Tremaine.
One can't say much for that.
Denham.
Art is Nature's final aim. Love is the Art of Arts, and Art is long.
Mrs. Tremaine.
But could you not be a _little_ more constant, if you tried?
Denham.
Oh, _we_ can resist temptation, when we are not tempted--just like
women.
Mrs. Tremaine.
Your _capacity_ for temptation is wonderful.
Denham.
Yes. _We_ know our own frailty, _you_ never quite realise yours.
Mrs. Tremaine.
What has made you so cynical?
Denham.
The bitterness of life. Are your hands warm yet? (_Takes her
hands._)
Mrs. Tremaine.
Yes, I can go back now.
(_She goes back to the "throne." He poses her, and returns to the
easel._)
Denham.
(_painting again_) Marriage must certainly be modified. A woman
should have some honourable way of escape, when her husband gets
tired of her.
Mrs. Tremaine.
(_laughing_) How delicately you put it! But the wife? If you had to
bear all you so chivalrously inflict on us in "honourable" marriage,
I wonder how many marriages there would be?
Denham.
Instinct would be too strong for us still. But we should outscheme
Nature.
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