ve been rather making a mess of
Fied with me; I have not made you happy. Denham. (_starting up and pacing_)
Happy? Give me life! Give me life! Happiness can take care of itself. But there
is no use in crying "Give, give!" like the horse-leech. If we want
impossibilities we must achieve them. (_Crosses R._) Mrs. Denham. You want
incompatible things. Denham. Of course I do. So do you. Your reason and your
instincts are at war, just like mine. That is our sickness. Mrs. Denham. How at
war? Denham. Your reason tells you that woman is independent, self-sufficing.
Your instincts cry feebly for passion, that savage outlaw which still lies in
wait for the modern woman, to carry her whither she would not. Hence your lapse
from strict agnostic morality into matrimony, bondage, subjection, and the
mistake, Undine. Mrs. Denham. That child has come between us. I think children
often do. Denham. Is that one of the _necessary_ horrors of matrimony? Mrs.
Denham. Heaven help me, that girl drives me mad! Denham. Nerves, nerves, as
usual. She irritates you, and you irritate her. The mere presence of a child
sets your teeth on edge. (_Crosses, and sits R of table._) Mrs. Denham. My
brain has been torn to pieces by children all my life. I was a slave to my own
brothers and sisters, because I was the eldest. Denham. That was very hard, I
know; but your own child is different, surely? Mrs. Denham. You seem to think I
don't love her? Denham. Not wisely, but too well--as you love me. (_Re-enter
Undine, dressed to go out, and stands just inside door. Mrs. Denham rises, and
Undine comes slowly towards her._) Mrs. Denham. Well, dear, have you washed
your hands and face? Undine. Yes, mother. Mrs. Denham. That's my nice clean
little girl. (_She embraces and kisses her._) Why does my little girl make
mother angry? Undine. I don't know. Mrs. Denham. Well, kiss father, and go out
while it is fine and bright Undine. (_coming behind Denham, and pulling back
his head_) Father, I'm going to bring you some buttercups, to put on your table
and make your work look pretty. Denham. Thanks, my wee one. And bring me some
sunshine in their cups, like a good little fairy. Undine. I will. Denham.
(_kissing her_) Good-bye, and now run away. Undine. I'll bring you some
speedwell, mother. Mrs. Denham. (_
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