(_Exit Mrs. Denham. Denham begins to paint._)

Denham.

Well, you mysterious creature, I think you have chosen your
profession well. Your voice is lovely, and your style--well, not bad
in these days of execrable singing.

Mrs. Tremaine.

Do you know, it was your praise that made me think seriously of
this?

Denham.

(_absorbed in painting_) Really? But why would you never sing to me
since that evening?

Mrs. Tremaine.

I have been working so hard; I wanted to surprise you.

Denham.

And now you will?

Mrs. Tremaine.

Perhaps--some time. (_A pause, Denham painting in silence._)