Denham.
God forbid! I only regret that our relations were not always strictly platonic. That is the highest practical ideal of the age—modern woman being what she is.
Mrs. Denham.
Yes, I know you despise me in your heart. You are always sneering at me as a modern woman. What do you mean?
Denham.
(crosses to her) I agree with Michelet: "La femme est une malade."
Mrs. Denham.
And what is man?
Denham.
(sits in armchair) Oh, a sick creature too—that's the worst of it. The world spirit is moulting, and we're all sick together.