Mrs. Tremaine.

It must be for ever, then.

(_They kiss, and remain clasped in each other's arms._)

(_Enter Mrs. Denham suddenly._)

Mrs. Denham.

Arthur! Oh, I see, I am in the way! (_She is about to retire._)

Denham.

(_coming forward_) No; come in, Constance. Blanche is going away.
(_Crosses_ L.)

Mrs. Denham.

Indeed! I must apologise for interrupting a very pretty parting
scene. Had I not better retire until your interesting _tete-a-tete_
is over?

Denham.

There is no necessity. It is over.

Mrs. Denham.

(_coming down_ C) Then may I ask for an explanation
of--what I have unintentionally seen?

Denham.

Certainly. You have a right to ask anything you please.

Mrs. Denham.

Well?

Denham.

We have had our fit of madness. Now we are sane, and Blanche is
going away. That is all. (_Goes to table_ L.)

Mrs. Denham.

Oh, indeed! Arthur, Arthur, I trusted in your love, and you have
betrayed me. You love this woman!

Mrs. Tremaine.

(_coming down_) Let _me_ speak, Constance. If there be a fault or a
folly in the matter, it is mine. You hate me; you have cause. I
have--been vain and selfish. I thought, like many another woman, I
could play with temptation--

Mrs. Denham.

(_with fierce scorn_) And with your experience, too!

Mrs. Tremaine.

I know my own weakness now. But I am going away, Constance--going
away out of your lives for ever. If I have sinned, I can expiate.

Mrs. Denham.

Expiate! A fine word, with which we drug our consciences. You have
treated me basely, cruelly, treacherously, and you _will expiate_! A
common thief can at least make restitution. Can you do that? You are
going away, taking my husband's heart with you. Can you give me that
back? I would rather you had stabbed me--killed me with one merciful
stroke.

Mrs. Tremaine.

No, I am taking nothing with me--nothing but my own folly. I have
been the toy of your husband's imagination, that is all. To him this
has been nothing more than a passing flirtation.

Mrs. Denham.

You love him, and he loves you. Don't palter with the truth.
(_Crosses_ L.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

Yes, I love him; but he does _not_ love me. If either of us have
cause for jealousy, it is not you.

Mrs. Denham.

(_laughing bitterly_) You jealous of me? You dare to say this?
(_Moves towards door._)

Denham.

For God's sake, Constance, don't let us lose our heads! Let us be
just to each other. This was our fate. Call it our fault