Denham.

That was very hard, I know; but your own child is different, surely?

Mrs. Denham.

You seem to think I don’t love her?

Denham.

Not wisely, but too well—­as you love me.

(Re-enter Undine, dressed to go out, and stands just inside door.  Mrs. Denham rises, and Undine comes slowly towards her.)

Mrs. Denham.

Well, dear, have you washed your hands and face?

Undine.

Yes, mother.

Mrs. Denham.

That’s my nice clean little girl. (She embraces and kisses her.)
Why does my little girl make mother angry?

Undine.

I don’t know.

Mrs. Denham.

Well, kiss father, and go out while it is fine and bright.

Undine.

(coming behind Denham, and pulling back his head) Father, I’m going to bring you some buttercups, to put on your table and make your work look pretty.

Denham.

Thanks, my wee one.  And bring me some sunshine in their cups, like a good little fairy.

Undine.

I will.

Denham.

(kissing her) Good-bye, and now run away.

Undine.

I’ll bring you some speedwell, mother.

Mrs. Denham.

(kissing her) Thanks, my little Undine.

(Undine goes out, then peeps back through the door.)

Undine.

And I’ll make a daisy chain for Demeter.

Mrs. Denham.

That will be pretty.  Good-bye.

Undine.

Good-bye. (Kisses her hand to Denham.)

(Exit Undine.)

Denham.

Well, it isn’t such a very wicked idiot, after all.  Now is it? (Crosses L, and sits.)

Mrs. Denham.

Oh, she is good enough when she hasn’t to do what she dislikes. (Crosses back of table.)

Denham.

Children are shockingly human, just like you and me.  I wish I could cure you of this intense irritability, Constance.

Mrs. Denham.

You have often lost your own temper with her when you have tried to teach her anything—­often enough. (Sits L of table.)

Denham.

Yes, it was sheer stupidity.  It is a bad educational method.  It involves loss of dignity on both sides.  Be as stern as you please, but not furious.

Mrs. Denham.

Furious! (Rises) Thank you for the word. (Crosses R.) I know I am making myself hated by her and despised by you; but I must do my duty as best I can in the teeth of your cruel criticism.  I must think of her future.

Denham.

(rises, and lights pipe) Oh, damn the future—­and the past too!  You take life too seriously.  You are a born self-tormentor, too full of anxiety to live.  You have the worst form of the great malady of the age, conscience in the agnostic form.  You suffer from the new hysteria.