FALK [coldly].
Her virtues are of every known variety
I'm sure.
GULDSTAD.
Not quite; the accent of society
She cannot hit exactly; there she loses.
FALK.
A grievous fault.
GULDSTAD.
But if her mother chooses
To spend a winter on her, she'll come out of it
Queen of them all, I'll wager.
FALK.
Not a doubt of it.
GULDSTAD [laughing].
Young women are odd creatures, to be sure!
FALK [gaily].
Like winter rye-seed, canopied secure
By frost and snow, invisibly they sprout.
GULDSTAD.
Then in the festive ball-room bedded out—
FALK.
With equivique and scandal for manure—
GULDSTAD.
And when April sun shines—