I often wonder if the reviewer who abuses you for a printer's error realises what pleasure he causes the wife of your bosom.
Jenny.
Oh, I've learnt to know you so well this last six months—since the baby died. You've got no cause to set yourself up on a pedestal.
Basil.
[With a laugh.] My dear Jenny, I never pretended to be a golden idol.
Jenny.
I know what you are now. And I was such a fool as to think you a hero. You're merely a failure. In everything you try you're a miserable failure.
Basil.
[With a slight sigh.] Perhaps you're right, Jenny.
[Basil walks up and down; and then, stopping,
looks at her for a moment meditatively.