Pride of life, pure sex, Dreaming and roseate! Trick of the night, and sleep Pretended? Smiles! ..... Europa! No; she breathes With parted lips, her nostrils, carved and sweet As immortelles of pearl, too delicate To fill in slumber's heedless anarchy Her rhythmic bosom's vaulted depths; her arms Hang listless, and her limbs beneath her gown Are like the gates of heaven, ajar. Superb She-creature this! She looked desire to-day; To-night her will effects the shortest way. I must have money. [Having removed Europa's clothes from the desk he is about to open it, when Europa wakens and looks about.] Beautiful of you To be here on the instant that my life Begins again! You overheard? Europa. Not all; I slept. Your bishop with the sorcerer's voice Of silver thrilled me first, then charmed my heart With deep material news that brought to life Dead dreams of mine. I want to be myself For this one night; not the smart actress, vulgar Business-woman that fights or smooths her way With scorn or kisses as the battle bends, But Matter, pure and passionate--as I am. Sir T. St. James's message falls on fertile ground! Europa. He says a thing there that will move the world. Sir T. Where shall I take you to? Europa. Come home with me. Sir T. You think that will be best? Why do you wear Your costume still? Europa. I am a woman such As Cressid was, an amateur of men; Never inconstant while her passion lasts, But not to be compelled by love or law. The name I hate most in the world is wife; And the professional drudgery of the blood Which marriage is, seems to me hell on earth. Sir T. Not always hell. What do you know of marriage? Europa. I had a husband in the States. Sir T. Divorced? Europa. Better than that: killed in the Cuban war. Sir T. Why do you wear your costume still? Europa. Because The drapery becomes me; and I meant To change its folds for other clinging folds Before I dressed. Sir T. Here in the theatre? Europa. How could I tell you would be free to spend The night with me? Sir T. Am I the kind of man You take me for? Europa. What do I take you for? Sir T. A fool, I think. Europa. Oh, have I overdone it? I thought you loved the pure Material truth. I will be difficult at once! Sir T. Too late, Europa. Europa. Why? What can you not forgive? I came; you found me sleeping, and were glad. Sir T. The sweetest action may be spoiled by speech: A thing no woman ever understands. Europa. What _have_ I said? Correct me, punish me! I spoke too soon; my mind is scarce awake. Sir T. How brutal women are, how cynical! I've never known a tender-hearted woman. Europa. Hard as a diamond am I; and my love A jewelled flame: high hearts are always hard. Souls lapped in cotton wool are not for me!