Unfortunately I am on no such pinnacle. (_Rises._) I can only humbly
ask you, when will you sit again?
Mrs. Tremaine.
Oh, now that you have painted that masterpiece, I must resign the
privilege of being your model.
Denham.
That is unkind of you, Blanche. But why? (_Puts his pipe down._)
Mrs. Tremaine.
You can't go on painting _me_ for ever.
Denham.
I _shall_ go on painting you for ever. But you will surely give me
an occasional sitting?
Mrs. Tremaine.
No; I must be stern. (_Rises and crosses C._) I must work
seriously now.
Denham.
At least you'll come and see us? You'll come and sing the savageness
out of this bear?
Mrs. Tremaine.
No; I must go back into the desert.
Denham.
Seriously?
Mrs. Tremaine. Yes.
Denham.
I knew it must come to an end, Blanche. (_Crosses C._)
Well, we have had a good time.
Mrs. Tremaine.
Yes. It has been pleasant here.
Denham.
You have been my good genius. Do you know, I was getting sick of it
all before you came?
Mrs. Tremaine.
Sick of what?
Denham.
Of myself, of art, of life.
Mrs. Tremaine.
That was foolish.
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