You hate me; you have cause. I
have--been vain and selfish. I thought, like many another woman, I
could play with temptation--
Mrs. Denham.
(_with fierce scorn_) And with your experience, too!
Mrs. Tremaine.
I know my own weakness now. But I am going away, Constance--going
away out of your lives for ever. If I have sinned, I can expiate.
Mrs. Denham.
Expiate! A fine word, with which we drug our consciences. You have
treated me basely, cruelly, treacherously, and you _will expiate_! A
common thief can at least make restitution. Can you do that? You are
going away, taking my husband's heart with you. Can you give me that
back? I would rather you had stabbed me--killed me with one merciful
stroke.
Mrs. Tremaine.
No, I am taking nothing with me--nothing but my own folly. I have
been the toy of your husband's imagination, that is all. To him this
has been nothing more than a passing flirtation.
Mrs. Denham.
You love him, and he loves you. Don't palter with the truth.
(_Crosses_ L.)
Mrs. Tremaine.
Yes, I love him; but he does _not_ love me. If either of us have
cause for jealousy, it is not you.
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