ROSIE. Charlie, if I had told you, would you have kept it to yourself?
CHARLIE. Why should I do that?
ROSIE. Exactly. Sooner or later you'd have blurted it all out to my father, and I could have done no more good, no more little charities, no more small alleviations. What sort of a life do you suppose I should have had if he'd learnt that I had broken through his rule, that I was doing all I could to soften his harsh management and to make things easier for his pecple when they fell ill?
CHARLIE. You've been doing that? How little I knew you!
ROSIE. It wasn't much, but I did what I could.
CHARLIE. What a sweep I've been!
ROSIE. You're going to stay?
CHARLIE. Yes, I'm going to stay. I've been a fool. I thought I hadn't time for marriage. I thought a wife would be a drag. I—I thought myself a tower of strength.
ROSIE (smiling). It had to be, Charlie. A poet always marries a cook.
CHARLIE. You mustn't talk like that. I'm not fit for you. I've played with you. I thought of you as Thompson's daughter, content with him and all he stands for. And all the time I wanted you, wanted you horribly. Only that stood in the way. I loved you while I tried to hate you for what I thought you were. I know you better now. You're going to help me. That's kind, that's generous of you. I need you so much, Rosie.