Mrs. Dale. I wonder I didn’t see it sooner. Your reasons were lame enough.
Ventnor (ironically). Yours were masterly. You’re the more accomplished actor of the two. I was completely deceived.
Mrs. Dale. Oh, I’m a novelist. I can keep up that sort of thing for five hundred pages!
Ventnor. I congratulate you. (A pause.)
Mrs. Dale (moving to her seat behind the tea-table). I’ve never offered you any tea. (She bends over the kettle.) Why don’t you take your letters?
Ventnor. Because you’ve been clever enough to make it impossible for me. (He picks up the key and hands it to her. Then abruptly)—Was it all acting—just now?
Mrs. Dale. By what right do you ask?
Ventnor. By right of renouncing my claim to my letters. Keep them—and tell me.
Mrs. Dale. I give you back your claim—and I refuse to tell you.
Ventnor (sadly). Ah, Helen, if you deceived me, you deceived yourself also.