MRS. HALM.
Fy, fy! my late beloved husband’s name
Was on the list of sponsors—!
STIVER [_to_ MISS JAY].
You’re to blame
For leaving that important item out.
In a report ’tis of the utmost weight
That the chronology be accurate.
But what I never yet could comprehend
Is how on earth they managed—
FALK.
The one room
Not housing sheep and cattle, I presume.
MISS JAY [_to_ STIVER].
O, but you must consider this, my friend;
There is no _Want_ where Love’s the guiding star;
All’s right without if tender Troth’s within.
[_To_ FALK.
He loved her to the notes of the guitar,
And she gave lessons on the violin—
MRS. HALM.
Then all, of course, on credit they bespoke—
GULDSTAD.
Till, in a year, the timber merchant broke.
MRS. HALM.
Then Strawman had a call to north.
MISS JAY.
And there
Vowed, in a letter that I saw (as few did),
He lived but for his duty, and for her.
FALK [_as if completing her statement_].
And with those words his Life’s Romance concluded.
MRS. HALM [_rising_].
How if we should go out upon the lawn,
And see if there’s no prospect of them yet?
MISS JAY [_drawing on her mantle_].
It’s cool already.
MRS. HALM.
Svanhild, will you get
My woollen shawl?—Come ladies, pray!
LIND [_to_ ANNA, _unobserved by the others_].
Go on!
[SVANHILD _goes into the house; the others, except_
FALK, _go towards the back and out to the left._
LIND, _who has followed, stops and returns._
LIND.
My friend!
FALK.
Ah, ditto.
LIND.
Falk, your hand! The tide
Of joy’s so vehement, it will perforce
Break out—
FALK.
Hullo there; you must first be tried;
Sentence and hanging follow in due course.
Now, what on earth’s the matter? To conceal
From me, your friend, this treasure of your finding;
For you’ll confess the inference is binding:
You’ve come into a prize off Fortune’s wheel!
LIND.
I’ve snared and taken Fortune’s blessed bird!
FALK.
How? Living,—and undamaged by the steel?
LIND.
Patience; I’ll tell the matter in one word.
I am engaged! Conceive—!
FALK [_quickly_].
Engaged!
LIND.
It’s true.
To-day,—with unimagined courage swelling,
I said,—ahem, it will not bear re-telling;—
But only think,—the sweet young maiden grew
Quite rosy-red,—but not at all enraged!
You see, Falk, what I ventured for a bride!
She listened,—and I rather think she cried;
That, sure, means “Yes“?
FALK.
If precedents decide;
Go on.
LIND.
And so we really are—engaged?
FALK.
I should conclude so; but the only way
To be quite certain, is to ask Miss Jay.
LIND.
O no, I feel so confident, so clear!
So perfectly assured, and void of fear.
[_Radiantly, in a mysterious tone._
Hark! I had leave her fingers to caress
When from the coffee-board she drew the cover.
FALK [_lifting and emptying his glass_].
Well, flowers of spring your wedding garland dress!
LIND [_doing the same_].
And here I swear by heaven that I will love her
Until I die, with love as infinite
As now glows in me,—for she is so sweet!
FALK.
Engaged! Aha, so that was why you flung
The Holy Law and Prophets on the shelf!
LIND [_laughing_].
And you believed it was the song you sung—!
FALK.
A poet believes all things of himself.
LIND [_seriously_].
Don’t think, however, Falk, that I dismiss
The theologian from my hour of bliss.
Only, I find the Book will not suffice
As Jacob’s ladder unto Paradise.
I must into God’s world, and seek Him there.
A boundless kindness in my heart upsprings,
I love the straw, I love the creeping things;
They also in my joy shall have a share.
FALK.
Yes, only tell me this, though—
LIND.
I have told it,—
My precious secret, and our three hearts hold it!
FALK.
But have you thought about the future?
LIND.
Thought?
I?—thought about the future? No, from this
Time forth I live but in the hour that is.
In home shall all my happiness be sought;
We hold Fate’s reins, we drive her hither, thither,
And neither friend nor mother shall have right
To say unto my budding blossom: Wither!
For I am earnest and her eyes are bright,
And so it must unfold into the light!
FALK.
Yes, Fortune likes you, you will serve her turn!
LIND.
My spirits like wild music glow and burn;
I feel myself a Titan: though a foss
Opened before me—I would leap across!
FALK.
Your love, you mean to say, in simple prose,
Has made a reindeer of you.
LIND.
Well, suppose;
But in my wildest flight, I know the nest
In which my heart’s dove longs to be at rest!
FALK.
Well then, to-morrow it may fly _con brio_;
You’re off into the hills with the quartette.
I’ll guarantee you against cold and wet—
LIND.
Pooh, the quartette may go and climb in _trio_,
The lowly dale has mountain air for me;
Here I’ve the immeasurable fjord, the flowers,
Here I have warbling birds and choral bowers;
And lady Fortune’s self,—for here is _she_!
FALK.
Ah, lady Fortune by our Northern water
Is _rara avis_,—hold her if you’ve caught her!
[_With a glance towards the house._
Hist—Svanhild—
LIND.
Well; I go,—disclose to none
The secret that we share alone with one.
’Twas good of you to listen: now enfold it
Deep in your heart,—warm, glowing, as I told it.
[_He goes out in the background to the others._ FALK
_looks after him a moment, and paces up and down
in the garden, visibly striving to master his
agitation. Presently_ SVANHILD _comes out with a
shawl on her arm, and is going towards the
back_. FALK _approaches and gazes at her
fixedly._ SVANHILD _stops._
SVANHILD [_after a short pause_].
You gaze so at me!
FALK [_half to himself_].
Yes, ’tis _there_—the same;
The shadow in her eyes’ deep mirror sleeping,
The roguish elf about her lips a-peeping,
It is there.
SVANHILD.
_What_? You frighten me.
FALK.
Your name
Is Svanhild?
SVANHILD.
Yes, you know it very well.
FALK.
But do _you_ know the name is laughable?
I beg you to discard it from to-night!
SVANHILD.
That would be far beyond a daughter’s right—
FALK [_laughing_].
Hm. “Svanhild! Svanhild!”
[_With sudden gravity._
With your earliest breath
How came you by this prophecy of death?
SVANHILD.
Is it so grim?
FALK.
No, lovely as a song,
But for our age too great and stern and strong,
How can a modern demoiselle fill out
The ideal that heroic name expresses?
No, no, discard it with your outworn dresses.
SVANHILD.
You mean the mythical princess, no doubt—
FALK.
Who, guiltless, died beneath the horse’s feet.
SVANHILD.
But now such acts are clearly obsolete.
No, no, I’ll mount his saddle! There’s my place!
How often have I dreamt, in pensive ease,
He bore me, buoyant, through the world apace,
His mane a flag of freedom in the breeze!
FALK.
Yes, the old tale. In “pensive ease” no mortal
Is stopped by thwarting bar or cullis’d portal;
Fearless we cleave the ether without bound;
In practice, tho’, we shrewdly hug the ground;
For all love life and, having choice, will choose it;
And no man dares to leap where he may lose it.
SVANHILD.
Yes! show me but the end, I’ll spurn the shore;
But let the end be worth the leaping for!
A Ballarat beyond the desert sands—
Else each will stay exactly where he stands.
FALK [_sarcastically_].
I grasp the case;—the due conditions fail.
SVANHILD [_eagerly_].
Exactly: what’s the use of spreading sail
When there is not a breath of wind astir?
FALK [_ironically_].
Yes, what’s the use of plying whip and spur
When there is not a penny of reward
For him who tears him from the festal board,
And mounts, and dashes headlong to perdition?
Such doing for the deed’s sake asks a knight,
And knighthood’s now an idle superstition.
That was your meaning, possibly?
SVANHILD.
Quite right.
Look at that fruit tree in the orchard close,—
No blossom on its barren branches blows.
You should have seen last year with what brave airs
It staggered underneath its world of pears.
FALK [_uncertain_].
No doubt, but what’s the moral you impute?
SVANHILD [_with finesse_].
O, among other things, the bold unreason
Of modern Zacharies who seek for fruit.
If the tree blossom’d to excess last season,
You must not crave the blossoms back in this.
FALK.
I knew you’d find your footing in the ways
Of old Romance.
SVANHILD.
Yes, modern virtue is
Of quite another stamp. Who now arrays
Himself to battle for the truth? Who’ll stake
His life and person fearless for truth’s sake?
Where is the hero?
FALK [_looking keenly at her_].
Where is the Valkyria?
SVANHILD [_shaking her head_].
Valkyrias find no market in this land!
When the faith lately was assailed in Syria,
Did you go out with the crusader-band?
No, but on paper you were warm and willing,—
And sent the “Clerical Gazette” a shilling.
[_Pause._ FALK _is about to retort, but checks
himself, and goes into the garden._
SVANHILD.
[_After watching him a moment, approaches him and
asks gently:_
Falk, are you angry?
FALK.
No, I only brood,—
SVANHILD [_with thoughtful sympathy_].
You seem to be two natures, still at feud,—
Unreconciled—
FALK.
I know it well.
SVANHILD [_impetuously_].
But why?
FALK [_losing self-control_].
Why, why? Because I hate to go about
With soul bared boldly to the vulgar eye,
As Jock and Jennie hang their passions out;
To wear my glowing heart upon my sleeve,
Like women in low dresses. You, alone,
Svanhild, you only,—you, I did believe,—
Well, it is past, _that_ dream, for ever flown.—
[_She goes to the summer-house and looks out; he
follows._
You listen—?
SVANHILD.
To another voice, that sings.
Hark! every evening when the sun’s at rest,
A little bird floats hither on beating wings,—
See there—it darted from its leafy nest—
And, do you know, it is my faith,—as oft
As God makes any songless soul, He sends
A little bird to be her friend of friends,
And sing for ever in her garden-croft.
FALK [_picking up a stone_].
Then must the owner and the bird be near,
Or its song’s squandered on a stranger’s ear.
SVANHILD.
Yes, that is true; but I’ve discovered mine.
Of speech and song I am denied the power,
But when it warbles in its leafy bower,
Poems flow in upon my brain like wine—
Ah, yes,—they fleet—they are not to be won—
[FALK _throws the stone._ SVANHILD _screams._
O God, you’ve hit it! Ah, what have you done!
[_She hurries out to the right and then quickly
returns._
O pity! pity!
FALK [_in passionate agitation_].
No,—but eye for eye,
Svanhild, and tooth for tooth. Now you’ll attend
No further greetings from your garden-friend,
No guerdon from the land of melody.
That is my vengeance: as you slew, I slay.
SVANHILD.
I slew?
FALK.
You slew. Until this very day,
A clear-voiced song-bird warbled in my soul;
See,—now one passing bell for both may toll—
You’ve killed it!
SVANHILD.
Have I?
FALK.
Yes, for you have slain
My young, high-hearted, joyous exultation—
[_Contemptuously._
By your betrothal!
SVANHILD.
How! But pray, explain—!
FALK.
O, it’s in full accord with expectation;
He gets his licence, enters orders, speeds to
A post,—as missionary in the West—
SVANHILD [_in the same tone_].
A pretty penny, also, he succeeds to;—
For it is Lind you speak of—?
FALK.
You know best
Of whom I speak.
SVANHILD [_with a subdued smile_].
As the bride’s sister, true,
I cannot help—
FALK.
Great God! It is not you—?
SVANHILD.
Who win this overplus of bliss? Ah no!
FALK [_with almost childish joy_].
It is not you! O God be glorified!
What love, what mercy does He not bestow!
I shall not see you as another’s bride;—
’Twas but the fire of pain He bade me bear—
[_Tries to seize her hand._
O hear me, Svanhild, hear me then—
SVANHILD [_pointing quickly to the background_].
See there!
[_She goes towards the house. At the same moment_
MRS. HALM, ANNA, MISS JAY, GULDSTAD, STIVER,
_and_ LIND _emerge from the background. During
the previous scene the sun has set; it is now
dark._
MRS. HALM [_to_ SVANHILD].
The Strawmans may be momently expected.
Where have you been?
MISS JAY [_after glancing at_ FALK].
Your colour’s very high.
SVANHILD.
A little face-ache; it will soon pass by.
MRS. HALM.
And yet you walk at nightfall unprotected?
Arrange the room, and see that tea is ready;
Let everything be nice; I know the lady.
[SVANHILD _goes in._
STIVER [_to_ FALK].
What is the colour of this parson’s coat?
FALK.
I guess bread-taxers would not catch his vote.
STIVER.
How if one made allusion to the store
Of verses, yet unpublished, in my drawer?
FALK.
It might do something.
STIVER.
Would to heaven it might!
Our wedding’s imminent; our purses light.
Courtship’s a very serious affair.
FALK.
Just so: “_Qu’allais-tu faire dans cette galère?_”
STIVER.
Is courtship a “galère”?
FALK.
No, married lives;—
All servitude, captivity, and gyves.
STIVER [_seeing_ MISS JAY _approach_].
You little know what wealth a man obtains
From woman’s eloquence and woman’s brains.
MISS JAY [_aside to_ STIVER].
Will Guldstad give us credit, think you?
STIVER [_peevishly_];
I
Am not quite certain of it yet: I’ll try.
[_They withdraw in conversation;_ LIND _and_ ANNA
_approach._
LIND [_aside to_ FALK].
I can’t endure it longer; in post-haste
I must present her—
FALK.
You had best refrain,
And not initiate the eye profane
Into your mysteries—
LIND.
That would be a jest!—
From you, my fellow-boarder, and my mate,
To keep concealed my new-found happy state!
Nay, now, my head with Fortune’s oil anointed—
FALK.
You think the occasion good to get it _curled_?
Well, my good friend, you won’t be disappointed;
Go and announce your union to the world!
LIND.
Other reflections also weigh with me,
And one of more especial gravity;
Say that there lurked among our motley band
Some sneaking, sly pretender to her hand;
Say, his attentions became undisguised,—
We should be disagreeably compromised.
FALK.
Yes, it is true; it had escaped my mind,
You for a higher office were designed,
Love as his young licentiate has retained you;
Shortly you’ll get a permanent position;
But it would be defying all tradition
If at the present moment he ordained you.
LIND.
Yes if the merchant does not—
FALK.
What of him?
ANNA [_troubled_].
Oh, it is Lind’s unreasonable whim.
LIND.
Hush; I’ve a deep foreboding that the man
Will rob me of my treasure, if he can.
The fellow, as we know, comes daily down,
Is rich, unmarried, takes you round the town;
In short, my own, regard it as we will,
There are a thousand things that bode us ill.
ANNA [_sighing_].
Oh, it’s too bad; to-day was so delicious!
FALK [_sympathetically to_ LIND].
Don’t wreck your joy, unfoundedly suspicious,
Don’t hoist your flag till time the truth disclose—
ANNA.
Great God! Miss Jay is looking; hush, be still!
[_She and_ LIND _withdraw in different directions._
FALK [_looking after_ LIND].
So to the ruin of his youth he goes.
GULDSTAD.
[_Who has meantime been conversing on the steps
with_ MRS. HALM _and_ MISS JAY, _approaches_
FALK _and slaps him on the shoulder._
Well, brooding on a poem?
FALK.
No, a play.
GULDSTAD.
The deuce;—I never heard it was your line.
FALK.
O no, the author is a friend of mine,
And your acquaintance also, I daresay.
The knave’s a dashing writer, never doubt.
Only imagine, in a single day
He’s worked a perfect little Idyll out.
GULDSTAD [_slily_].
With happy ending, doubtless!
FALK.
You’re aware,
No curtain falls but on a plighted pair.
Thus with the Trilogy’s First Part we’ve reckoned;
But now the poet’s labour-throes begin;
The Comedy of Troth-plight, Part the Second,
Thro’ five insipid Acts he has to spin,
And of that staple, finally, compose
Part Third,—or Wedlock’s Tragedy, in prose.
GULDSTAD [_smiling_].
The poet’s vein is catching, it would seem.
FALK.
Really? How so, pray?
GULDSTAD.
Since I also pore
And ponder over a poetic scheme,—
[_Mysteriously._
An actuality—and not a dream.
FALK.
And pray, who is the hero of your theme?
GULDSTAD.
I’ll tell you that to-morrow—not before.
FALK.
It is yourself!
GULDSTAD.
You think me equal to it?
FALK.
I’m sure no other mortal man could do it.
But then the heroine? No city maid,
I’ll swear, but of the country, breathing balm?
GULDSTAD [_lifting his finger_].
Ah,—that’s the point, and must not be betrayed!—
[_Changing his tone._
Pray tell me your opinion of Miss Halm.
FALK.
O you’re best able to pronounce upon her;
My voice can neither credit nor dishonour,—
[_Smiling._
But just take care no mischief-maker blot
This fine poetic scheme of which you talk.
Suppose I were so shameless as to balk
The meditated climax of the plot?
GULDSTAD [_good-naturedly_].
Well, I would cry “Amen,” and change my plan.
FALK.
What!
GULDSTAD.
Why, you see, you are a letter’d man;
How monstrous were it if your skill’d design
Were ruined by a bungler’s hand like mine!
[_Retires to the background._
FALK [_in passing, to_ LIND].
Yes, you were right; the merchant’s really scheming
The ruin of your new-won happiness.
LIND [_aside to_ ANNA].
Now then you see, my doubting was not dreaming;
We’ll go this very moment and confess.
[_They approach_ MRS. HALM, _who is standing with_
MISS JAY _by the house._
GULDSTAD [_conversing with_ STIVER].
’Tis a fine evening.
STIVER.
Very likely,—when
A man’s disposed—
GULDSTAD [_facetiously_].
What, all not running smooth
In true love’s course?
STIVER.
Not that exactly—
FALK [_coming up_].
Then
With your engagement?
STIVER.
That’s about the truth.
FALK.
Hurrah! Your spendthrift pocket has a groat
Or two still left, it seems, of poetry.
STIVER [_stiffly_].
I cannot see what poetry has got
To do with my engagement, or with me.
FALK.
You are not meant to see; when lovers prove
What love is, all is over with their love.
GULDSTAD [_to_ STIVER].
But if there’s matter for adjustment, pray
Let’s hear it.
STIVER.
I’ve been pondering all day
Whether the thing is proper to disclose,
But still the Ayes are balanced by the Noes.
FALK.
I’ll right you in one sentence. Ever since
As plighted lover you were first installed,
You’ve felt yourself, if I may say so, galled—
STIVER.
And sometimes to the quick.
FALK.
You’ve had to wince
Beneath a crushing load of obligations
That you’d send packing, if good form permitted.
That’s what’s the matter.
STIVER.
Monstrous accusations!
My legal debts I’ve honestly acquitted;
But other bonds next month are falling due;
[_To_ GULDSTAD.
When a man weds, you see, he gets a wife—
FALK [_triumphant_].
Now your youth’s heaven once again is blue,
There rang an echo from your old song-life!
That’s how it is: I read you thro’ and thro’;
Wings, wings were all you wanted,—and a knife!
STIVER.
A knife?
FALK.
Yes, Resolution’s knife, to sever
Each captive bond, and set you free for ever,
To soar—
STIVER [_angrily_].
Nay, now you’re insolent beyond
Endurance! Me to charge with violation
Of law,—me, me with plotting to abscond!
It’s libellous, malicious defamation,
Insult and calumny—
FALK.
Are you insane?
What is all this about? Explain! Explain!
GULDSTAD [_laughingly to_ STIVER].
Yes, clear your mind of all this balderdash!
What do you want?
STIVER [_pulling himself together_].
A trifling loan in cash.
FALK.
A loan!
STIVER [_hurriedly to_ GULDSTAD].
That is, I mean to say, you know,
A voucher for a ten pound note, or so.
MISS JAY [_to_ LIND _and_ ANNA].
I wish you joy! How lovely, how delicious!
GULDSTAD [_going up to the ladies_].
Pray what has happened?
[_To himself_.] This was unpropitious.
FALK [_throws his arms about_ STIVER’S _neck_].
Hurrah! the trumpet’s dulcet notes proclaim
A brother born to you in Amor’s name!
[_Drags him to the others._
MISS JAY [_to the gentlemen_].
Think! Lind and Anna—think!—have plighted hearts,
Affianced lovers!
MRS. HALM [_with tears of emotion_].
’Tis the eighth in order Who
well-provided from this house departs;
[_To_ FALK.
Seven nieces wedded—always with a boarder—
[_Is overcome; presses her handkerchief to her eyes._
MISS JAY [_to_ ANNA].
Well, there will come a flood of gratulation!
[_Caresses her with emotion_.
LIND [_seizing_ FALK’S _hand_].
My friend, I walk in rapt intoxication!
FALK.
Hold! As a plighted man you are a member
Of Rapture’s Temperance-association.
Observe its rules;—no orgies here, remember!
[_Turning to_ GULDSTAD _sympathetically._
Well, my good sir!
GULDSTAD [_beaming with pleasure_].
I think this promises
All happiness for both.
FALK [_staring at him_].
You seem to stand
The shock with exemplary self-command.
That’s well.
GULDSTAD.
What do you mean, sir?
FALK.
Only this;
That inasmuch as you appeared to feed
Fond expectations of your own—
GULDSTAD.
Indeed?
FALK.
At any rate, you were upon the scent.
You named Miss Halm; you stood upon this spot
And asked me—
GULDSTAD [_smiling_].
There are two, though, are there not?
FALK.
It was—the other sister that you meant?
GULDSTAD.
_That_ sister, yes, the other one,—just so.
Judge for yourself, when you have come to know
That sister better, if she has not in her
Merits which, if they were divined, would win her
A little more regard than we bestow.
FALK [_coldly_].
Her virtues are of every known variety
I’m sure.
GULDSTAD.
Not quite; the accent of society
She cannot hit exactly; there she loses.
FALK.
A grievous fault.
GULDSTAD.
But if her mother chooses
To spend a winter on her, she’ll come out of it
Queen of them all, I’ll wager.
FALK.
Not a doubt of it.
GULDSTAD [_laughing_].
Young women are odd creatures, to be sure!
FALK [_gaily_].
Like winter rye-seed, canopied secure
By frost and snow, invisibly they sprout.
GULDSTAD.
Then in the festive ball-room bedded out—
FALK.
With equivoque and scandal for manure—
GULDSTAD.
And when the April sun shines—
FALK.
There the blade is;
The seed shot up in mannikin green ladies!
[LIND _comes up and seizes_ FALK’S _hand._
LIND.
How well I chose,—past understanding well;—
I feel a bliss that nothing can dispel.
GULDSTAD.
There stands your mistress; tell us, if you can,
The right demeanor for a plighted man.
LIND [_perturbed_].
That’s a third person’s business to declare.
GULDSTAD [_joking_].
Ill-tempered! This to Anna’s ears I’ll bear.
[_Goes to the ladies._
LIND [_looking after him_].
Can such a man be tolerated?
FALK.
You
Mistook his aim, however,—
LIND.
And how so?
FALK.
It was not Anna that he had in view.
LIND.
How, was it Svanhild?
FALK.
Well, I hardly know.
[_Whimsically._
Forgive me, martyr to another’s cause!
LIND.
What do you mean?
FALK.
You’ve read the news to-night?
LIND.
No.
FALK.
Do so. There ’tis told in black and white
Of one who, ill-luck’s bitter counsel taking,
Had his sound teeth extracted from his jaws
Because his cousin-german’s teeth were aching.
MISS JAY [_looking out to the left_].
Here comes the priest!
MRS. HALM.
Now see a man of might!
STIVER.
Five children, six, seven, eight—
FALK.
And, heavens, all recent!
MISS JAY.
Ugh! it is almost to be called indecent.
[_A carriage has meantime been heard stopping
outside to the left._ STRAWMAN, _his wife, and
eight little girls, all in travelling dress,
enter one by one._
MRS. HALM [_advancing to meet them_].
Welcome, a hearty welcome!
STRAWMAN.
Thank you.
MRS. STRAWMAN.
Is it
A party?
MRS. HALM.
No, dear madam, not at all.
MRS. STRAWMAN.
If we disturb you—
MRS. HALM.
_Au contraire_, your visit
Could in no wise more opportunely fall.
My Anna’s just engaged.
STRAWMAN [_shaking_ ANNA’S _hand with unction_].
Ah then, I must
Bear witness;—Lo! in wedded Love’s presented
A treasure such as neither moth nor rust
Corrupt—if it be duly supplemented.
MRS. HALM.
But how delightful that your little maids
Should follow you to town.
STRAWMAN.
Four tender blades
We have besides.
MRS. HALM.
Ah, really?
STRAWMAN.
Three of whom
Are still too infantine to take to heart
A loving father’s absence, when I come
To town for sessions.
MISS JAY [_to_ MRS. HALM, _bidding farewell_].
Now I must depart.
MRS. HALM.
O, it is still so early!
MISS JAY.
I must fly
To town and spread the news. The Storms, I know,
Go late to rest, they will be up; and oh!
How glad the aunts will be! Now, dear, put by
Your shyness; for to-morrow a spring-tide
Of callers will flow in from every side!
MRS. HALM.
Well, then, good-night.
[_To the others._
Now friends, what would you say
To drinking tea?
[_To_ MRS. STRAWMAN.
Pray, madam, lead the way.
[MRS. HALM, STRAWMAN, _his wife and children, with_
GULDSTAD, LIND, _and_ ANNA _go into the house._
MISS JAY [_taking_ STIVER’S _arm_].
Now let’s be tender! Look how softly floats
Queen Luna on her throne o’er lawn and lea!—
Well, but you are not looking!
STIVER [_crossly_].
Yes, I see;
I’m thinking of the promissory notes.