Oh, never mind the sense—the sound’s the thing. MISS JAY [_looking round_]. But Svanhild, who was eagerest to hear—? When Falk began, she suddenly took wing And vanished— ANNA [_pointing towards the back_]. No, for there she sits—I see her. MRS. HALM [_sighing_]. That child! Heaven knows, she’s past my comprehending! MISS JAY. But, Mr. Falk, I thought the lyric’s ending Was not so rich in—well, in poetry, As others of the stanzas seemed to be. STIVER. Why yes, and I am sure it could not tax Your powers to get a little more inserted— FALK [_clinking glasses with him_]. You cram it in, like putty into cracks, Till lean is into streaky fat converted. STIVER [_unruffled_]. Yes, nothing easier—I, too, in my day Could do the trick. GULDSTAD. Dear me! Were you a poet? MISS JAY. My Stiver! Yes! STIVER. Oh, in a humble way. MISS JAY [_to the ladies_]. His nature is romantic. MRS. HALM. Yes, we know it. STIVER. Not now; it’s ages since I turned a rhyme. FALK. Yes, varnish and romance go off with time. But in the old days—? STIVER. Well, you see, ’twas when I was in love. FALK. Is that time over, then? Have you slept off the sweet intoxication? STIVER. I’m now _engaged_—I hold official station— That’s better than in love, I apprehend! FALK. Quite so! You’re in the right, my good old friend. The worst is past—_vous voilà bien avancé_— Promoted from mere lover to _fiancé_. STIVER [_with a smile of complacent recollection_]. It’s strange to think of it—upon my word, I half suspect my memory of lying— [_Turns to_ FALK. But seven years ago—it sounds absurd!— I wasted office hours in versifying. FALK. What! Office hours—! STIVER. Yes, such were my transgressions. GULDSTAD [_ringing on his glass_]. Silence for our solicitor’s confessions! STIVER.