OLGA
Dear Karl, don't. We have grown up to be sensible people—we have put it out of our thoughts.
KARL
Oh, I know it's all over. To-day I'm—(humorously) the famous painter, your husband is my friend, and though we see one another every day, we have never spoken of it again. I wouldn't even have the courage to ask you to sit for your portrait. I was afraid, and I think you were afraid. And so was your husband. And that is why until this day—
OLGA, steps down one pace from chair, gives him her hand
You are a real friend.
KARL, goes to her, gently
There's nothing to be afraid of.
OLGA
Oh, it was only my husband's voice—something in his manner that frightened me. He must know what we were to one another, though he has never made the slightest allusion to it, not one single word in all these years. But when he left us here alone, he seemed to feel—