Mrs. Denham.
Yes--you shall find me here.
Denham.
That's right. (_Goes to settee, and takes up shawl._) And now lie
down here, and let me cover you with this shawl.
Mrs. Denham.
Very well. (_She lies down._) Arthur!
Denham.
Yes, dear.
Mrs. Denham.
Kiss me once before you go.
Denham.
Oh, if I may! (_Kisses her._) My poor Constance! I would give my
heart's blood to comfort you. And meanwhile I'll send you a better
thing--tea.
Mrs. Denham.
Thank you, dear. You have always tried to be good to me. You could
not help being cruel, I suppose.
Denham.
I want to be good to you always. Well, good-bye, and God bless you!
(_Kisses her._)
Mrs. Denham.
God bless you! (_Exit Denham._)
Mrs. Denham.
(_listens for a while, then starts up_) He had tears in his eyes
when he kissed me. Poor Arthur! he thinks we are going to patch it
up, I suppose. I am to live on pity--a man's pity, more akin to
contempt than to love. Why _should_ he love me? I was not born to
be loved, not made to be loved. And yet I wanted love so much. I
wanted all or nothing, and I have got pity--pity that puts you in a
madhouse, and comfortably leaves you to rot! Oh, my God! is this
madness--this horror of darkness that seems pressing on my brain?
(_A knock at the door.
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