ANN. Always is a long word, Tavy. You see, I shall have to live up always to your idea of my divinity; and I don't think I could do that if we were married. But if I marry Jack, you'll never be disillusioned--at least not until I grow too old.
OCTAVIUS. I too shall grow old, Ann. And when I am eighty, one white hair of the woman I love will make me tremble more than the thickest gold tress from the most beautiful young head.
ANN. [quite touched] Oh, that's poetry, Tavy, real poetry. It gives me that strange sudden sense of an echo from a former existence which always seems to me such a striking proof that we have immortal souls.
OCTAVIUS. Do you believe that is true?
ANN. Tavy, if it is to become true you must lose me as well as love me.
OCTAVIUS. Oh! [he hastily sits down at the little table and covers his face with his hands].
ANN. [with conviction] Tavy: I wouldn't for worlds destroy your illusions. I can neither take you nor let you go. I can see exactly what will suit you. You must be a sentimental old bachelor for my sake.
OCTAVIUS. [desperately] Ann: I'll kill myself.
ANN. Oh no you won't: that wouldn't be kind. You won't have a bad time. You will be very nice to women; and you will go a good deal to the opera. A broken heart is a very pleasant complaint for a man in London if he has a comfortable income.
OCTAVIUS. [considerably cooled, but believing that he is only recovering his self-control] I know you mean to be kind, Ann.
Jack has persuaded you that cynicism is a good tonic for me. [He rises with quiet dignity].
ANN. [studying him slyly] You see, I'm disillusionizing you already. That's what I dread.
OCTAVIUS. You do not dread disillusionizing Jack.
ANN. [her face lighting up with mischievous ecstasy--whispering] I can't: he has no illusions about me. I shall surprise Jack the other way. Getting over an unfavorable impression is ever so much easier than living up to an ideal. Oh, I shall enrapture Jack sometimes!
OCTAVIUS. [resuming the calm phase of despair, and beginning to enjoy his broken heart and delicate attitude without knowing it]
I don't doubt that. You will enrapture him always. And he--the fool!--thinks you would make him wretched.
ANN. Yes: that's the difficulty, so far.
OCTAVIUS. [heroically] Shall I tell him that you love?
ANN. [quickly] Oh no: he'd run away again.
OCTAVIUS. [shocked] Ann: would you marry an unwilling man?
ANN. What a queer creature you are, Tavy! There's no such thing as a willing man when you really go for him. [She laughs naughtily]. I'm shocking you, I suppose. But you know you are really getting a sort of satisfaction already in being out of danger yourself.
OCTAVIUS [startled] Satisfaction! [Reproachfully] You say that to me!
ANN. Well, if it were really agony, would you ask for more of it?
OCTAVIUS. Have I asked for more of it?
ANN. You have offered to tell Jack that I love him. That's self-sacrifice, I suppose; but there must be some satisfaction in it. Perhaps it's because you're a poet. You are like the bird that presses its breast against the sharp thorn to make itself sing.
OCTAVIUS. It's quite ******. I love you; and I want you to be happy. You don't love me; so I can't make you happy myself; but I can help another man to do it.
ANN. Yes: it seems quite ******. But I doubt if we ever know why we do things. The only really ****** thing is to go straight for what you want and grab it. I suppose I don't love you, Tavy; but sometimes I feel as if I should like to make a man of you somehow. You are very foolish about women.
OCTAVIUS. [almost coldly] I am content to be what I am in that respect.
ANN. Then you must keep away from them, and only dream about them. I wouldn't marry you for worlds, Tavy.
OCTAVIUS. I have no hope, Ann: I accept my ill luck. But I don't think you quite know how much it hurts.
ANN. You are so softhearted! It's queer that you should be so different from Violet. Violet's as hard as nails.
OCTAVIUS. Oh no. I am sure Violet is thoroughly womanly at heart.
ANN. [with some impatience] Why do you say that? Is it unwomanly to be thoughtful and businesslike and sensible? Do you want Violet to be an idiot--or something worse, like me?
OCTAVIUS. Something worse--like you! What do you mean, Ann?
ANN. Oh well, I don't mean that, of course. But I have a great respect for Violet. She gets her own way always.
OCTAVIUS. [sighing] So do you.
ANN. Yes; but somehow she gets it without coaxing--without having to make people sentimental about her.
OCTAVIUS. [with brotherly callousness] Nobody could get very sentimental about Violet, I think, pretty as she is.
ANN. Oh yes they could, if she made them.
OCTAVIUS. But surely no really nice woman would deliberately practise on men's instincts in that way.
ANN. [throwing up her hands] Oh Tavy, Tavy, Ricky Ticky Tavy, heaven help the woman who marries you!
OCTAVIUS. [his passion reviving at the name] Oh why, why, why do you say that? Don't torment me. I don't understand.
ANN. Suppose she were to tell fibs, and lay snares for men?
OCTAVIUS. Do you think I could marry such a woman--I, who have known and loved you?
ANN. Hm! Well, at all events, she wouldn't let you if she were wise. So that's settled. And now I can't talk any more. Say you forgive me, and that the subject is closed.
OCTAVIUS. I have nothing to forgive; and the subject is closed.
And if the wound is open, at least you shall never see it bleed.
ANN. Poetic to the last, Tavy. Goodbye, dear. [She pats his check; has an impulse to kiss him and then another impulse of distaste which prevents her; finally runs away through the garden and into the villa].
Octavius again takes refuge at the table, bowing his head on his arms and sobbing softly. Mrs Whitefield, who has been pottering round the Granada shops, and has a net full of little parcels in her hand, comes in through the gate and sees him.
MRS WHITEFIELD. [running to him and lifting his head] What's the matter, Tavy? Are you ill?
OCTAVIUS. No, nothing, nothing.
MRS WHITEFIELD. [still holding his head, anxiously] But you're crying. Is it about Violet's marriage?
