Otto. Ha, ha! That’s splendid. Iris,—liar is.
Iris. Darling, you have such strange ideas about poetry. But you’ll never guess what a beautiful rhyme Felix made to my name. Guess.
Victor. Give it up.
Clytie. You must tell us.
Iris. (Triumphantly) ‘Fire is!’
Victor. What?
Iris. ‘I shall have flown where the fire is!’
Otto. Ha, ha, ha! ‘Fire is’,—that’s jolly clever.
Iris. Oh, you’re horrid. You’ve no sense of art or poetry, or anything. I’ve no patience with you.
Victor.The rhymes of our little friend Felix Are sweet as the honey a bee licks.