Samson.
With somebody—somebody. I read between the notes of his music. He's fallen in love and he's put it all into music. [Insinuatingly.] Do you know who she is?
Rosa.
[She gets a broom and begins to sweep.] How should I, a Christian, be so deep in his confidence?
Samson.
As deep in his confidence as need be. But do not trust him too much. Ah—[quasi-regretful]—and I am his friend. But it is love that has made a fool of me.
Rosa.
No, I should not lay it to the door of love.
Samson.
It is love. If I could look into such eyes as yours, and my heart not smoke like—like a burning haycock, then I should be more fool than now.