Mrs. Dale (with emotion). But a woman’s love-letters are like her child. They belong to her more than to anybody else—
Ventnor. And a man’s?
Mrs. Dale (with sudden violence). Are all he risks!—There, take them. (She flings the key of the cabinet at his feet and sinks into a chair.)
Ventnor (starts as though to pick up the key; then approaches and bends over her). Helen—oh, Helen!
Mrs. Dale (she yields her hands to him, murmuring:) Paul! (Suddenly she straightens herself and draws back illuminated.) What a fool I am! I see it all now. You want them for your memoirs!
Ventnor (disconcerted). Helen—
Mrs. Dale (agitated). Come, come—the rule is to unmask when the signal’s given! You want them for your memoirs.
Ventnor (with a forced laugh). What makes you think so?
Mrs. Dale (triumphantly). Because I want them for mine!
Ventnor (in a changed tone). Ah—. (He moves away from her and leans against the mantelpiece. She remains seated, with her eyes fixed on him.)