"If I laugh at any mortal thing, 'tis that I may not weep."

Mrs. Denham.

(_sobbing_) I know I have disappointed you; I know you are not
satisfied with me; I have not made you happy.

Denham.

(_starting up and pacing_) Happy? Give me life! Give me life!
Happiness can take care of itself. But there is no use in crying
"Give, give!" like the horse-leech. If we want impossibilities we
must achieve them. (_Crosses R._)

Mrs. Denham.

You want incompatible things.

Denham.

Of course I do. So do you. Your reason and your instincts are at
war, just like mine. That is our sickness.

Mrs. Denham.

How at war?

Denham.

Your reason tells you that woman is independent, self-sufficing.
Your instincts cry feebly for passion, that savage outlaw which
still lies in wait for the modern woman, to carry her whither she
would not. Hence your lapse from strict agnostic morality into
matrimony, bondage, subjection, and the mistake, Undine.

Mrs. Denham.

That child has come between us. I think children often do.

Denham.

Is that one of the _necessary_ horrors of matrimony?

Mrs. Denham.

Heaven help me, that girl drives me mad!

Denham.

Nerves, nerves, as usual. She irritates you, and you irritate her.
The mere presence of a child sets your teeth on edge. (_Crosses, and
sits R of table._)

Mrs. Denham.

My brain has been torn to pieces by children all my life. I was a
slave to my own brothers and sisters, because I was the eldest.

Denham.

That was very hard, I know; but your own child is different, surely?

Mrs. Denham.

You seem to think I don't love her?

Denham.

Not wisely, but too well--as you love me.

(_Re-enter Undine, dressed to go out, and stands just inside door.
Mrs. Denham rises, and Undine comes slowly towards her._)

Mrs. Denham.

Well, dear, have you washed your hands and face?

Undine.

Yes, mother.

Mrs. Denham.

That's my nice clean little girl. (_She embraces and kisses her._)
Why does my little girl make mother angry?

Undine.

I don't know.

Mrs. Denham.

Well, kiss father, and go out while it is fine and bright.

Undine.

(_coming behind Denham, and pulling back his head_) Father, I'm
going to bring you some buttercups, to put on your table and make
your work look pretty.

Denham.

Thanks, my wee one. And bring me some sunshine in their cups, like a
good little fairy.

Undine.

I will.

Denham.

(_kissing her_) Good-bye, and now run aw