Mrs. Tremaine.
What duty? To that internal Mrs. Grundy we call conscience? To the thing called Society? To the sacred bond of marriage? Her own principles are against you there. No—she holds you in some deeper way than this.
Denham.
It is true—she does.
Mrs. Tremaine.
(rising) Is it because you love her that you abandon me? If so, say so; and I shall understand that I am a toy goddess, nothing more.
Denham.
She loves me.
Mrs. Tremaine.
Ah! a woman's love can blight as terribly as a man's—almost. Well, I like you none the worse for this curious spice of loyalty. It is so rare in a man.