PAUL.
[With sudden resolution.]
I am glad of it. Thank fate that something forces us to tell your father you are mine.
DIANE.
Nay, Paul—I cannot, dare not tell him that!
PAUL.
Then leave the task to me.
DIANE.
'Twould be but to win his curse. You little dream the deathless pride that's rooted in his heart! To wrench out that pride would break the heart that holds it.