Mrs. Denham.

She loves you; she does not love me. I suppose I don't deserve it. I
know you think I have been a bad wife, a bad mother. I am better out
of your way. (_Weeps._)

Denham.

This is morbid. Oh, if I could have cured you! Constance! (_He
caresses her hair._)

Mrs. Denham.

Don't touch me! It is an insult.

Denham.

(_sighing_) I suppose I have lost the right of comforting you.
(_Crosses_ R.)

Mrs. Denham.

I don't want your pity. (_Rises._)

Denham.

Perhaps I want yours.

Mrs. Denham.