Expiate! A fine word, with which we drug our consciences. You have treated me basely, cruelly, treacherously, and you will expiate! A common thief can at least make restitution. Can you do that? You are going away, taking my husband's heart with you. Can you give me that back? I would rather you had stabbed me—killed me with one merciful stroke.
Mrs. Tremaine.
No, I am taking nothing with me—nothing but my own folly. I have been the toy of your husband's imagination, that is all. To him this has been nothing more than a passing flirtation.
Mrs. Denham.
You love him, and he loves you. Don't palter with the truth. (Crosses l.)
Mrs. Tremaine.
Yes, I love him; but he does not love me. If either of us have cause for jealousy, it is not you.
Mrs. Denham.
(laughing bitterly) You jealous of me? You dare to say this? (Moves towards door.)
Denham.