(Crosses l, and sits in armchair crouching over fire.)
Denham.
(passionately) Held myself aloof! Good God! is that my fault? You want something that you can neither excite nor reciprocate. (With a sudden change of manner.) No—it was my own dulness of heart. My poor Constance! This has been a revelation for us both. But you don't know how I have tried to conform to your ideals—to spare you in every possible way.
Mrs. Denham.
(bitterly) Yes, you have been very patient, very forbearing, no doubt. It is better to kill a woman than to tolerate her.
Denham.
You did not always think so. You wanted love in the form of an unselfish intellectual friendship. Well, I have tried to love you unselfishly, God knows! It is an impossible basis for marriage. However, we are married. May we not at least be friends? (Comes and stands by her chair.) Do you think marriage exists for the sake of ideal love? What about Undine?
Mrs. Denham.
I presume you will provide for your daughter?
Denham.