_He._ Why? Why? Who ever knows a woman's reason! Because I refused, perhaps, to call black white, to say I was pleased by what made me angry; because-- No; on the whole, since I am not making love to her, it is hardly worth while to lie to a peasant from Britany, though it is of course necessary to sustain the social fictions with people nearer home. It was because the wedding-ring was a fetter that constrained my wife, body and soul; because I was as inflexible as steel. My purposes, my views, my beliefs were the Procrustean bed upon which every act of hers was measured. _Voila tout!_ _She._ I understand, I think. _He._ Oh, I have learned well enough where the blame lay in the three years since she left me. _She._ Three years! _He._ Why do you start? _She._ It is three years, too, since I-- _He._ Who are you? _She._ It is no matter; my husband is far from here. _He._ That is more than I can say of my wife. _She._ Where is she, then? _He._ Heaven knows; not I. But let that go. Why may we not be useful to each other? Our cases are similar; we are both lonely. _She._ And strangers. _He._ Acquaintance is not a matter of time, but of temperament. Should we have found it possible to be so frank with one another had we been merely strangers? _She._ You are specious. _He._ No; only honest. _She._ But what-- _He._ What? Why, friendship. We have found it possible to be frank in masks; why not out of them? _She._ Then you propose a platonic friendship? _He._ I want a woman who will be my friend, to whom I can talk freely. There are words a man has no power or wish to say to a man, yet which must be spoken or they fester in his mind. _She._ I am, then, to be a safety-valve. _He._ Every man must have a woman as a lodestar; you are to be that to me. _She._ And your wife? _He._ My wife? She voluntarily abandoned me. I haven't seen her for three years; and surely she ought to cease to count by this time. _She._ You are heartless. _He._ Heartless? _She._ You should be faithful to your lost-- _He._ Lost fiddlestick! _She._ You are very rude! _He._ I don't see-- _She._ And very disagreeable. _He._ But-- _She._ If you had really loved your wife, you'd always mourn for her, whatever she did. _He._ Good Heavens! That is like a woman. A man is expected to bear anything, everything, and if at last he does not come weeping to kiss the hand that smites him, he is heartless, forsooth! Bah! I am not a whipped puppy, thank you. _She._ Your love was, perhaps, never distinguished by meekness? _He._ I'm afraid not. _She._ It might be none the worst for that. The ideal man for whom I am looking will not be too lamblike, even in love. _He._ You look for an ideal man, then? _She._ As closely as did Diogenes. _He._ And your husband? _She._ Oh, like your wife, he should, perhaps, begin not to count. _He._ Good. We are sworn friends, then, until you find your ideal man. _She._ If you will. _He._ Then unmask.