Clifford Thornton looked into the fire and laughed happily.
Then Gerda said:
"Twice I have dreamed that I found a certain species of fungus in a particular part of the wood; and guided by the memory of my dream, the next day I have found it. Have you ever found anything like that in a dream, Professor Thornton?"
Clifford looked up with a painful expression on his face.
"I always try my very hardest never to dream, Frue," he answered.
"And why?" she asked.
"Because up to the present we appear to have no knowledge of how to control our dreams," he replied.
"But if we could control them, they would not be dreams," said Katharine.
"So much the better then," answered Clifford; "they would be mere continuations of self-guided consciousness in another form."
"But it is their utter irresponsibility and wildness which give them their magic!" cried the French artist. "In my dreams, I am the prince of all painters born since the world began. Mon Dieu, to be without that! I tremble! Life would be impossible! In my dreams I discover unseen, unthought-of colours! I cry with rapture!"