GEORGE. Ssh!
THE AGENT. Yet there _is_ the nest-building instinct. You feel it,
both of you. If you don't now, you will as soon as you are married. If
you are fools, you will try to live all your lives in a love-nest; and
you will imprison your souls within it, and the Devil will laugh.
HELEN. (_to George_) I am beginning to be afraid of him.
GEORGE. So am I.
THE AGENT. If you are wise, you will build yourselves a little nest
secretly in the woods, away from civilization, and you will run away
together to that nest whenever you are in the mood. A nest so small
that it will hold only two beings and one thought--the thought of love.
And then you will come back refreshed to civilization, where every soul
is different from every other soul--you will let each other alone,
forget each other, and do your own work in peace. Do you understand?
HELEN. He means we should occupy separate sides of the house, I think.
Or else that we should live apart and only see each other on week-ends.
I'm not sure which.
THE AGENT. (_passionately_) I mean that you should not stifle love
with civilization, nor encumber civilization with love. What have they
to do with each other? You think you want a fellow student of
economics. You are wrong. _You_ think you want a dancing partner.
You are mistaken. You want a revelation of the glory of the universe.
HELEN. (_to George, confidentially_) It's blithering nonsense, of
course. But it _was_ something like that--a while ago.
GEORGE. (_bewilderedly_) Yes; when we knew it was our first kiss
and thought it was to be our last.
THE AGENT. (_fiercely_) A kiss is always the first kiss and the
last--or it is nothing.
HELEN. (_conclusively_) He's quite mad.
GEORGE. Absolutely.