[Half between respect and jest.] Oh, when she stood in the choir and sang—she had only one long tooth left—then she was supposed to sing: "Trouble yourselves not, my people!"—and it always sounded like: "'Rouble, 'rouble yourselves not, my people!" It was too funny. And we always had to laugh so … when it sounded through the chapel: "'Rouble, 'rouble!" [She laughs more and more heartily. LOTH becomes infected by her mirth. She seems so sweet to him at this moment that he wants to take the opportunity to put his arms about her. HELEN wards him off.] An, no! no! Just think! I threw myself at you!
LOTH
Oh, don't say such things!
HELEN
But it isn't my fault; you have only yourself to blame for it. Why do you demand …
LOTH puts his arm about her once more and draws her closer to him. At first she resists a little, then she yields and gazes, with frank blessedness, into the joyous face of LOTH which bends above her. Involuntarily, in the awkwardness of her very timidity, she kisses his mouth. Both grow red; then LOTH returns her kiss. His caress is long and heartfelt. A giving and taking of kisses—silent and eloquent at once—is, for a time, all that passes between them. LOTH is the first to speak.
LOTH
Nellie, dearest! Nellie is your name, isn't it?
HELEN
[Kisses him.] Call me something else … call me what you like best …