(_With a sudden burst of laughter._) Oh, get up from that cushion! You don’t know what a fool you look! (_MICHAEL gets up with a pained expression and stands staring tragically before him. A pause. She speaks in a gentler voice._) Well, Mike? MICHAEL. Since I have spoken so much and done you wrong and Patricia wrong, I must tell you all and throw myself on your mercy.... When I married Patricia I sincerely believed I loved her. She seemed to me a kindred spirit—with her sensitive, beautiful nature. I found out too late that love depends as often on mutual difference as mutual sympathy. My love for her never went deeper than the intellect. Oh, the tragedy of it! She is such a fair, white soul, and so worthy of my whole love!... CLARE. If you don’t love her, why do you pretend to? MICHAEL. Can’t you see—can’t you see I have no alternative? Patricia’s love for me is unearthly in its depth and intensity. She worships me, little as I deserve it. If for one moment she thought my love had slackened, that moment would be her last. You don’t know how sensitive she is.... Do you suppose, Clare, I enjoy playing this dreadful game? But I must—it is my duty. I have sworn to love and cherish her. CLARE. (_After a pause, going up to him._) Michael, how long have you loved me? MICHAEL. Almost since first I met you, you wild thing! You soul of youth and incarnation of the morning! (_He looks longingly down at her._) CLARE. Oh, you poor old thing! (_She looks up sideways at him._) Mike, you may if you like. MICHAEL. Clare.... (_He hesitates._) CLARE. Get it over soon. (_He bends down and kisses her reverently, then turns away from her with tragic eyes._) Didn’t you like it?... MICHAEL. But the wrong I am doing you, and the wrong I am doing Patricia.... CLARE. But if Patricia doesn’t know and I don’t mind, I don’t see where the wrong comes in.... Do you? MICHAEL. (_Taking her hands._) Do you love me, Clare? CLARE. I don’t know.... Yes, I think I do. You’re such a solemn old donkey!... Michael, if I love you, will it really make you a happier man? MICHAEL. Happier? Oh, my dear, with the knowledge of your love I should be able to endure anything! CLARE. Even Patricia? MICHAEL. Hush, Clare, hush!... Patricia’s is a pure and delicate soul. It is I who am unworthy, since I cannot return her wonderful love.... Little girl, do you understand that this love of yours may bring much suffering into your life? I can never, by word or deed, change my attitude towards Patricia—never! She must never know that I do not love her.... And what of us? Our love must stand alone in the world. It must be something wholly pure and noble and self-sacrificing—the love that asks for nothing, that hopes for nothing—the love of the angels that neither marry nor are given in marriage.... Do you realise all this? CLARE. Yes.... You see, Mike, I always believe in platonic love. MICHAEL. (_A little doubtfully._) Platonic....