Guldstad [smiling]. My ground is, as I said last night, A kind of poetry— Falk. In practice. Guldstad [nodding slowly]. Right! Falk. And if one asked the source from which you drew—? Guldstad
[Glancing a moment at Svanhild, and then turning again to Falk.
A common source discovered by us two. Svanhild. Now I must go. Guldstad. No, wait till I conclude. I should not ask so much of others. You, Svanhild, I've learnt to fathom thro' and thro'; You are too sensible to play the prude. I watched expand, unfold, your little life; A perfect woman I divined within you, But long I only saw a daughter in you;— Now I ask of you—will you be my wife?
[Svanhild draws back in embarrassment.
