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[64] it possible to be frank in masks; why not out of them? [64] 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!
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