Expiate! A fine word, with which we drug our consciences. You have
treated me basely, cruelly, treacherously, and you _will expiate_! A
common thief can at least make restitution. Can you do that? You are
going away, taking my husband's heart with you. Can you give me that
back? I would rather you had stabbed me--killed me with one merciful
stroke.

Mrs. Tremaine.

No, I am taking nothing with me--nothing but my own folly. I have
been the toy of your husband's imagination, that is all. To him this
has been nothing more than a passing flirtation.

Mrs. Denham.

You love him, and he loves you. Don't palter with the truth.
(_Crosses_ L.)

Mrs. Tremaine.

Yes, I love him; but he does _not_ love me. If either of us have
cause for jealousy, it is not you.

Mrs. Denham.

(_laughing bitterly_) You jealous of me? You dare to say this?
(_Moves towards door._)

Denham.