RICHARD.
[Drily.] Many ideas strike a man who has lived nine years with a woman.
ROBERT.
Yes. I suppose they do.... This beautiful cool stone does me good. Is it a paperweight or a cure for headache?
RICHARD.
Bertha brought it home one day from the strand. She, too, says that it is beautiful.
ROBERT.
[Lays down the stone quietly.] She is right.
[He raises his glass and drinks. A pause.]
RICHARD.
Is that all you wanted to say to me?
ROBERT.
[Quickly.] There is something else. The vicechancellor sends you, through me, an invitation for tonight—to dinner at his house. You know where he lives? [Richard nods.] I thought you might have forgotten. Strictly private, of course. He wants to meet you again and sends you a very warm invitation.
RICHARD.
For what hour?
ROBERT.
Eight. But, like yourself, he is free and easy about time. Now, Richard, you must go there. That is all. I feel tonight will be the turningpoint in your life. You will live here and work here and think here and be honoured here—among our people.
RICHARD.
[Smiling.] I can almost see two envoys starting for the United States to collect funds for my statue a hundred years hence.