“Man’s love is from his life a thing apart,
    ’Tis woman’s main subsistence?”

There’s truth in that.

Mrs. Denham.

Men make love, like everything else, a mere game.

Miss Macfarlane.

Ay, you’re right there.  But until we hold the purse strings, it’s hard to keep them to the strict rules o’ the game.

Mrs. Denham.

That is a vile injustice!  I may not be able to fight on equal terms, but I will never submit.  If he does not go, I will. (Crosses R.)

Miss Macfarlane.

Don’t wreck your lives for a man’s passing fancy.  If that’s your new morality, I prefer the old.  Don’t turn this comedy into a tragedy.  That’s all very well on the stage, but we’re not acting an Ibsen play; it doesn’t pay in real life.

Mrs. Denham.

A good tragedy is better than a bad comedy.

Miss Macfarlane.

Come to your room, my dear.  Have your cry out, sponge your eyes, and we’ll have a quiet talk.

Mrs. Denham.

Oh, this sense of failure!  It will drive me mad!

ACT DROP.

Act III.

Scene:  The Studio.  Mrs. Denham lying on sofa R C, a shawl over her feet, her face buried in her hands, moaning inarticulately.  Table as in ACT II.

(Enter Denham excitedly.)

Denham.

Constance!

Mrs. Denham.

(moving and raising her head) Well?

Denham.

Where is Undine?

Mrs. Denham.

Undine?

Denham.

Yes.  Do you know where she is?

Mrs. Denham.

In her room, I suppose.  I told her to stay there.

Denham.

She is not in the room—­not in the house.

Mrs. Denham.

But—­I locked the door.

Denham.

She must have got out of the window.

Mrs. Denham.

She can’t have dropped from the balcony.

Denham.

Stay a moment. (Exit.)

Mrs. Denham.

(resuming her position) No peace!  No peace!

(Re-enter Denham.)

Denham.

Yes.  Her skipping rope is tied to the rails.  She must have dropped into the garden.  She’s as active as a cat.

Mrs. Denham.

And as sly.  Another act of disobedience.

Denham.

Tell me, Constance, have you had a—­I mean, have you punished her?

Mrs. Denham.

(bitterly) I beat her, since you are kind enough to inquire—­beat her for her utter untrustworthiness and mean prevarication.  I said I would, if she disobeyed me again.

Denham.

Poor little wretch!  But what did you say to her?  A mother’s tongue is sometimes worse than her hands.

Mrs. Denham.

Yes, I know you think me a vulgar scold.