Miss Jay [perturbed].
My Stiver mustn't listen to his mocking.
He's rather too eccentric even now.—
My dear, I want you.
Stiver [occupied in cleaning his pipe].
Presently, my dear.
Guldstad [to Falk].
One thing at least to me is very clear;—
And that is that you cannot but allow
Some forethought indispensable. For see,
Suppose that you to-day should write a sonnet,
And, scorning forethought, you should lavish on it
Your last reserve, your all, of poetry,
So that, to-morrow, when you set about
Your next song, you should find yourself cleaned out,
Heavens! how your friends the critics then would crow!
Falk.
D'you think they'd notice I was bankrupt? No!
Once beggared of ideas, I and they
Would saunter arm in arm the selfsame way— [Breaking off.
But Lind! why, what's the matter with you, pray?
You sit there dumb and dreaming—I suspect you're
Deep in the mysteries of architecture.
