Constance is not superstitious. It is her worst fault. A little superstition gives colour to life.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Do let _me_ take the cat, Constance!

Mrs. Denham.

I am sure you are welcome to the beast.

Denham.

Thanks, Mrs. Tremaine.

Mrs. Denham.

Arthur, take Mrs. Tremaine down to have some tea.

Denham.

Will you come, Mrs. Tremaine?

(_Exeunt Denham and Mrs. Tremaine._)

Miss Macfarlane.

(_retaining Mrs. Denham_) My dear, beware of that woman! (_Crosses to Mrs. Denham._)

Mrs. Denham.

Of Blanche--why?

Miss Macfarlane.

Ye have a husband, that's all.

Mrs. Denham.

But you don't suppose--

Miss Macfarlane.

Eh, I suppose nothing. But that woman loves men. I can see it with half an eye.

Mrs. Denham.

If my husband does not love me, let him leave me. (_Crosses C._)

Miss Macfarlane.

Fiddlesticks, my dear; don't go in for heroics. Of course he loves you. Does it follow he can't love another woman into the bargain?

They think they can, at any rate.

Mrs. Denham.

I don't care for such love.

Miss Macfarlane.

Of course not. But in this world we must make sure of what we can grab; and then we can grab a bit more, and a bit more, maybe.

Mrs. Denham.

I can trust my husband.

Miss Macfarlane.

(_coming to Mrs. Denham_) Right; but don't trust him into temptation. Mind you, she's charming. Men haven't been flogged into constancy, as we have. Remember that. I'm not old-maidish, my dear, though I've escaped holy matrimony. I don't profess hatred of men, they're none so much worse than we are; but they're different, and--pardon my strong language--they're damnably brought up. (_They go up stage towards door._) Beware of that woman, I tell ye. Don't let her get a footing here. And now, give me some tea.

ACT DROP.

Act II.

_Scene: The Studio. Denham discovered at easel near the front R, a small table with colours, etc., beside him, painting Mrs. Tremaine, in a black evening dress. She sits in a chair upon the "throne" a piece of tapestry behind her, up the stage L. Oak table against L wall, above fireplace._

Denham.

Head a little more up. No, I don't want you like that.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Come and pose me then.

Denham.

All right. (_He poses her, then goes back to the easel._) By Jove!

this is getting serious. This is the best thing I have done.

Mrs. Tremaine.

So you say of them all. This is the third attempt. How many more do you intend to make?

Denham.

Oh, I don't know! I should like to go on as long as I could make headway. (_He paints in silence for some time._) There, I am getting something I never got before--the real woman at last.