No--like all unsuccessful people who worry themselves over art--I am
only a man of _some_ genius--a very different thing, I assure you.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Are _you_ unsuccessful?

Denham.

A man who paints pictures that please only his wife is surely
unsuccessful? But I don't want to bore you with myself. It only
means that I feel we are friends already.

Mrs. Tremaine.

You don't know how pleasant it is to be with people who don't look
upon me as a dreadfully wicked woman.

Denham.

No doubt, like all persons of distinction, you belong to the
criminal classes; but we are all emancipated here.

(_Re-enter Mrs. Denham and Miss Macfarlane, who goes straight to the
fire as she speaks._)

Mrs. Denham.

Oh, Arthur, that precious black cat of yours!