[Who has meantime been conversing on the steps with Mrs. Halm and Miss Jay, approaches Falk and slaps him on the shoulder.
Well, brooding on a poem?
Falk.
No, a play.
Guldstad.
The deuce;—I never heard it was your line.
Falk.
O no, the author is a friend of mine,
And your acquaintance also, I daresay.
The knave’s a dashing writer, never doubt.