Let me see; it must be more than
ten years since we've met--before we were married.
Denham.
Blanche Tremaine? Who is she?
Mrs. Denham.
My old class-fellow at our college in town. She played in our Greek
play. She was just seventeen then.
Denham.
Younger than you?
Mrs. Denham.
Two years. Yes; she must be about eight-and-twenty now. You know I
told you about her. She married a Mr. Overton.
Denham.
Overton? I seem to have heard the name. Didn't she run away from her
husband, or something?
Mrs. Denham.
Yes, poor thing! He led her an awful life.
Denham.
Oh, and then she married the co-respondent! I remember.
Mrs. Denham.
What an interest you take in these scandals!
Denham.
Of course, dear. A scandal is a typical case of the great social
disease.
Mrs. Denham.
She promised to be handsome.
Denham.
I wonder whether this woman is a weak fool, or a bold experimenter
in the art of life?
Mrs. Denham.
How so?
Denham.
Why, having had the courage to come down from the cross, should she
go back to it again?
Mrs. Denham.
What cross?
Denham.
What is woman's cross from the foundation of the world but man, man?
The cords are the bonds of marriage, her children are the nails, and
love her crown of thorns.
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