CHANTECLER
[_Dryly._] Yes, Madam.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
I suppose it would be useless to insist--

CHANTECLER
[_Climbing on the wall at the back._] And from here you can see the
remainder of the estate, to the edge of the kitchen-garden, where they
ply at evening a serpent ending like a sprinkling can.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
What?--This is all?

CHANTECLER
This is all.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
And do you imagine the world ends at your vegetable-patch?

CHANTECLER
No.

THE PHEASANT-HEN
Do you never, as you watch, far overhead, the wedge of the south-flying
birds, dream of vaster horizons?

CHANTECLER
No.