Stella.—Permit me to go.
Doctor.—No, madam. I have the right to ask, and if you fear to look into the bottom of your heart, then I have the right to say that you lack courage, and for such sinful weakness one pays later with his own happiness and the happiness of others. I suffer also—but I must—I must. Madam, listen to me. If in your heart there is even the shadow of a doubt, you have mistaken your sentiments.
Stella.—Is it possible to make such a mistake?
Doctor.—Yes. Sometimes—often one mistakes sympathy, pity, commiseration for love.
Stella.—What a dreadful mistake!
Doctor.—Which one recognizes as soon as the heart flies in another direction. The dignity of a fiancé is a hidden pain. If I am mistaken, pray forgive me.
Stella.—Doctor, I do not wish to think of such things.
Doctor.—Then I am not mistaken. Do not look on me with fear. I wish to save you, my dear child. Where is your heart? The moment that you recognize you do not love Mr. Pretwic, that moment will tell you whom you do love. No, I shall not withdraw my question. Where is your heart? By God, if he is not equal to you, he shall rise to your height! But no, I have become a madman.
Stella.—I must be going.
Doctor (barring the way).—No, you shall not go until you have given me an answer. Whom do you love?