Car. I left him basking on the balcony, in deep communion with his inner self.
Mrs. Eff. Ah, what a priceless destiny is yours, my babe—to live a lifetime in the eternal sunlight of his poet brain!
Car. It is; but you shall share it—father—mother—brother—all! We will all share it, alway! I would not rob you of one ray that emanates from that divine face, for all the wealth of earth!
Mrs. Eff. My unselfish girl!
Bul. How nobly he looks when, sickened with the world, he turns his eyes inward to gaze upon his hidden self!
Mr. Eff. None but Apollo ever looked as he looks then.
Car. Truly. Yet—shall I confess that when I saw him first my idiot heart sank deep within me, because, in the expression of his thoughts, I did not recognize Apollo’s stamp?
Bul. Fie, Caroline! Would, you have a poet carry his muse pick-a-back, for daws to pick at? Fie, Caroline—oh, fie!
Mrs. Eff. Some thoughts are too deep for utterance.
Car. And some too precious. Why should he scatter such gems broadcast? My poet-warrior thinks them to himself.