HOMEWARE: Strange! how young people blowing words like clouds
On winds, now fair, now foul, and as they please
Should still attach the Fates to them.
ARDEN: She’s wounded
Wounded to the quick!
HOMEWARE: The quicker our success: for short
Of that, these dames, who feel for everything,
Feel nothing.
ARDEN: Your intention has been kind,
Dear sir, but you have ruined me.
HOMEWARE: Good-night. (Going.)
ARDEN: Yet she said, we are lost, in her surprise.
HOMEWARE: Good morning. (Returning.)
ARDEN: I suppose that I am bound
(If I could see for what I should be glad!)
To thank you, sir.
HOMEWARE: Look hard but give no thanks.
I found my girl descending on the road
Of breakneck coquetry, and barred her way.
Either she leaps the bar, or she must back.
That means she marries you, or says good-bye.
(Going again.)
ARDEN: Now she’s among them. (Looking at window.)