Denham.
You have renewed the world for me. The mere thought of you is sunshine. Here we have always been at loggerheads with life.
Mrs. Tremaine.
Then why—? (Sips her tea.) Bah! Upon my word, Arthur Denham, that woman has drained you of your manhood like a vampire, made you the limp coward that you are.
Denham.
Not a word against Constance, or I shall hate you, Blanche. No—I am haunted by a ghost.
Mrs. Tremaine.
A metaphorical one?
Denham.
The ghost that came to Hamlet in the shape of his father—duty. It is a trick of my British bourgeois blood, I suppose.