GEORGE. So am I.
THE AGENT. If you are wise, you will build yourselves a little nest secretly in the woods, away from civilization, and you will run away together to that nest whenever you are in the mood. A nest so small that it will hold only two beings and one thought—the thought of love. And then you will come back refreshed to civilization, where every soul is different from every other soul—you will let each other alone, forget each other, and do your own work in peace. Do you understand?
HELEN. He means we should occupy separate sides of the house, I think.
Or else that we should live apart and only see each other on week-ends.
I'm not sure which.
THE AGENT. (passionately) I mean that you should not stifle love with civilization, nor encumber civilization with love. What have they to do with each other? You think you want a fellow student of economics. You are wrong. You think you want a dancing partner. You are mistaken. You want a revelation of the glory of the universe.
HELEN. (to George, confidentially) It's blithering nonsense, of course. But it was something like that—a while ago.
GEORGE. (bewilderedly) Yes; when we knew it was our first kiss and thought it was to be our last.
THE AGENT. (fiercely) A kiss is always the first kiss and the last—or it is nothing.
HELEN. (conclusively) He's quite mad.
GEORGE. Absolutely.
THE AGENT. Mad? Of course I am mad. But—