her shoulders._)

Denham.

As you please. Call it friendship, or anything you like. To me it is
new life. You have simply taken possession of me from the
first--imagination, heart, soul, everything. I live in you, I see
your face, I hear your voice, I speak to you when you are absent,
just as if you were present. I call you aloud by your name--Blanche,
Blanche!

(_She starts away from him, and the cloak remains in his hands._)

Mrs. Tremaine.

Hush, hush, Mr. Denham! I ought not to listen to such words from
you. I never dreamed--

Denham.

(_throwing cloak over back of sofa_) I know, I know. Women never do;
they go on their way like blindfold fates. Is there such a thing as
a magnetic attraction--affinity? I never believed in it till I saw
you.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(_laughs nervously_) With how little ingenuity men make love!

Denham.

Don't laugh at my raving, you cruel Blanche! I know it sounds as
foolish as a schoolboy's valentine; but it is as sincere--and
inadequate. Words are stupid things. (_He takes her hands, and looks
in her face._)

Mrs. Tremaine.

Do let us part friends. If you are in earnest, you must know this is
wicked as well as foolish.

Denham.

Yes, it is always wicked to snatch a moment's supreme happiness in
this world. _If_ I am in earnest! You know I am in earnest! (_He
strokes her hair, then, as she turns away, he puts his arm round her
waist and draws her to him._) Blanche, my beautiful Blanche! I did
not mean to say all this, but it was too strong for me.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Let me go, Mr. Denham!

Denham.

(_releasing her_) Well, go! (_Crosses L._) Go, if you can!

Mrs. Tremaine.

(_angrily_) I can and will. (_Turns to take her cloak._)

Denham.

Do you know, Blanche, I thought you loved me?

Mrs. Tremaine.

(_turning sharply_) Then you were more foolish than I thought.
(_Softening._) Perhaps I was to blame, but I meant nothing wrong.

Denham.

Oh, I acquit you completely! We drifted--that was all. Jest
sometimes turns to earnest. Well, go--go with those tears in your
eyes. There is nothing worth crying about--more than is becoming.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Don't say unkind things to me. I can't bear them, though I suppose I
deserve them. I liked you, and your admiration flattered my vanity;
and I suppose I may have made you think I cared more for you than--I
did.

Denham.

Well, you don't love me. What does it matter? _I_ love _you_; that
is the important thi