“Of course. I am an excellent actor.”
“And why this sudden change?”
“In response to the change in you. You have grown weary of your part of cruel madam—a dull part, believe me, and unworthy of your talents. Were I a woman and had I your loveliness and your grace, Climene, I should disdain to use them as weapons of offence.”
“Loveliness and grace!” she echoed, feigning amused surprise. But the vain baggage was mollified. “When was it that you discovered this beauty and this grace, M. Scaramouche?”
He looked at her a moment, considering the sprightly beauty of her, the adorable femininity that from the first had so irresistibly attracted him.
“One morning when I beheld you rehearsing a love-scene with Leandre.”
He caught the surprise that leapt to her eyes, before she veiled them under drooping lids from his too questing gaze.
“Why, that was the first time you saw me.”
“I had no earlier occasion to remark your charms.”
“You ask me to believe too much,” said she, but her tone was softer than he had ever known it yet.