Philip: Then there is you.
Ann (laughing): There is me. (Tenderly): Are you glad?
Philip (who is walking up and down): You are the most mysterious of them all.
Ann: I am simplicity itself. It is only because you love me that you think me mysterious. The person you love is always mysterious because you have encircled them in the great mystery of love.
Philip (who is taking no notice of what she is saying): They all think you a saint, and they are right, I suppose. You see no evil, in anyone, not even in yourself.
Ann: Philip, how can you say a thing like that? No one knows better than I do that I am riddled with faults.
Philip: You are practically faultless, and yet it would seem as if virtue meant nothing to you.
Ann: What do you mean by virtue?
Philip: What other people mean by it.
Ann: That one’s body matters more than anything else?