of a blessed word. And not a word did she say to me.

CRAMPTON. Well?

VALENTINE. Well? Well??? (Tackling him very seriously and talking
faster and faster.) Crampton: do you know what's been the matter with
me to-day? You don't suppose, do you, that I'm in the habit of playing
such tricks on my patients as I played on you?

CRAMPTON. I hope not.

VALENTINE. The explanation is that I'm stark mad, or rather that
I've never been in my real senses before. I'm capable of anything: I've
grown up at last: I'm a Man; and it's your daughter that's made a man of
me.

CRAMPTON (incredulously). Are you in love with my daughter?

VALENTINE (his words now coming in a perfect torrent). Love!
Nonsense: it's something far above and beyond that. It's life, it's
faith, it's strength, certainty, paradise---

CRAMPTON (interrupting him with acrid contempt). Rubbish, man! What
have you to keep a wife on? You can't marry her.

VALENTINE. Who wants to marry her? I'll kiss her hands; I'll kneel
at her feet; I'll live for her; I'll die for her; and that'll be enough
for me. Look at her book! See! (He kisses the handkerchief.) If you
offered me all your money for this excuse for going down to the beach
and speaking to her again, I'd only laugh at you. (He rushes buoyantly