You know I only want to be your wife. You are always implying that
our marriage is a failure. Why not say it directly?

Denham.

We are creatures of the transition. We have not quite found the new
centre of equilibrium. Marriage, except as a symbol, is either a
superfluous bond or the consecration of a mistake. You have taught
us this great truth, anyhow.

Mrs. Denham.

Why did you get married then?

Denham.

Practically it is still a necessary evil, like war and politics. The
brute world, howling, forces us into bonds. It is our business to
adjust them so as to gall us as little as possible.

Mrs. Denham.

(_starting up, crosses R_) If the bonds gall you so much,
break them. Don't spend your breath in this puling talk. If you are
tired of me, go! As far as I am concerned, I set you free. Find some
other woman, if you can, who will be more satisfactory.

Denham.

(_rising, and standing with his back to the fire_) But why one other
woman? Why not extend my freedom to two?

Mrs. Denham.

Two or a dozen, what is it to me?

Denham.

A dozen, Constance? Do you take me for a Turk? I have often told you
every man should be content with three wives. More than this verges
upon polygamy. But blessed is he who finds the three in one!

Mrs. Denham.

Indeed. Have you found that in Gyp?

Denham.

No, not directly; though Gyp fills me with thoughts that do often
lie too deep for tears. Her cynicism is always illuminating.

Mrs. Denham.

I wish I could say the same of yours. But why three, and not a
dozen?

Denham.

There are only three possible women in the world, the Divine
Mistress--

Mrs. Denham.

And the "Divine Matron"--I have heard this sickening cant before.

Denham.

Cant? Philosophy! But don't forget the third, The Divine
Virgin--Womanhood fashioning itself independently after its own
ideal. She has driven us, naked and ashamed, into the desert of
disillusion.

Mrs. Denham.

Truth, truth--let me have truth, though it kill me! Men are cowards;
they dare not face the naked facts of life.

Denham.

Men are poets. Facts are but the crude stuff of life. Imagination is
all.

Mrs. Denham.

Oh, if you want romance, had you not better go and look for your
Divine Mistress? Perhaps you may find some ugly truths in her too.

Denham.

(_laughing_) One woman is surely enough for the purposes of
disillusion. It is too late to begin sowing one's wild oats. There
are no dangerous women a