TEMPTER. It may be small, but it's good! (Pause.) Tell me, why did
your madonna go her way? No answer; because he doesn't know! Now
we'll have to let the hotel again. Here's a board. I'll hang it out
at once. 'To Let.' One comes, another goes! C'est la vie, quoi?
Rooms for Travellers!

STRANGER. Have you ever been married?

TEMPTER. Oh yes. Of course.

STRANGER. Then why did you part?

TEMPTER. Chiefly--perhaps it's a peculiarity of mine--chiefly
because--well, you know, a man marries to get a home, to get into a
home; and a woman to get out of one. She wanted to get out, and I
wanted to get in! I was so made that I couldn't take her into
company, because I felt as if she were soiled by men's glances. And
in company, my splendid, wonderful wife turned into a little
grimacing monkey I couldn't bear the sight of. So I stayed at home;
and then, she stayed away. And when I met her again, she'd changed
into someone else. She, my pure white notepaper, was scribbled all
over; her clear and lovely features changed in imitation of the
satyr-like looks of strange men. I could see miniature photographs
of bull-fighters and guardsmen in her eyes, and hear the strange
accents of strange men in her voice. On our grand piano, on which
only the harmonies of the great masters used to be heard, she now
played the cabaret songs of strange men; and on our table there lay
nothing but the favourite reading of strange men. In a word, my
whole existence was on the way to becoming an intellectual