All right--come. (_She comes over to the picture. He stops her._)
No, you must not look yet.
Mrs. Tremaine.
You have become quite a tyrant, do you know?
(_She goes to the fire._)
Denham.
(_taking her hands_) Cold? Yes; I have kept you too long. You have
such good hands! I wish I could paint them.
Mrs. Tremaine.
(_kneels at fire, and warms her hands_) One more chance!
Denham.
I shall make the most of it. Well, but what do you want? A
friendship, passionate and Platonic? Why, it takes all the tyranny
of a strong man like Swift to keep instinct within bounds. The
victory killed Stella and Vanessa.
Mrs. Tremaine.
Oh, we are more rational now! Then, there were two of them; that was
the difficulty there.
Denham.
Yes, there were two of them. Except in a desert island, there is
always a danger of that.
Mrs. Tremaine.
Why are men so inconstant?
Denham.
Why are women so charming--and unsatisfactory? We deceive ourselves,
and are deceived, just like you.
Mrs. Tremaine.
You amuse yourselves, and we pay.
Denham.
It is the will of God--of Nature, I should say. She is an artist;
but as for her morality--
Mrs.
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