Mrs. Tremaine.
(with increased vexation) That's impossible. (Crosses r, and takes cloak.) Don't let us spoil a pleasant friendship with nonsense of this kind. Let me keep that—and your sonnet—and good-bye!
(She comes down to l c. Denham takes her cloak and puts it on her, keeping his hands on her shoulders.)
Denham.
As you please. Call it friendship, or anything you like. To me it is new life. You have simply taken possession of me from the first—imagination, heart, soul, everything. I live in you, I see your face, I hear your voice, I speak to you when you are absent, just as if you were present. I call you aloud by your name—Blanche, Blanche!
(She starts away from him, and the cloak remains in his hands.)
Mrs. Tremaine.
Hush, hush, Mr. Denham! I ought not to listen to such words from you. I never dreamed—
Denham.
(throwing cloak over back of sofa) I know, I know. Women never do; they go on their way like blindfold fates. Is there such a thing as a magnetic attraction—affinity? I never believed in it till I saw you.