Yet this inconstancy is such
As you, too, shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.
Lady Patricia.
Loved I not honour more.... Love—duty—honour—— (She sighs deeply.) Come, dear....
(They go out on the left. A pause. The Dean comes out of the summer-house. He barely conceals his triumph under a mask of outraged propriety. Mrs. O’Farrel follows him.)
Dean.
H’m.... Cousinly regard!...
Mrs. O’Farrel.