BLANCHE. [_Finding the case, which has fallen beneath the table._] Here it is. Dear old pocket-book-- [_Her voice breaks on the last word, and turning her face away to hide her tears, she hands him the well-worn letter case._ WARDEN. Mrs. Sterling, I'm glad they left us alone, because Mr. Mason said he hadn't been able to manage it--to see you alone--and yet he wanted _you only_ to examine these. They are private papers of Mr. Hunter; he thought they ought not to be destroyed without being read, and yet _he_ hesitated to read them. We thought that duty devolved best upon _you_. [_He hands back the letter case._] Shall I wait and take back the case to Mr. Mason with the papers you wish him to have? BLANCHE. Oh, no, I will send them; I mustn't keep you while I read them. I'm always taking more of your time than I ought. WARDEN. [_Speaks with sincerity, but without any suggestion of love-making._] But never as much as I want to give you! Don't forget, Mrs. Sterling, what you promised me at your wedding,--that your husband's best man should be your best friend. BLANCHE. And nobody knows what it means to a woman, even a happily married woman like me--[_This is spoken with a slight effort, as if she is persuading herself that she is a happily married woman._]--to have an honest friend like you. It's those people who have failed that say there is no such thing as a platonic friendship. WARDEN. We'll prove them wrong. BLANCHE. We will. Good-by, and thank you. WARDEN. And thank _you_! [_Starting to go, he turns._] Shall I bring that Russian pianist around to play for you some day next week? BLANCHE. Do--I want some music.