.  Between the man and woman who have just taken seats is a bouquet of red roses.

MARIAN

No, I don’t want any oysters or clams.  I ate enough sea food in Atlantic City to last a season.  I want some—­Oh, what gorgeous flowers!  Umm!  I love the smell of roses!  Especially out of season.  Why, the other tables haven’t any!  Fred, did you—?

FRED

Sure I did, Marian.  I knew you’d like ’em.

MARIAN

I do.  But you mustn’t be a silly boy any longer, Fred!

FRED

I will, too.  It isn’t silly, to give you flowers.

MARIAN

That’s all right, Fred. Goodness knows I like the flowers.  But I’m not a young idiot who expects her honeymoon to last forever.  I’ve had one experience, you know.

FRED

Yes, but you mustn’t judge all men by him.

MARIAN

I don’t.  I knew well enough you’re different, or I’d never have married you.  But at the same time—­

FRED

Well, I’m going to show you that a real man don’t get over the fun of being married to a peach like you in just two weeks.  You don’t want me to, do you?

MARIAN

Course not, Fred!  Didn’t I say you were different?  But I don’t want you to set a pace you can’t keep up.  You’d hate me in no time if I did.

FRED

I couldn’t hate you, girlie!  Besides, isn’t this our first night back in the old town?  We shan’t be having dinner out like this every day.

MARIAN

Well, only I don’t want to have you flop all of a sudden, like he did.  What’ll you have, a cocktail?

FRED

Let’s see....  What’s the matter, Marian?

MARIAN

Sh!  Don’t turn round!

FRED

What’s up?

MARIAN

Him!

FRED

Him who?

MARIAN

George!

FRED

Good Lord!  Well, don’t mind him.  He hasn’t got anything on you now.  You’re mine.