Mrs. Dale. I hadn’t begun to write when we were—dedicating things to each other.
Ventnor. Not for the public—but you wrote for me; and, wonderful as you are, you’ve never written anything since that I care for half as much as—
Mrs. Dale (interested). Well?
Ventnor. Your letters.
Mrs. Dale (in a changed voice). My letters—do you remember them?
Ventnor. When I don’t, I reread them.
Mrs. Dale (incredulous). You have them still?
Ventnor (unguardedly). You haven’t mine, then?
Mrs. Dale (playfully). Oh, you were a celebrity already. Of course I kept them! (Smiling.) Think what they are worth now! I always keep them locked up in my safe over there. (She indicates a cabinet.)
Ventnor (after a pause). I always carry yours with me.