Why not? And leave the woman to pay.
Denham.
(with a reckless bitterness) Yes, that's the devil of it. You have put me out of conceit with love. Your chamber of horrors haunts my imagination. If a woman could give us all she promises, we should be like gods. But she can't. Why should we worry about it? Why ask for cakes and ale, when sermons and soda-water are so much better for us?
Mrs. Denham.
You never loved me. Your cakes and ale are no concern of mine. (Crosses to table. Knock at door.) Come in!
(Enter Jane, showing in Miss Macfarlane.)
Jane.
Miss Macfarlane!
(Exit.)
Miss Macfarlane.