D. Julian. We have just come from the Opera. She has gone upstairs with my brother, to see something or other that Mercedes has bought, and I was on my way to my room when I saw your light, so I stopped to say good-night.
Ernest. Was there a good house?
D. Julian. As usual. All our friends inquired after you. They wondered you were not there too.
Ernest. That was kind of them.
D. Julian. Not more than you deserve. And how have you improved the shining hours of solitude and inspiration!
Ernest. Solitude, yes; inspiration, no. It shuns me though I call on it never so humbly and fondly.
D. Julian. It has failed at the rendezvous?
Ernest. And not for the first time, either. But if I have done nothing else, at least I have made a happy discovery.
D. Julian. What?
Ernest. That I am a poor devil.