Teodora. [Also apart to Don Julian.] He doesn't live in this world.
D. Julian. Just so. He's full of depth and learning, and lets himself be drowned in a pool of water.
Ernest. [Meditatively.] True, I know little of life, and am not well fitted to make my way through it. But I divine it, and shudder, I know not why. Shall I founder on the world's pool as upon the high sea? I may not deny that it terrifies me far more than the deep ocean. The sea only reaches the limit set by the loose sand: over all space travel the emanations of the pool. A strong man's arms can struggle with the waves of the sea, but no one can struggle against subtle miasma. But if I fall, I must not feel the humiliation of defeat. I wish and pray that at the last moment I may see the approach of the sea that will bear me away at its will; see the sword that is to pierce me, the rock against which I am to be crushed. I must measure my adversary's strength, and despise it falling, despise it dying, instead of tamely breathing the venom scattered through the ambient air.
D. Julian. [To Teodora.] Didn't I tell you he was going out of his mind?
Teodora. But, Ernest, where are you wandering?
D. Julian. Yes. What has all this to do with the matter?
Ernest. Sir, I have come to the conclusion that others, seeing me housed and fed here, are saying of me what I long have thought. They see me constantly driving out with you, in the morning walking with Teodora or Mercedes, in your opera-box, hunting on your lands, and daily occupying the same place at your table. Though you would like to think otherwise, in one way or another the gossip runs: Who is he? Is he a relation? Not so. The secretary? Still less. A partner? If a partner, it
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