ANN. [looking at him with a faint impulse of pity] Tavy, my dear, you are a nice creature—a good boy.
OCTAVIUS. [humiliated] Is that all?
ANN. [mischievously in spite of her pity] That's a great deal, I assure you. You would always worship the ground I trod on, wouldn't you?
OCTAVIUS. I do. It sounds ridiculous; but it's no exaggeration. I do; and I always shall.
ANN. Always is a long word, Tavy. You see, I shall have to live up always to your idea of my divinity; and I don't think I could do that if we were married. But if I marry Jack, you'll never be disillusioned—at least not until I grow too old.
OCTAVIUS. I too shall grow old, Ann. And when I am eighty, one white hair of the woman I love will make me tremble more than the thickest gold tress from the most beautiful young head.
ANN. [quite touched] Oh, that's poetry, Tavy, real poetry. It gives me that strange sudden sense of an echo from a former existence which always seems to me such a striking proof that we have immortal souls.
OCTAVIUS. Do you believe that is true?
ANN. Tavy, if it is to become true you must lose me as well as love me.
OCTAVIUS. Oh! [he hastily sits down at the little table and covers his face with his hands].