I love you, Blanche, I love you!

Mrs. Tremaine.

Say it in verse as much as you like. It does not sound nice in
prose. Don't let us make fools of ourselves, Mr. Denham.

Denham.

We can't avoid it, Mrs. Tremaine. To do it with dignity is all that
can be expected of us.

Mrs. Tremaine.

(_with increased vexation_) That's impossible. (_Crosses_ R, _and
takes cloak._) Don't let us spoil a pleasant friendship with nonsense
of this kind. Let me keep that--and your sonnet--and good-bye!

(_She comes down to_ L C. _Denham takes her cloak and puts
it on her, keeping his hands on her shoulders._)

Denham.

As you please. Call it friendship, or anything you like. To me it is
new life. You have simply taken possession of me from the
first--imagination, heart, soul, everything. I live in you, I see
your face, I hear your voice, I speak to you when you are absent,
just as if you were present. I call you aloud by your name--Blanche,
Blanche!