Mrs. Tremaine.

No.  It might have come to nothing.  I am to sing three songs at a private concert.

Denham.

A good house?

Mrs. Tremaine.

Capital—­and good people to hear me.  I may choose my own songs, Italian, German, or English.  I have a fortnight to prepare, and I am to be paid!

Denham.

Brava!

Mrs. Denham.

You are not going just yet?

Mrs. Tremaine.

No, not immediately. (Crosses to “throne” and sits again.  Denham follows her.)

Mrs. Denham.

We shall meet again then.  Good-bye!

Mrs. Tremaine.

(as Denham arranges her skirt) A bientot!

(Exit Mrs. Denham.  Denham begins to paint.)

Denham.

Well, you mysterious creature, I think you have chosen your profession well.  Your voice is lovely, and your style—­well, not bad in these days of execrable singing.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Do you know, it was your praise that made me think seriously of this?

Denham.

(absorbed in painting) Really?  But why would you never sing to me since that evening?

Mrs. Tremaine.

I have been working so hard; I wanted to surprise you.

Denham.

And now you will?

Mrs. Tremaine.

Perhaps—­some time. (A pause, Denham painting in silence.)

Denham.

Come down and look at this thing now.  I can do no more to it.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(comes over to the easel, Denham puts down brush and palette) But this is splendid!

Denham.

(taking pipe) Better, isn’t it? (Crosses L, to table, and strikes a match.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

Oh yes!  But how you have flattered me!  I shall be reduced to a proper humility when I look in the glass. (Turns and glances at mirror, then again at picture.)

Denham.

Never mind the glass.  That’s how I see you.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(crosses C and drops him a curtsey) Thank you, sir.  An uncynical compliment at last!

Denham.

(bowing) ’Tis but your due, madam, I protest.  Come, sit down, and let us be lazy. (Pushes armchair round for Mrs. Tremaine, takes chair from “throne” and sits near her.) We have worked very hard.  Do you ever go to the theatre?

Mrs. Tremaine.

Sometimes.

Denham.

Does it amuse you?

Mrs. Tremaine.

Oh yes!  I like a good three act farce.

Denham.

So do I. But our serious plays are amusing in a deeper way—­now that we have begun timidly to scratch the surface of things.  I wonder, if you and I were put on the stage, what they would say of us?

Mrs. Tremaine.

But there is nothing to make a play about in us.