Would
you like that?
Undine.
(_sleepily_) Yes.
(_Mrs. Denham leads her away, the handkerchief falls on the floor._)
Denham.
(_gets up from the table, takes his pipe, lights it, and sits down
again_) Everything seems torn up by the roots here. What is to
become of that monkey? She has routed her mother, horse, foot, and
dragoons, this time. Well, it's a wise mother that knows her own
daughter. (_Works on again._) Going to drown herself! Perhaps it
would have been better if her father had hung himself long ago.
There's always that question of: To be or not to be?
(_Re-enter Mrs. Denham._)
Mrs. Denham.
She's asleep, Arthur.
Denham.
Poor little ugly duck!
Mrs. Denham.
I suppose you think I have acted very injudiciously?
Denham.
(_sighing_) Oh, what does it matter what I think? You always act on
principle. I _must_ try to get this drawing done.
Mrs. Denham.
Don't send me away, Arthur. You will soon be rid of me altogether.
Denham.
Don't say that, dear. I know you are very miserable about
Undine--and other things. So am I. I wonder whether we are all going
mad.
Mrs.
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