Darrell
[Caustically thinking]
These heroes die hard . . . but perhaps she can write him out of her system. . . .
[Persuasively]
Well, you’re going ahead with the biography, aren’t you? I think you ought to.
Nina
[Dryly]
For my soul, Doctor?
[Listlessly]
I suppose I will. I don’t know. I haven’t much time. The duties of a wife—
[Teasingly]
By the way, if it isn’t too rude to inquire, aren’t you getting yourself engaged to some fair lady or other?
Darrell
[Smiling—but emphatically]
Not on your life! Not until after I’m thirty-five, at least!
Nina
[Sarcastically]
Then you don’t believe in taking your own medicine? Why, Doctor! Think of how much good it would do you!—
[Excitedly with a hectic sarcasm]
—if you had a nice girl to love—or was it learn to love?—and take care of—whose character you could shape and whose life you could guide and make what you pleased, in whose unselfish devotion you could find peace!
