Mrs. Denham.

I am not hysterical.

Denham.

Pardon me, we are all hysterical nowadays.  We have lost our self-possession.  You don’t kick on the hearthrug and that kind of thing.  A bucket of cold water is not “indicated” in your case.

Mrs. Denham.

It seems to me you are always throwing buckets of cold water over me.

Denham.

For heaven’s sake, go and reform the world!  That is the modern woman’s true vocation—­and cure.  Denounce our sensuality and selfishness from the platform, as well as from the hearth.  They are the defects of our qualities.  If you don’t like us as we are, mould us.

Mrs. Denham.

(approaching) That is what we are trying to do.

Denham.

Yes.  You have not mastered your material yet.  Your technique is a little crude. (He resumes his seat in the armchair, and puts down his pipe as she comes.)

Mrs. Denham.

(kneeling beside him) Why will you push me away from you, Arthur?  You know I only want to be your wife.  You are always implying that our marriage is a failure.  Why not say it directly?

Denham.

We are creatures of the transition.  We have not quite found the new centre of equilibrium.  Marriage, except as a symbol, is either a superfluous bond or the consecration of a mistake.  You have taught us this great truth, anyhow.

Mrs. Denham.

Why did you get married then?

Denham.

Practically it is still a necessary evil, like war and politics.  The brute world, howling, forces us into bonds.  It is our business to adjust them so as to gall us as little as possible.

Mrs. Denham.

(starting up, crosses R) If the bonds gall you so much, break them.  Don’t spend your breath in this puling talk.  If you are tired of me, go!  As far as I am concerned, I set you free.  Find some other woman, if you can, who will be more satisfactory.

Denham.

(rising, and standing with his back to the fire) But why one other woman?  Why not extend my freedom to two?

Mrs. Denham.

Two or a dozen, what is it to me?

Denham.

A dozen, Constance?  Do you take me for a Turk?  I have often told you every man should be content with three wives.  More than this verges upon polygamy.  But blessed is he who finds the three in one!

Mrs. Denham.

Indeed.  Have you found that in Gyp?

Denham.

No, not directly; though Gyp fills me with thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.  Her cynicism is always illuminating.

Mrs. Denham.

I wish I could say the same of yours.  But why three, and not a dozen?

Denham.

There are only three possible women in the world, the Divine
Mistress—­

Mrs. Denham.

And the “Divine Matron”—­I have heard this sickening cant before.