Rebecca. Yes.
Rosmer. And you did not send it up to me
Rebecca. You will read it quite soon enough.
Rosmer. Well, let us see. (Takes up the paper and stands by the table reading it.) What!—"cannot pronounce too emphatic a warning against unprincipled deserters." (Looks at her.) They call me a deserter, Rebecca.
Rebecca. They mention no names at all.
Rosmer. It comes to the same thing. (Goes on reading.) "Secret traitors to the good cause."—"Judas-like creatures, who shamelessly confess their apostasy as soon as they think the most opportune and most profitable moment has arrived."—"A reckless outrage on the fair fame of honoured ancestors"—"in the expectation that those who are enjoying a brief spell of authority will not disappoint them of a suitable reward." (Lays the paper down on the table.) And they write that of me—these men who have known me so long and so intimately—write a thing that they do not even believe themselves! They know there is not a single word of truth in it—and yet they write it.
Rebecca. There is more of it yet.
Rosmer (taking up the paper again). "Make some allowance for inexperience and want of judgment"—"a pernicious influence which, very possibly, has extended even to matters which for the present we will refrain from publicly discussing or condemning." (Looks at her.) What does that mean?
Rebecca. That is a hit at me, obviously.
Rosmer (laying down the paper). Rebecca, this is the conduct of dishonourable men.