His Wife.
Oh, in time people forget every one, just as they cease to care for fashions which they once adored.
The Man.
Yet they might have remembered me just a little longer, just a little longer.
His Wife.
One day I saw a young artist gazing at that mansion. He was studying; it carefully, and sketching it in a notebook.
The Man.
Oh, you should have told me of that before, dear wife! It means a great deal, a very great deal. It means that my design will be handed down to future generations, and that, even if my personality be forgotten, my work will live. Yes, it means a great deal, a very great deal.
His Wife.
Ah! So you see that you are not forgotten, my darling! Think, too, of the young man who saluted you so respectfully in the street the other day.