As it exists--yes.

Denham.

Well, the instinctive _amourette_ had its poetry--in Arcadia. Keep
your hands quiet a moment.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Let me warm them first. Remember we are in the grip of a London
May.

Denham.

All right--come. (_She comes over to the picture. He stops her._)
No, you must not look yet.

Mrs. Tremaine.

You have become quite a tyrant, do you know?

(_She goes to the fire._)

Denham.

(_taking her hands_) Cold? Yes; I have kept you too long. You have
such good hands! I wish I could paint them.

Mrs. Tremaine.