THE DOVE—No, it does not depend, that’s exactly it; to have a reason is to cheapen rage. I wish every man were beyond the reach of his own biography.
VERA—You are either quite an idiot, or a saint.
THE DOVE—I thought we had discussed that.
VERA—[_Dashed but not showing it._] Yes, a saint.
THE DOVE—[_Continuing._] I’m impatient of necessary continuity, I’m too sensitive, perhaps. I want the beautiful thing to be, how can logic have anything to do with it, or probable sequence?
VERA—Then how is it you like Amelia? And how do you stand me?
THE DOVE—Because you are two splendid dams erected about two little puddles.
VERA—For instance, when you’re out of this room all these weapons might be a lot of butter knives or pop guns, but let you come in——
VERA—Amelia called you the Dove, I’d never have thought of it. It’s just like Amelia to call the only dangerous thing she ever knew the “Dove.”
VERA—Or shall I show you the album that no one ever sees? [_She laughs._] If we had any friends we would have to throw that book in the fire.
THE DOVE—And you would have to clear the entry——
VERA—True. It’s because of that picture of the Venetian courtesans that I send Amelia out for the butter, I don’t dare let the grocer call.
THE DOVE—You have cut yourselves off—just because you’re lonely.
VERA—It’s a wonder the neighbours don’t complain of Amelia’s playing that way on the violin.
VERA—No, I presume not, but everyone else in the house has. No nice woman slurs as many notes as Amelia does! [_At this moment_ AMELIA _enters the outer room. She is wearing a cloak with three shoulder-capes, a large plumed hat, and skirt with many flounces._]
AMELIA—[_From the entry._] You should come and see Carpaccio’s Deux Courtisanes Vénitiennes now, the sun is shining right in on the head of the one in the foreground. [_She begins to hum an Italian street song._] Well, I have brought a little something and a bottle of wine. The wine is for you, my Dove—and for you, Vera, I’ve a long green feather. [_Pause in which_ THE DOVE _continues to polish the blade of the sword_. VERA _has picked up her book_.]
AMELIA—[_Advancing into the room, shrugging._] It’s damp! [_Seeing_ THE DOVE _still at work_.] What a sweet, gentle creature, what a little Dove it is! Ah, God, it’s a sin, truly it’s a sin that I, a woman with temperament, permit a young girl to stay in the same room with me!