Rosmer. No, no—not for this.
Rebecca. Not for this?
Rosmer. It is true that I used to think that sooner or later our beautiful pure friendship would come to be attacked by calumny and suspicion—not on Kroll's part, for I never would have believed such a thing of him—but on the part of the coarse-minded and ignoble-eyed crowd. Yes, indeed; I had good reason enough for so jealously drawing a veil of concealment over our compact. It was a dangerous secret.
Rebecca. Why should we pay any heed to what all these other people think? You and I know that we have nothing to reproach ourselves with.
Rosmer. I? Nothing to reproach myself with? It is true enough that I thought so until to-day. But now, now, Rebecca—
Rebecca. Yes? Now?
Rosmer. How am I to account to myself for Beata's horrible accusation?
Rebecca (impetuously). Oh, don't talk about Beata! Don't think about Beata any more! She is dead, and you seemed at last to have been able to get away from the thought of her.
Rosmer. Since I have learnt of this, it seems just as if she had come to life again in some uncanny fashion.
Rebecca. Oh no—you must not say that, John! You must not!