MICH. Still jesting?
AUDR. No, I did it in real, deep earnest.
MICH. I don’t understand you.
AUDR. Six months ago I was tired, gnawn to the very heart with ennui, and one hot restless night I happened to take up your book, “The Hidden Life.” It came to me—oh, like a breath of the purest, freshest air in a fevered room. I thought I should like to know you. I got up early, took the first morning train down here, looked about the place, saw the Island House was to let, and rented it for three years.
MICH. Well?
AUDR. I got Mr. Docwray to give me an introduction to you. You annoyed me, you were so cold and priestlike. Each time I saw you, you piqued and angered me more and more. I longed to get some power over you. At last one day after you had been so frozen and distant a little black imp jumped into my brain and whispered to me. I said to the devil, “Give this sculptured saint to me, and I’ll give both our souls to you.”
MICH. But you didn’t mean it?
AUDR. Yes. I said it with all my heart, and I bit my arm—look—(Showing her arm.) I made the teeth meet. There’s the mark. If there is a devil, he heard me.
MICH. And you think he has given me to you?
AUDR. The next time I saw you, you let me kiss your mother’s portrait.