[Continues to look at her.] When I told you all this about the fire—h'm—
Well?
Was there not one special thought that you—that you seized upon?
[Reflects in vain.] No. What thought should that be?
[With subdued emphasis.] It was simply and solely by that fire that I was enabled to build homes for human beings. Cosy, comfortable, bright homes, where father and mother and the whole troop of children can live in safety and gladness, feeling what a happy thing it is to be alive in the world—and most of all to belong to each other—in great things and in small.
[Ardently.] Well, and is it not a great happiness for you to be able to build such beautiful homes?
The price, Hilda! The terrible price I had to pay for the opportunity!
But can you never get over that?
No. That I might build homes for others, I had to forego—to forego for all time—the home that might have been my own. I mean a home for a troop of children—and for father and mother, too.
[Cautiously.] But need you have done that? For all time, you say?