Kroll. It does not matter who put it into my head. The point is this, that I feel grave doubts—exceedingly grave doubts—when I recall and think over the whole of your behaviour since you came here.
Rebecca (looking at him). I have a notion that there was a time when you had an exceedingly strong BELIEF in me, dear Mr. Kroll—I might almost say, a warm belief.
Kroll (in a subdued voice). I believe you could bewitch any one—if you set yourself to do it.
Rebecca. And you say I set myself to do it!
Kroll. Yes, you did. I am no longer such a simpleton as to suppose that sentiment entered into your little game at all. You simply wanted to secure yourself admission to Rosmersholm—to establish yourself here. That was what I was to help you to. I see it now.
Rebecca. Then you have completely forgotten that it was Beata that begged and entreated me to come and live here.
Kroll. Yes, because you had bewitched her too. Are you going to pretend that friendship is the name for what she came to feel towards you? It was idolatry—adoration. It degenerated into a—what shall I call, it?—a sort of desperate passion. Yes, that is just the word for it.
Rebecca. Have the goodness to remember the condition your sister was in. As far as I am concerned I do not think I can be said to be particularly emotional in any way.
Kroll. No, you certainly are not. But that makes you all the more dangerous to those whom you wish to get into your power. It comes easy to you to act with deliberation and careful calculation, just because you have a cold heart.
Rebecca. Cold? Are you so sure of that?