Undine.
I don't know.
Mrs. Denham.
Then you must be taught to know.
Denham.
May I say a word? I am chiefly to blame. We were talking about the Greek gods.
Mrs. Denham.
Oh well, if you encourage her in her laziness, I can do nothing. (Crosses l as she speaks, then turns suddenly.) Get out of my sight, miss! It is time for you to go out now. Go away, and take off that pinafore. You are a disgrace to your father and to me. (Gives her a final shake. Undine runs out screaming.) Oh dear! Oh dear! There! Listen to that precious daughter of yours, filling the house with her yells. (She presses her hands over her ears.) Oh, that child will be the death of me! (Throws herself down upon the couch.) She ought never to have been born. Her existence is a mistake and a curse.
Denham.
(sighing) Yes, we are all mistakes from the ideal standpoint.