‘Steve,’ said Temple suddenly, the thought of food in the immediate future possibly giving him the idea.
‘Yes?’ she said, with a curious smile.
‘I was wondering if, er, you . . .’ He broke off. For perhaps the first time Paul Temple knew what it meant when he used the word ‘bashful’ in one of his novels.
‘If you’d—er—care to have dinner with me on … on Thursday?’ he said.
‘Thursday? Yes, of course,’ she said happily. ‘I’d love to.’
'Good. I shall be in town, so perhaps we can . . . er . . . lunch together, too?’
‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘Why not?’
‘We might even manage to have tea together, as a sort of, er—
‘I’d love to,’ she replied softly.
‘Oh, er, splendid,’ he said. ‘Well, that’s about all. Of course, there is breakfast, but—’
‘I always have breakfast in bed.’
‘Well, that’s a bit awkward!’
‘Of course,’ put in Steve a trifle glibly, ‘we could get married.’
‘Yes, I suppose we—’ Temple suddenly gasped. ‘I say... are you proposing?’
‘What do you think, Mr. Temple?’ she asked brightly, in a voice that was a perfect imitation of his. ‘What do you think?’
--Francis Durbridge, Send For Paul Temple (1938)