HILDEGARDE. Are you ever?
TRANTO. I wanted to walk home with you.
HILDEGARDE. Are you getting frightened about that next article of mine?
TRANTO. No. I've lost all interest in articles.
HILDEGARDE. Even in my articles?
TRANTO. Even in yours. I'm only interested in the writer of your articles. ( Agitated .) Miss Hilda, the hour is about to strike.
HILDEGARDE. What hour?
TRANTO. Listen, please. Let me explain. The situation is this. Instinct has got hold of me. When I woke up this morning something inside
me said: 'You must call at the Ministry for that young woman and walk home with her.' This idea seemed marvellously beautiful to me; it seemed one of the most enchanting ideas that had ever entered the heart of man. I thought of nothing else all the morning. When I reached the Ministry and you'd gone, I felt as if I'd been shot. Then I rushed here. If you hadn't been at home I don't know what I should have done. My fever has been growing every moment. Providentially you are here. I give you fair warning that I'm utterly in the grip of an instinct which is ridiculously unconventional and which will brook no delay. I repeat, the hour is about to strike.
HILDEGARDE ( rousing herself ). Before it actually strikes, I want to ask a question.