er own little girl.

(_Sits down on sofa with Undine. Denham shrugs his shoulders, and
sits down at the table to work at his drawing._)

Undine.

But I thought you meant what you said. You oughtn't to say what you
don't mean, mother.

Mrs. Denham.

No, my darling, I ought not. But I was angry with you for being
disobedient, and I suppose I said more than I meant. I don't
remember, Arthur, I don't remember what I said.

Denham.

I quite understand that, dear.

Mrs. Denham.

Will my little girl forgive mother?

Undine.

Yes, you know I'll _always_ forgive you, mother. But you said I had
brought shame upon father. (_Going up to Denham, bursting into
indignant tears._) I don't _want_ to bring shame upon father!
(_Takes out her handkerchief, and mops her face._)

Denham.

(_comforting her_) Of course not. But you know you should be
obedient to mother, Undine, and keep your promises. Then we sha'n't
be ashamed of our little girl.

Undine.

(_sobbing_) But there's no _use_ promising. Oh, I _am_ so tired!
(_Yawns._)

Denham.

Well, suppose you go to sleep for a while?

Mrs. Denham.

She can lie on her bed, and I'll put mother's cloak over her. 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. Denham.

I think _I_ have gone mad.

Denham.

Do you say that in earnest?

Mrs. Denham.

You know there was--something in our family.

Denham.