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Professor Rubek.
Well?
Irene.
I never loved your art, before I met you.—Nor after either.
Professor Rubek.
But the artist, Irene?
Irene.
The artist I hate.
Professor Rubek.
The artist in me too?
Irene.
In you most of all. When I unclothed myself and stood for you, then I hated you, Arnold
Professor Rubek.
[Warmly.] That you did not, Irene! That is not true!
Irene.
I hated you, because you could stand there so unmoved
Professor Rubek.
[Laughs.] Unmoved? Do you think so?
Irene.
—at any rate so intolerably self-controlled. And because you were an artist and an artist only—not a man! [Changing to a tone full of warmth and feeling.] But that statue in the
