Rebecca.
Not much, dear, when you are left to yourself—but I've another confession to make.
Rosmer.
What, another? I really can't stand any more confessions just now!
Rebecca.
[Sitting close to him.] It is only a little one. I bullied Beata into the mill-race—because of a wild uncontrollable—— [Rosmer moves uneasily.] Sit still, dear—uncontrollable fancy—for you!
Rosmer.
[Goes and sits on sofa.] Oh, my goodness, Rebecca—you mustn't, you know!
[He jumps up and down as if embarrassed.
