Genre - Drama. You are on the page - 7

tle it weeks ago!MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [quickly]. You are invidious, mon ami! My affair isnot settled--am I a clumsy oof? HAWCASTLE [leaning toward her across the table and speaking sharply andearnestly]. No, Hélène. Your little American, brother Horace, is so inlove with you, if you asked him suddenly, "Is this day or night?" hewould answer, "It's Hélène." But he's too shy to speak. You're awoman--you can't press matters; but Almeric's a man--he can. He can urgean immediate

on them. Could I be one of their flattering panders, I would hang on their ears like a horseleech, till I were full, and then drop off. I pray, leave me. Who would rely upon these miserable dependencies, in expectation to be advanc'd to-morrow? What creature ever fed worse than hoping Tantalus? Nor ever died any man more fearfully than he that hoped for a pardon. There are rewards for hawks and dogs when they have done us service; but for a soldier that hazards his limbs in a battle, nothing

have known sinceour marriage.Mrs. Linde. I know how fond you were of him. And then you wentoff to Italy? Nora. Yes; you see we had money then, and the doctors insisted onour going, so we started a month later. Mrs. Linde. And your husband came back quite well? Nora. As sound as a bell! Mrs. Linde. But--the doctor? Nora. What doctor? Mrs. Linde. I thought your maid said the gentleman who arrivedhere just as I did, was the doctor? Nora. Yes, that was Doctor Rank, but he doesn't come

forgot your name; but, sure, that partWas aptly fitted and naturally perform'd.PLAYER.I think 'twas Soto that your honour means. LORD.'Tis very true; thou didst it excellent.Well, you are come to me in happy time,The rather for I have some sport in handWherein your cunning can assist me much.There is a lord will hear you play to-night;But I am doubtful of your modesties,Lest, over-eying of his odd behaviour,--For yet his honour never heard a play,--You break into some merry passionAnd so offend

ave himself from cipherdom, find an affirmative position. His thousand and three affairs of gallantry, after becoming, at most, two immature intrigues leading to sordid and prolonged complications and humiliations, have been discarded altogether as unworthy of his philosophic dignity and compromising to his newly acknowledged position as the founder of a school. Instead of pretending to read Ovid he does actually read Schopenhaur and Nietzsche, studies Westermarck, and is concerned for the