am a free woman: why should I not tell you?

VALENTINE (pleading in terror, and retreating). Don't. I'm afraid
to hear.

GLORIA (no longer scornful). You need not be afraid. I think you
are sentimental, and a little foolish; but I like you.

VALENTINE (dropping into the iron chair as if crushed). Then it's
all over. (He becomes the picture of despair.)

GLORIA (puzzled, approaching him). But why?

VALENTINE. Because liking is not enough. Now that I think down into
it seriously, I don't know whether I like you or not.

GLORIA (looking down at him with wondering concern). I'm sorry.

VALENTINE (in an agony of restrained passion). Oh, don't pity me.
Your voice is tearing my heart to pieces. Let me alone, Gloria. You go
down into the very depths of me, troubling and stirring me---I can't
struggle with it---I can't tell you---

GLORIA (breaking down suddenly). Oh, stop telling me what you feel:
I can't bear it.

VALENTINE (springing up triumphantly, the agonized voice now solid,
ringing, and jubilant). Ah, it's come at last---my moment of courage.
(He seizes her hands: she looks at him in terror.) Our moment of
courage! (He draws her to him; kisses her with impetuous strength; and