Norbert.
How could you? Isn't it all yours?
Beata.
I don't understand anything about duelling.
Norbert.
No, but my ideas are yours--every one of them. All I've said about self-restraint--about striving toward an harmonious whole--about the Greek ideal of freedom--and how posterity will smile at our struggles--it's all yours, Aunt Beata, every word of it.
Beata.
Don't tell your father! And besides, it isn't. My ideas have got twisted in that wild young brain of yours. And it might annoy him to think that I had put them there----
Norbert.
Oh, Aunt Beata, I know what you really think. But, of course, if you don't want me to, I----