Always. It is the very blood in my veins. It keeps me young. I shall die a romantic girl, however old I may be.
You ought, you really ought, to have flourished in the Middle Ages.
Duchess.
You have frequently made that observation. [Rising.] I do live in the Middle Ages, in my imagination. I live in every age in which Love was not a cool, level emotion, but a fierce, all-conquering flame—a flame that grew in the heart of a woman, that of a sudden spread through her whole organism, that lit up her eyes with a light more refulgent than the light of sun or moon! [Laying her hand upon his arm.] Oh, oh, this poor, thin, modern sentiment miscalled Love—!
Quex.
[Edging away.] Sssh! pray be careful!
Duchess.
Ah, yes. But, dear Harry, I cannot endure the ordeal any longer.
Quex.