Conan:  (Comes in:  the book in his hand open, he is not looking at it.) “Life is the flame of the heart ...that heat is of the nature of the stars.” ...It is Aristotle had knowledge to turn that flame here and there....  What way now did he do that?

Mother:  Ah, I’m well pleased to see you coming in, Conan.  I was getting uneasy thinking you were gone astray on us.

Conan:  (Dropping his book and picking it up again.) I never knew the like of you, Maryanne, under the canopy of heaven.  To be questioning me with your talk, and I striving to keep my mind upon all the wisdom of the ancient world. (Sits down beside fire.)

Mother:  So you would be too.  It is well able you are to do that.

Conan:  (To Celia.) Have you e’er a meal to leave down to me?

Celia:  It will be ready within three minutes of time.

Conan:  Wasting the morning on me!  What good are you if you cannot so much as boil the breakfast?  Hurry on now.

Celia:  Ah, hurry didn’t save the hare. (Sings ironically as she prepares breakfast.) (Air, “Mo Bhuachailin Buidhe.”)

  “Come in the evening or come in the morning,
  Come when you’re looked for or come without warning;
  Kisses and welcome you’ll find here before you
  And the oftner you come here the more I’ll adore you.”

Conan:  Give me up the tea-pot.

Celia:  Best leave it on the coals awhile.

Conan:  Give me up those eggs so. (Seizes them.)

Celia:  You can take the tea-pot too if you are calling for it. (Goes on singing mischievously as she turns a cake.)

  “I’ll pull you sweet flowers to wear if you’ll choose them,
  Or after you’ve kissed them they’ll lie on my bosom.”

Conan:  (Breaking eggs.) They’re raw and running!

Celia:  There’s no one can say which is best, hurry or delay.

Conan:  You had them boiled in cold water!

Celia:  That’s where you’re wrong.

Conan:  The young people that’s in the world now, if you had book truth they wouldn’t believe it. (Flings eggs into the fire and pours out tea.)

Mother:  I hope now that is pleasing to you?

Conan:  (Threatening Celia with spoon.) My seven curses on yourself and your fair-haired tea. (Puts back tea-pot.)

Celia:  (Laughing.) It was hurry left it so weak on you!

Mother:  Ah, don’t be putting reproaches on him.  Crossness is a thing born with us.  It do run in the blood.  Strive now to let him have a quiet life.

Conan:  I am not asking a quiet life!  But to come live with your own family you might as well take your coffin on your back!

Celia:  (Sings.)