Mrs. Tremaine.

I don’t think marriage suits me, somehow.  I suppose it suits some people.  But I think it often tends to reduce them to a dead level of commonplace.  The artificial bond makes people too sure of each other.  It does not do to take love too much for granted, I think.

(Re-enter Denham.)

Mrs. Denham.

Well, Arthur, have you got rid of Mr. Fitzgerald?

Denham.

Yes—­I’m so glad to have made your acquaintance, Mrs. Tremaine.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Thanks.  It is so pleasant meeting unconventional people.

Miss Macfarlane.

(Rising) Eh! we’ve all been getting solemn and lugubrious.  I must be going, my dear.  Won’t you show me your drawing-room? (Mrs. Denham rises.) You wanted my advice about curtains, didn’t you?

Mrs. Denham.

Will you excuse me, Blanche?  We are refurnishing our drawing-room.  I don’t want you to come just yet.  Arthur will entertain you.

Denham.

Oh, with pleasure! (Exeunt Mrs. Denham and Miss Macfarlane.) How do you think Constance is looking, Mrs. Tremaine? (Draws chair over, and sits near her.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

It struck me she was looking rather worn and ill.

Denham.

I’m afraid she is.

Mrs. Tremaine.

She has let herself run down too much.  Does she go in for exercise—­tennis or anything?

Denham.

Nothing of the kind, I am sorry to say.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Oh, I could not live without exercise!  I used to ride while I could afford it, and I always try to do gymnastics or something.

Denham.

I’m sure you’re right.  Do you intend to stay in town now?

Mrs. Tremaine.

Yes, I hope to get some work.  I have enough income to keep me going; but I want some real employment.

Denham.

Quite right. (Rises, and puts log of wood on fire, then stands with tongs in his hand and looks at her; puts down tongs.) Well, until you get something that suits you, I wish you would give me some sittings.  I’ll give you the regular model’s wages—­a shilling an hour—­no, I’ll give you two—­two shillings an hour—­there!

Mrs. Tremaine.

Thank you, it is a generous offer.  I have sat before without the shillings, and will again with pleasure—­if you will promise to talk to me?

Denham.

I won’t promise, but I shall talk all the same.  So you have sat before?

Mrs. Tremaine.

Yes, artists seem to like painting me; I don’t know why.  I don’t profess to be a beauty.

Denham.

Of course no woman is beautiful; but some women have the art of persuading you that they are.  You have this art.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(laughing) Really you are very polite.  Am I to take that as a compliment?