Dr. Thorne. I should think that quite possible—and characteristic.
Cleo (wincing). Your tongue has not lost its edge! I’m afraid they have not made a hopeful convert of you in yonder pious country.... Confess, you’re bored past endurance with the whole thing? (She draws a little nearer to him, but is so adroit as not to touch him. She gives him only her eyes, and these embrace him outright.)
Dr. Thorne (regarding her steadily). Did I ever choose you for a confidante? (He steps back.)
Cleo (persistently). Come, don’t be cross! Tell me, then, why have you fled the first circles of celestial society—to mope out here alone? Oh, you can’t deceive me. I understand—I always understood you better than any other woman living. (In a low tone.) Your whole nature is in antagonism with the very basis of existence in the state you’re plunged into. What’s death? Nothing but a footstep. You’ve taken it. But you’re the man you were.... Pouf! That’s death. (Snaps her fingers.) I’d wager a waltz and a kiss that you are ennuyé to madness over there.... Admit it? (Tenderly.) Admit it! (Imperiously.)
Dr. Thorne (uneasily). I don’t profess to be thoroughly acclimated. But I assure you I did not come here to sulk. On the contrary, I was absorbingly interested in a scientific discussion with a distinguished man. It was an astronomical point. I came here to verify it. I return at once. (Moves away.)
Cleo. Don’t be in such a blatant hurry! It’s not polite. (Pouting.) I’ve studied a little astronomy myself of late.... Come! I can converse about planets—if you will. Was it Neptune or Venus you undertook to investigate?
Dr. Thorne (not without interest). I contended that it was Neptune—before I came.
Cleo. And now?
Dr. Thorne (gloomily gazing at her). I am inclined to think it is Venus.