What does he talk to you about?
She. What do men talk about when they sit out?
He. Ugh! Don't! Well, now I'm up, you must dispense with the
fascinating Congleton for a while. I don't like him.
She (after a pause). Do you know what you have said?
He 'Can't say that I do exactly. I'm not in the best of tempers.
She So I see, and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your
'eternal constancy,' 'unalterable trust,' and 'reverent devotion'? I
remember those phrases; you seem to have forgotten them. I
mention a man's name
He. A good deal more than that.
She. Well, speak to him about a dance perhaps the last dance that I
shall ever dance in my life before I, before I go away; and you at
once distrust and insult me.
He. I never said a word.
She. How much did you imply? Guy, is this amount of confidence
to be our stock to start the new life on?
He. No, of course not. I didn't mean that. On my word and honour,
I didn't. Let it pass, dear. Please let it pass.
She. This once yes and a second time, and again and again, all
through the years when I shall be unable to resent it. You want too
much, my Lancelot, and, you know too much.
He. How do you mean?
She. That is a part of the punishment. There cannot be perfect trust
between us.
He. In Heaven's name, why not?
She. Hush! The Other Place is quite enough.
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