"What wish?"
"I how have a female friend, a companion, and, in the words of the song, 'you'll ne'er find a better.'"
"Your treatment of the peasant woman is quite amiable and does you great credit, but she is not a friend. Your friend should be one who is your equal. Your relation toward this peasant woman will always be that of a patron. She never dare find fault with you, and if she were to make the attempt, you could readily silence her. Mere common-sense is defenseless against the armory of culture."
Without noticing how Irma started at these words, the doctor calmly continued:
"There's just as much difference, mentally, between yourself and such a type of popular simplicity as there is between a grown person and a child. I fear you've neglected to secure yourself a friend who is your equal in birth."
"My equal in birth? So you, too, are an aristocrat?"
The doctor explained that equality of rights could be conceded without doing away with social distinctions.
"Whenever I leave you," said Irma, her face radiant with enthusiasm--"whenever I've been under the influence of your thoughts, all that I do or attempt seems petty and trifling. At such moments, I feel just as I do after listening to glorious music, and long to accomplish something out of the usual way. I wish I were gifted with artistic talent."
"Content yourself with being one of nature's loveliest works. That's the best thing to do."
The doctor was called away.