GUENEVERE. But—why?
VIVIEN. Because you'll think I've a nerve to want him.
GUENEVERE. Nonsense. I don't know any male person in these parts who is good enough for you, Vivien.
VIVIEN. Thanks, darling. That's just what I think in my calmer moments. But mostly I'm so crazy about him that I'm almost humble. Can you imagine it?
GUENEVERE. Well, what's the matter, then? Doesn't he reciprocate? You don't look like the victim of a hopeless passion.
VIVIEN. Oh, he's in love with me all right. But he doesn't want to be.
He says being in love interferes with his work.
GUENEVERE. What nonsense!
VIVIEN. Oh, I don't know about that! I think being in love with me would interfere with a man's work. I should hope so!
GUENEVERE. (primly) I don't interfere with Arthur's work.
VIVIEN. Arthur's a professor of philosophy. Besides, Arthur had written a book and settled down before he fell in love with you. I'm dealing with a man who has his work still to do. He thinks if he had about three years of peace and quiet and hard work, he'd put something big across. He put it up to me as a fellow-artist. I know just how he feels. I suppose I am very distracting!