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Pretenders to the hand of an inviolate widow bite like waves at a rock. LYRA: Professor Spiral advances rapidly. HOMEWARE: Not, it would appear, when he has his audience of ladies and their satellites. LYRA: I am sure I hear a spring-tide of enthusiasm coming. ARDEN: I will see. LYRA: Now! my own dear uncle, save me from Pluriel.
Fling off a kid glove after a round of calls; feel your hand there you have me now that I am out of him for my half a day, if for as long. ASTRAEA: This is one of the world's happy marriages! LYRA: This is one of the world's choice dishes! And I have it planted under my nostrils eternally. Spare me the mention of Pluriel until he appears; that's too certain this very day.
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! ASTRAEA: Pardon me if I do not hear you well. ARDEN: I will not even think you barbarous.
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: Love and war have been compared. Both require strategy and tactics, according to my recollection of the campaign. ARDEN: I will take to heart what you say, sir. HOMEWARE: Take it to head. There must be occasional descent of lovers' heads from the clouds. And Professor Spiral, But here we have a belated breeze of skirts. LYRA: My own dear uncle Homeware! HOMEWARE: But where is Pluriel?
His air of self-satisfaction increases their uneasiness they follow him. LYRA: Oh! Pluriel, ask me of him! I wish I were less sure he would not be at the next corner I turn. ASTRAEA: You speak of your husband strangely, Lyra. LYRA: My head is out of a sack.
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