Felix. They’re not, they’re not!
Iris. Let me see—look into my eyes quickly.
Victor. One, two, three, four—Ah! I knew he couldn’t hold out any longer.
Iris. What’s the colour of my eyes, Felix dear?
Felix. Blue—like heaven.
Iris. Yours are brown—golden-brown. I don’t care for blue eyes, they’re so cold. Poor Clytie has green eyes, hasn’t she? Do you like Clytie’s eyes, Felix?
Felix. Clytie’s? I don’t know. Yes—she has beautiful eyes.
Iris. Oh, but her legs are dreadfully thick! You’re such bad judges of women, you poets.
Victor. Have you read the last poem that Felix published? It came out in the Spring Anthology.
Iris. Read it me, quickly.