love?

MARCHBANKS (vehemently). YOU dare say that of her! You think that
way of the love she inspires! It is an insult to her!

MORELL (rising; quickly, in an altered tone). To her! Eugene:
take care. I have been patient. I hope to remain patient. But
there are some things I won't allow. Don't force me to show you
the indulgence I should show to a child. Be a man.

MARCHBANKS (with a gesture as if sweeping something behind him).
Oh, let us put aside all that cant. It horrifies me when I think
of the doses of it she has had to endure in all the weary years
during which you have selfishly and blindly sacrificed her to
minister to your self-sufficiency--YOU (turning on him) who have
not one thought--one sense--in common with her.

MORELL (philosophically). She seems to bear it pretty well.
(Looking him straight in the face.) Eugene, my boy: you are
making a fool of yourself--a very great fool of yourself. There's
a piece of wholesome plain speaking for you.

MARCHBANKS. Oh, do you think I don't know all that? Do you think
that the things people make fools of themselves about are any
less real and true than the things they behave sensibly about?
(Morell's gaze wavers for the first time. He instinctively averts
his face and stands listening, startled and thoughtful.) They are
more true: they are the only things that are true. You are very
calm and sensible and moderate with me because you can see that I
am a fool about your wife; just as no doubt that old man who was