_in his arms. Three_ Students.
_1st Student_.
Edward, you see that long, lank, thread-bare man?
There is a character for that same novel
You talk of thunder-striking London with,
One of these days.
_2nd St_.
I scarcely noticed him;
I was so taken with the lovely child.
She is angelic.
_3rd St_.
You see angels always,
Where others, less dim-sighted, see but mortals.
She is a pretty child. Her eyes are splendid.
I wonder what the old fellow is about.
Some crazed enthusiast, music-distract,
That lingers at the door he cannot enter!
Give him an obol, Frank, to pay old Charon,
And cross to the Elysium of sweet sounds.
Here's mine.
_1st St_.
And mine.
_2nd St_.
And mine.
[_3rd Student offers the money to_ JULIAN.]
_Julian_
(_very quietly_).
No, thank you, sir.
_Lily_.
Oh! there is mother!
[_Stretching-her hands toward a lady stepping out of a carriage_.]
_Julian_.
No, no; hush, my child!
[_The lady looks round, and _LILY _clings to her father_.
Women _talking_.]
_1st W_.
I'm sure he's stolen the child. She can't be his.
_2nd W_.
There's a suspicious look about him.
_3rd W_
True;
But the child clings to him as if she loved him.
[JULIAN _moves on slowly_.]