OCTAVIUS. It belongs to you, Ann. Forgive me: I must speak of it. I love you. You know I love you. ANN. What's the good, Tavy? You know that my mother is determined that I shall marry Jack. OCTAVIUS. [amazed] Jack! ANN. It seems absurd, doesn't it? OCTAVIUS. [with growing resentment] Do you mean to say that Jack has been playing with me all this time? That he has been urging me not to marry you because he intends to marry you himself? ANN. [alarmed] No no: you mustn't lead him to believe that I said that: I don't for a moment think that Jack knows his own mind. But it's clear from my father's will that he wished me to marry Jack. And my mother is set on it. OCTAVIUS. But you are not bound to sacrifice yourself always to the wishes of your parents. ANN. My father loved me. My mother loves me. Surely their wishes are a better guide than my own selfishness. OCTAVIUS. Oh, I know how unselfish you are, Ann. But believe me--though I know I am speaking in my own interest--there is another side to this question. Is it fair to Jack to marry him if you do not love him? Is it fair to destroy my happiness as well as your own if you can bring yourself to love me? ANN. [looking at him with a faint impulse of pity] Tavy, my dear, you are a nice creature--a good boy. OCTAVIUS. [humiliated] Is that all? ANN. [mischievously in spite of her pity] That's a great deal, I assure you. You would always worship the ground I trod on, wouldn't you? OCTAVIUS. I do. It sounds ridiculous; but it's no exaggeration. I do; and I always shall. ANN. Always is a long word, Tavy. You see, I shall have to live up always to your idea of my divinity; and I don't think I could do that if we were married. But if I marry Jack, you'll never be disillusioned--at least not until I grow too old. OCTAVIUS. I too shall grow old, Ann. And when I am eighty, one white hair of the woman I love will make me tremble more than the thickest gold tress from the most beautiful young head. ANN. [quite touched] Oh, that's poetry, Tavy, real poetry. It gives me that strange sudden sense of an echo from a former existence which always seems to me such a striking proof that we have immortal souls. OCTAVIUS. Do you believe that is true? ANN. Tavy, if it is to become true you must lose me as well as love me. OCTAVIUS. Oh! [he hastily sits down at the little table and covers his face with his hands]. ANN. [with conviction] Tavy: I wouldn't for worlds destroy your illusions. I can neither take you nor let you go. I can see exactly what will suit you. You must be a sentimental old bachelor for my sake. OCTAVIUS. [desperately] Ann: I'll kill myself. ANN. Oh no you won't: that wouldn't be kind. You won't have a bad time. You will be very nice to women; and you will go a good deal to the opera. A broken heart is a very pleasant complaint for a man in London if he has a comfortable income.