Lyra:  Where is a woman’s husband when she is away from him?

Homeware:  In Purgatory, by the proper reckoning.  But hurry up the avenue, or you will be late for Professor Spiral’s address.

Lyra:  I know it all without hearing.  Their Spiral!  Ah, Mr. Arden!  You have not chosen badly.  The greater my experience, the more do I value my uncle Homeware’s company.

     (She is affectionate to excess but has a roguish eye withal, as of
     one who knows that uncle Homeware suspects all young men and most
     young women.)

Homeware:  Agree with the lady promptly, my friend.

Arden:  I would gladly boast of so lengthened an experience, Lady
Pluriel.

Lyra:  I must have a talk with Astraea, my dear uncle.  Her letters breed suspicions.  She writes feverishly.  The last one hints at service on the West Coast of Africa.

Homeware:  For the draining of a pestiferous land, or an enlightenment of the benighted black, we could not despatch a missionary more effective than the handsomest widow in Great Britain.

Lyra:  Have you not seen signs of disturbance?

Homeware:  A great oration may be a sedative.

Lyra:  I have my suspicions.

Homeware:  Mr. Arden, I could counsel you to throw yourself at Lady
Pluriel’s feet, and institute her as your confessional priest.

Arden:  Madam, I am at your feet.  I am devoted to the lady.

Lyra:  Devoted.  There cannot be an objection.  It signifies that a man asks for nothing in return!

Homeware:  Have a thought upon your words with this lady, Mr. Arden!

Arden:  Devoted, I said.  I am.  I would give my life for her.

Lyra:  Expecting it to be taken to-morrow or next day?  Accept my encomiums.  A male devotee is within an inch of a miracle.  Women had been looking for this model for ages, uncle.

Homeware:  You are the model, Mr Arden!

Lyra:  Can you have intended to say that it is in view of marriage you are devoted to the widow of Professor Towers?

Arden:  My one view.

Lyra:  It is a star you are beseeching to descend.

Arden:  It is.

Lyra:  You disappoint me hugely.  You are of the ordinary tribe after all; and your devotion craves an enormous exchange, infinitely surpassing the amount you bestow.

Arden:  It does.  She is rich in gifts; I am poor.  But I give all I have.

Lyra:  These lovers, uncle Homeware!

Homeware:  A honey-bag is hung up and we have them about us.  They would persuade us that the chief business of the world is a march to the altar.

Arden:  With the right partner, if the business of the world is to be better done.