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out. And don’t you forget, infant, that one moment of the ecstasy of life as I live it would strike you dead. Haha! Strephon Now the only one left, except the Maiden. Aren’t you coming, Chloe? The Maiden Shakes her head. ! The Youth Hurrying back to her. What is the matter? The Maiden Tragically pensive. I don’t know. The Youth Then there is something the matter. Is that what you mean? The Maiden Yes. Something is happening to me. I don’t know what. The Youth You no longer love me. I have seen it for a month past. The Maiden Don’t you think all that is rather silly? We cannot go on as if this kind of thing, this dancing and sweethearting, were everything. The Youth What is there better? What else is there worth living for? The Maiden Oh, stuff! Don’t be frivolous. The Youth Something horrible is happening to you. You are losing all heart, all feeling. He sits on the altar beside her and buries his face in his hands. I am bitterly unhappy. The Maiden Unhappy! Really, you must have a very empty head if there is nothing in it but a dance with one girl who is no better than any of the other girls. The Youth You did not always think so. You used to be vexed if I as much as looked at another girl. The Maiden What does it matter what I did when I was a baby? Nothing existed for me then except what I tasted and touched and saw; and I wanted all that for myself, just as I wanted the moon to play with. Now the world is opening out for me. More than the world: the universe. Even little things are turning out to be great things, and becoming intensely interesting. Have you ever thought about the properties of numbers? The Youth Sitting up, markedly disenchanted. Numbers!!! I cannot imagine anything drier or more repulsive. The Maiden They are fascinating, just fascinating. I want to get away from our eternal dancing and music, and just sit down by myself and think about numbers. The Youth Rising indignantly. Oh, this is too much. I have suspected you for some time past. We have all suspected you. All the girls say that you have deceived us as to your age: that you are getting flat-chested: that you are bored with us; that you talk to the ancients when you get the chance. Tell me the truth: how old are you? The Maiden Just twice your age, my poor boy. The Youth Twice my age! Do you mean to say you are four? The Maiden Very nearly four. The Youth Collapsing on the altar with a groan. Oh! The Maiden My poor Strephon: I pretended I was only two for your sake. I was two when you were born. I saw you break from your shell; and you were such a charming child! You ran round and talked to us all so prettily, and were so handsome and well grown, that I lost my heart to you at once. But now I seem to have lost it altogether: bigger things are taking possession of me. Still, we were very happy in our childish way for the first year, werent we? Strephon I was happy until you began cooling towards me. The Maiden Not towards you, but towards all the trivialities of our life here. Just think. I have hundreds of years to live: perhaps thousands. Do you suppose I can spend centuries dancing; listening to flutes ringing changes on a few tunes and a few notes; raving about the beauty of a few pillars and arches; making jingles with words; lying about with your arms round me, which is really neither comfortable nor convenient; everlastingly choosing colors for dresses, and putting them on, and washing; making a business of sitting together at fixed hours to absorb our nourishment; taking little poisons with it to make us delirious enough to imagine we are enjoying ourselves; and then having to pass the nights in shelters lying in cots and losing half our lives in a state of unconsciousness. Sleep is a shameful thing: I have not slept at all for weeks past. I have stolen out at night when you were all lying insensible⁠—quite disgusting, I call it⁠—and wandered about the woods, thinking, thinking, thinking; grasping the world; taking it to pieces; building it up again; devising methods; planning experiments to test the methods; and having a glorious time. Every morning I have come back here with greater and greater reluctance; and I know that the time will soon come⁠—perhaps it has come already⁠—when I shall not come back at all. Strephon How horribly cold and uncomfortable! The Maiden Oh, don’t talk to me of comfort! Life is not worth living if you have to bother about comfort. Comfort makes winter a torture, spring an illness, summer an oppression, and autumn only a respite. The ancients could make life one long frowsty comfort if they chose. But they never lift a finger to make themselves comfortable. They will not sleep under a roof. They will not clothe themselves: a girdle with a few pockets hanging to it to carry things about in is all they wear: they will sit down on the wet moss or in a gorse bush when there is dry heather within two yards of them. Two years ago, when you were born, I did not understand this. Now I feel that I would not put myself to the trouble of walking two paces for all the comfort in the world. Strephon But you don’t know what this means to me. It means that you are dying to me: yes, just dying. Listen to me. He puts his arm around her. The Maiden Extricating herself. Don’t. We can talk quite as well without touching one another. Strephon Horrified. Chloe! Oh, this is the worst symptom of all! The ancients never touch one another. The Maiden Why should they? Strephon Oh, I don’t know. But don’t you want to