Rosmer. Because no cause can ever triumph which has its beginnings in guilt.
Rebecca (impetuously). Oh, these are nothing but prejudices you have inherited—these doubts, these fears, these scruples! You have a legend here that your dead return to haunt you in the form of white horses. This seems to me to be something of that sort.
Rosmer. Be that as it may, what difference does it make if I cannot shake it off? Believe me, Rebecca, it is as I say—any cause which is to win a lasting victory must be championed by a man who is joyous and innocent.
Rebecca. But is joy so absolutely indispensable to you, John?
Rosmer. Joy? Yes, indeed it is.
Rebecca. To you, who never laugh?
Rosmer. Yes, in spite of that. Believe me, I have a great capacity for joy.
Rebecca. Now you really must go out, dear—for a long walk—a really long one, do you hear? There is your hat, and there is your stick.
Rosmer (taking them from her). Thank you. And you won't come too?
Rebecca. No, no, I can't come now.