Mrs. Dale. Carry it off?
Ventnor (embarrassed). My dear lady, surely between you and me explicitness is a burden. You must see that these letters of ours can’t be left to take their chance like an ordinary correspondence—you said yourself we were public property.
Mrs. Dale. To take their chance? Do you suppose that, in my keeping, your letters take any chances? (Suddenly.) Do mine—in yours?
Ventnor (still more embarrassed). Helen—! (He takes a turn through the room.) You force me to remind you that you and I are differently situated—that in a moment of madness I sacrificed the only right you ever gave me—the right to love you better than any other woman in the world. (A pause. She says nothing and he continues, with increasing difficulty—) You asked me just now why I carried your letters about with me—kept them, literally, in my own hands. Well, suppose it’s to be sure of their not falling into some one else’s?
Mrs. Dale. Oh!
Ventnor (throws himself into a chair). For God’s sake don’t pity me!
Mrs. Dale (after a long pause). Am I dull—or are you trying to say that you want to give me back my letters?
Ventnor (starting up). I? Give you back—? God forbid! Your letters? Not for the world! The only thing I have left! But you can’t dream that in my hands—
Mrs. Dale (suddenly). You want yours, then?
Ventnor (repressing his eagerness). My dear friend, if I’d ever dreamed that you’d kept them—?