revertible

Ches, I will go. (_Crosses_ C _up sta


Emaine. No; I must go back into the desert. Denham. Seriously? Mrs. Tremaine. Yes. Denham. I knew it must come to an end, Blanche. (_Crosses C._) Well, we have had a good time. Mrs. Tremaine. Yes. It has been pleasant here. Denham. You have been my good genius. Do you know, I was getting sick of it all before you came? Mrs. Tremaine. Sick of what? Denham. Of myself, of art, of life. Mrs. Tremaine. That was foolish. I am glad if I have reconciled you to existence. Denham. You have made me alive again, opened a door to new possibilities, let me out into the sunshine. Mrs. Tremaine. Well, don't go back into the shadow. (_Taking her hat, she goes towards mirror._) Denham No. I will go forward. Mrs. Tremaine. That is right; and now I must go. (_About to take cloak._) Denham. No, you must not go yet. Come and sit upon your throne once more. (_Mrs. Tremaine stops._) Mrs. Tremaine. But you are not going to paint again? Denham. No. I only want to look at you. Do grant me this last grace! (_He replaces chair on "throne."_) Mrs. Tremaine. (_puts down hat, and crosses L_) Really you are too absurd! (_She sits on the "throne."_) Denham. (_crosses C_) Thanks. And now I want you to read something. (_Goes to table and takes paper from drawer._) Mrs. Tremaine. What must I read? Denham. This sonnet. Mrs. Tremaine. Your own? Denham. Mine--and yours. Read it aloud. Mrs. Tremaine. I did not know you were a poet. Denham. Every man is a poet once in his life. You have made me one. (_He sits at her feet on the "throne."_) Mrs. Tremaine. (_Reads_): TO A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. (_Looks down at him and smiles._) Some women are Love's toys, kiss'd and flung by, Some his pale martyrs: thou art womanhood, Superbly symbol'd in rare flesh and blood. Eternal Beauty, she for whom we sigh, Dowers thee with her own eternity; Thou art Love's sibyl: in proud solitude O'er his old mysteries thy deep eyes brood, And at thy feet his rich dominions lie. Hast thou a heart? Let me desire it still. Torture my heart to life with thy disdain; Yet smile, give me immortal dreams, still be My Muse, my inspiration, vision, will! I ask no pity, I demand but pain: And if I love thee, what is that to thee? It sounds very well; but I'm afraid I don't quite understand it. Denham. That is the highest praise you could give it; if it be unintelligible it _must_ be fine. It means "_mes hommages_!" (_Kisses her hand._) And now come down! (_He hands her down from the "thro

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