It sounds very well; but I'm afraid I don't quite understand it.

Denham.

That is the highest praise you could give it; if it be unintelligible it _must_ be fine. It means "_mes hommages_!"

(_Kisses her hand._) And now come down! (_He hands her down from the "throne"._)

Mrs. Tremaine.

(_with a shy laugh, crosses_ R) But you don't mean to say that you have said all those fine words about me?

Denham.

Yes--_to_ you, Blanche. I love you. What is that to you? (_Comes down to fire._)

Mrs. Tremaine.

It is very flattering, no doubt, to be made love to in pretty verses. (_With a mocking smile._) Is this your "situation" at last?

Denham.

Yes, it is a situation.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(_sharply_) Oh, I see! I am to be a sort of lay figure for your poetry, as well as your painting; the Laura of this new Petrarch.

Thank you! (_She bows with a little laugh._)

Denham.

I love you, Blanche, I love you!

Mrs. Tremaine.

Say it in verse as much as you like. It does not sound nice in prose. Don't let us make fools of ourselves, Mr. Denham.

Denham.

We can't avoid it, Mrs. Tremaine. To do it with dignity is all that can be expected of us.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(_with increased vexation_) That's impossible. (_Crosses_ R, _and takes cloak._) Don't let us spoil a pleasant friendship with nonsense of this kind. Let me keep that--and your sonnet--and good-bye!

(_She comes down to_ L C. _Denham takes her cloak and puts it on her, keeping his hands on her shoulders._)

Denham.

As you please. Call it friendship, or anything you like. To me it is new life. You have simply taken possession of me from the first--imagination, heart, soul, everything. I live in you, I see your face, I hear your voice, I speak to you when you are absent, just as if you were present. I call you aloud by your name--Blanche, Blanche!

(_She starts away from him, and the cloak remains in his hands._)

Mrs. Tremaine.

Hush, hush, Mr. Denham! I ought not to listen to such words from you. I never dreamed--

Denham.

(_throwing cloak over back of sofa_) I know, I know. Women never do; they go on their way like blindfold fates. Is there such a thing as a magnetic attraction--affinity? I never believed in it till I saw you.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(_laughs nervously_) With how little ingenuity men make love!

Denham.

Don't laugh at my raving, you cruel Blanche! I know it sounds as foolish as a schoolboy's valentine; but it is as sincere--and inadequate. Words are stupid things. (_He takes her hands, and looks in her face._)

Mrs. Tremaine.

Do let us part friends. If you are in earnest, you must know this is wicked as well as foolish.

Denham.

Yes, it is always wicked to snatch a moment's supreme happiness in this world. _If_ I am in earnest! You know I am in earnest! (_He strokes her hair, then, as she turns away, he puts his arm round her waist and draws her to him._) Blanche, my beautiful Blanche! I did not mean to say all this, but it was too strong for me.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Let me go, Mr. Denham!

Denham.

(_releasing her_) Well, go! (_Crosses L._) Go, if you can!

Mrs. Tremaine.

(_angrily_) I can and will. (_Turns to take her cloak._)

Denham.

Do you know, Blanche, I thought you loved me?

Mrs. Tremaine.

(_turning sharply_) Then you were more foolish than I thought.

(_Softening._) Perhaps I was to blame, but I meant nothing wrong.

Denham.