) No: I'm
not flattering. I tell you I don't believe it. (She is ashamed to find
that this does not quite please her either.) Do you think that if you
were to turn away in disgust from my weakness, I should sit down here
and cry like a child?
GLORIA (beginning to find that she must speak shortly and pointedly
to keep her voice steady). Why should you, pray?
VALENTINE (with a stir of feeling beginning to agitate his voice).
Of course not: I'm not such an idiot. And yet my heart tells me I
should---my fool of a heart. But I'll argue with my heart and bring it
to reason. If I loved you a thousand times, I'll force myself to look
the truth steadily in the face. After all, it's easy to be sensible:
the facts are the facts. What's this place? it's not heaven: it's the
Marine Hotel. What's the time? it's not eternity: it's about half past
one in the afternoon. What am I? a dentist---a five shilling dentist!
GLORIA. And I am a feminine prig.
VALENTINE. (passionately). No, no: I can't face that: I must have
one illusion left---the illusion about you. I love you. (He turns
towards her as if the impulse to touch her were ungovernable: she rises
and stands on her guard wrathfully. He springs up impatiently and
retreats a step.) Oh, what a fool I am!---an idiot! You don't
understand: I might as well talk to the stones on the beach.
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