looks at her watch.)

VALENTINE. I understand. I've stayed too long. I'm going.

GLORIA (with disdainful punctiliousness). I owe you some apology,
Mr. Valentine. I am conscious of having spoken somewhat sharply---
perhaps rudely---to you.

VALENTINE. Not at all.

GLORIA. My only excuse is that it is very difficult to give
consideration and respect when there is no dignity of character on the
other side to command it.

VALENTINE (prosaically). How is a man to look dignified when he's
infatuated?

GLORIA (effectually unstilted). Don't say those things to me. I
forbid you. They are insults.

VALENTINE. No: they're only follies. I can't help them.

GLORIA. If you were really in love, it would not make you foolish:
it would give you dignity---earnestness---even beauty.

VALENTINE. Do you really think it would make me beautiful? (She
turns her back on him with the coldest contempt.) Ah, you see you're
not in earnest. Love can't give any man new gifts. It can only
heighten the gifts he was born with.