FALK.
In practice.
GULDSTAD.
Right!
FALK.
And if one asked the source from which you drew—?
GULDSTAD
[Glancing a moment at SVANHILD, and then turning
again to FALK.
A common source discovered by us two.
SVANHILD.
Now I must go.
GULDSTAD.
No, wait till I conclude.
I should not ask so much of others. You,
Svanhild, I've learnt to fathom thro' and thro';
You are too sensible to play the prude.
I watched expand, unfold, your little life;
A perfect woman I divined within you,
But long I only saw a daughter in you;—
Now I ask of you—will you be my wife?
[SVANHILD draws back in embarrassment.
FALK [seizing his arm].
Hold!
GULDSTAD.
Patience; she must answer. Put your own
Question;—then her decision will be free.
FALK.
I—do you say?
GULDSTAD [looking steadily at him].
The happiness of three
Lives is at stake to-day,—not mine alone.
Don't fancy it concerns you less than me;
For tho' base matter is my chosen sphere,
Yet nature made me something of a seer.
Yes, Falk, you love her. Gladly, I confess,
I saw your young love bursting into flower.
But this young passion, with its lawless power,
May be the ruin of her happiness.