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.

Mrs. Tremaine.

May I see?

Denham.

For Heaven’s sake, don’t stir! (Paints again.) Blanche!

Mrs. Tremaine.

Well?

Denham.

Do you know I was a fool, to say you were not beautiful?

Mrs. Tremaine.

You only spoke the truth.

Denham.

It is a higher truth to say you are; and you seem to have grown more beautiful this last month.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Oh, I am happier now!

Denham.

Happier?

Mrs. Tremaine.

Yes.  You don’t know what an oasis this studio has been to me.  I shall be sorry to go back to the desert.