Astraea:  Professor Spiral is a thinker; he is a sage.  He gives women their due.

Lyra:  And he is a bachelor too—­or consequently.

Astraea:  If you like you may be as playful with me as the Lyra of our maiden days used to be.  My dear, my dear, how glad I am to have you here!  You remind me that I once had a heart.  It will beat again with you beside me, and I shall look to you for protection.  A novel request from me.  From annoyance, I mean.  It has entirely altered my character.  Sometimes I am afraid to think of what I was, lest I should suddenly romp, and perform pirouettes and cry ‘Carnation!’ There is the bell.  We must not be late when the professor condescends to sit for meals.

Lyra:  That rings healthily in the professor.

Astraea:  Arm in arm, my Lyra.

Lyra:  No Pluriel yet!

(They enter the house, and the time changes to evening of the same
day.  The scene is still the garden.)

SceneVI

Astraea, Arden

Astraea:  Pardon me if I do not hear you well.

Arden:  I will not even think you barbarous.

Astraea:  I am.  I am the object of the chase.

Arden:  The huntsman draws the wood, then, and not you.

Astraea: 
               At any instant I am forced to run,
               Or turn in my defence:  how can I be
               Other than barbarous?  You are the cause.

Arden:  No:  heaven that made you beautiful’s the cause.

Astraea: 
               Say, earth, that gave you instincts.  Bring me down
               To instincts!  When by chance I speak awhile
               With our professor, you appear in haste,
               Full cry to sight again the missing hare. 
               Away ideas!  All that’s divinest flies! 
               I have to bear in mind how young you are.

Arden: 
               You have only to look up to me four years,
               Instead of forty!

Astraea:  Sir?

Arden
                    There’s my misfortune! 
               And worse that, young, I love as a young man. 
               Could I but quench the fire, I might conceal
               The youthfulness offending you so much.

Astraea:  I wish you would.  I wish it earnestly.

Arden:  Impossible.  I burn.

Astraea:  You should not burn.

Arden
               ’Tis more than I.  ’Tis fire.  It masters will. 
               You would not say I should not’ if you knew fire. 
               It seizes.  It devours.

Astraea:  Dry wood.

Arden: 
               Cold wit! 
               How cold you can be!  But be cold, for sweet
               You must be.  And your eyes are mine:  with them
               I see myself:  unworthy to usurp
               The place I hold a moment.  While I look
               I have my happiness.