Jo.
No, I shall stay here all night.
Kneirtje.
Now, I ask you, how will it be when you’re married? When you are a mother yourself?
Jo.
[Passionately.] You don’t know what you say! You don’t know what you say, Aunt Kneir! If Geert—[Stops, panting.] I didn’t dare tell you.
Kneirtje.
Is it between you and Geert? [Jo sobs loudly.] That was not good of you—not good—to have secrets. Your lover—your husband—is my son. [A silence, the wind shrieks.] Don’t stare that way into the fire. Don’t cry any more. I shall not speak any hard words. Even if it was wrong of you and of him. Come and sit opposite to me, then together we will—[Lays her prayerbook on the table.]
Jo.
[Despairingly.] I don’t want to pray.