Iris. I’m in a queer mood to-day. How stupid it is to be a woman. I should like to be a man,—to kiss, to tempt, to overcome. Oh, Felix, I should make such a fearfully passionate man. I should—I should seize everything I wanted, brutally, savagely. What a pity you aren’t a girl. Let’s pretend, shall we? You be Iris, and I’ll be your Felix.
Felix. No, Iris—it’s too dangerous to be Felix. I couldn’t let you. It means desiring something, desiring something—
Iris. (In a whisper) Oh, Felix, not something—everything!
Felix. There is something greater than desiring everything.
Iris. Is there? What is it?
Felix. Desiring the impossible.
Iris. (Coldly and crossly) Oh, of course, you’re perfectly right. You’re always right—so right. What can be keeping Victor so long? Would you mind calling him?
Felix. Iris, I haven’t offended you? I haven’t said too much?
Iris. No—I shouldn’t call it too much!
Felix. To desire the unattainable. Iris, I was mad to talk to you like that.