Dr. Van Hyde: You can’t love me, however; and what is marriage without love?
Rose: Why can’t I love you?
Dr. Van Hyde: Love, my dear child, love is the tenderest passion of our nature. It is the flower of life. It is the affinity of souls. It is—
Rose (passionately): It is—it is.
Dr. Van Hyde (aside): If I could only believe that she might learn to love me—that she had not loved forty other men—that she was not a monster in the guise of a siren! Yet I will do my duty, cruel as it is to me. (To Rose.) But your father?
Rose: Papa has never objected to my loving anybody.
Dr. Van Hyde: Then you have loved somebody else?
Rose: Yes, indeed. Eighteen.
Dr. Van Hyde: Eighteen!