He sits down wearily.
SHE. I know you hate me. You have a right to. Not just because I was faithless—but because I was cruel. I don't want to excuse myself—but I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't realize I was hurting you.
HE. We've gone over that a thousand times.
SHE. Yes. I've said that before. And you've answered me that that excuse might hold for the first time, but not for the second and the third. You've convicted me of deliberate cruelty on that. And I've never had anything to say. I couldn't say anything, because the truth was; too preposterous. It wasn't any use telling it before. But now I want you to know the real reason.
HE. A new reason, eh?
SHE. Something I've never confessed to you. Yes. It is true that I was cruel to you—deliberately. I did want to hurt you. And do you know why? I wanted to shatter that Olympian serenity of yours. You were too strong, too self-confident. You had the air of a being that nothing could hurt. You were like a god.
HE. That was a long time ago. Was I ever Olympian? I had forgotten it.
You succeeded very well—you shattered it in me.
SHE. You are still Olympian. And I still hate you for it. I wish I could make you suffer now. But I have lost my power to do that.
HE. Aren't you contented with what you have done? It seems to me that I have suffered enough recently to satisfy even your ambitions.
SHE. No—or you couldn't talk like that. You sit there—making phrases. Oh, I have hurt you a little; but you will recover. You always recovered quickly. You are not human. If you were human, you would remember that we once were happy, and be a little sorry that all that is over. But you can't be sorry. You have made up your mind, and can think of nothing but that.