Ing. Marry for love—what! do you love your husbands?
Par. Why marry else?
Ing. Marry for love; that’s strange! I cannot comprehend. I love my horse, My dogs, my brave companions—but no woman! What dost thou mean by love—what is it, girl?
Par. What is it? ’Tis of all things the most sweet— The heaven of life—or, so my mother says, I never felt it.
Ing. Never?
Par. No, indeed. [Looking at garland. Now look how beautiful! Here would I weave Red flowers if I had them.
Ing. Yonder there, In that thick wood they grow.
Par. How sayest thou? (Looking off.) Oh, what a lovely red! Go, pluck me some.
Ing. (Starting at the suggestion.) I go for thee? the master serve the slave! [Gazing on her with increasing interest. And yet, why not? I’ll go—the poor child’s tired.
Par. Dost thou hesitate?