ay.

Undine.

I'll bring you some speedwell, mother.

Mrs. Denham.

(_kissing her_) Thanks, my little Undine.

(_Undine goes out, then peeps back through the door._)

Undine.

And I'll make a daisy chain for Demeter.

Mrs. Denham.

That _will_ be pretty. Good-bye.

Undine.

Good-bye. (_Kisses her hand to Denham._)

(_Exit Undine._)

Denham.

Well, it isn't such a very wicked idiot, after all. Now is it?
(_Crosses L, and sits._)

Mrs. Denham.

Oh, she is good enough when she hasn't to do what she dislikes.
(_Crosses back of table._)

Denham.

Children _are_ shockingly human, just like you and me. I wish I
could cure you of this intense irritability, Constance.

Mrs. Denham.

You have often lost your own temper with her when you have tried to
teach her anything--often enough. (_Sits L of table._)

Denham.

Yes, it was sheer stupidity. It is a bad educational method. It
involves loss of dignity on both sides. Be as stern as you please,
but not furious.

Mrs. Denham.

Furious! (_Rises_) Thank you for the word. (_Crosses R._) I
know I am making myself hated by her and despised by you; but I must
do my duty as best I can in the teeth of your cruel criticism. I
_must_ think of her future.

Denham.

(_rises, and lights pipe_) Oh, damn the future--and the past too!
You take life too seriously. You are a born self-tormentor, too full
of anxiety to live. You have the worst form of the great malady of
the age, conscience in the agnostic form. You suffer from the new
hysteria.

Mrs. Denham.

I am not hysterical.

Denham.

Pardon me, we are all hysterical nowadays. We have lost our
self-possession. You don't kick on the hearthrug and that kind of
thing. A bucket of cold water is not "indicated" in your case.

Mrs. Denham.

It seems to me you are always throwing buckets of cold water over
me.

Denham.

For heaven's sake, go and reform the world! That is the modern
woman's true vocation--and cure. Denounce our sensuality and
selfishness from the platform, as well as from the hearth. They are
the defects of our qualities. If you don't like us as we are, mould
us.

Mrs. Denham.

(_approaching_) That is what we are trying to do.

Denham.

Yes. You have not mastered your material yet. Your technique is a
little crude. (_He resumes his seat in the armchair, and puts down
his pipe as she comes._)

Mrs. Denham.

(_kneeling beside him_) Why will you push me away from you, Arthur?