Iris. Or at least impolite. Really, you know, you’re rather crude, my little man. When you’re in the company of ladies, you shouldn’t behave as if you were longing for something that isn’t there.
Felix. The unattainable is there.
Iris. (Looking round from her mirror) Where?
Felix. Your image, Iris.
Iris. My image? Have you fallen in love with my image? Look, my image has heard you. Kiss it quickly.
Felix. It is as unapproachable as you.
Iris. Am I unapproachable? How do you know?
Felix. If I didn’t know that, I shouldn’t love you.
Iris. But must one always be unapproachable?
Felix. There is no true love except in the unapproachable.