QUEX.

[_Raising his hands._] Romance! still!

DUCHESS.

Always. It is the very blood in my veins. It keeps me young. I shall die
a romantic girl, however old I may be.

QUEX.

You ought, you really ought, to have flourished in the Middle Ages.

DUCHESS.

You have frequently made that observation. [_Rising._] I do live in the
Middle Ages, in my imagination. I live in every age in which Love was
not a cool, level emotion, but a fierce, all-conquering flame--a flame
that grew in the heart of a woman, that of a sudden spread through her
whole organism, that lit up her eyes with a light more refulgent than
the light of sun or moon! [_Laying her hand upon his arm._] Oh, oh, this
poor, thin, modern sentiment miscalled Love--!

QUEX.

[_Edging away._] Sssh! pray be careful!

DUCHESS.

Ah, yes. But, dear Harry, I cannot endure the ordeal any longer.