Kellinghausen.
How could I? We can't wring the scoundrel's neck without landing ourselves in prison. Norbert was right yesterday. In such cases we have no refuge left but the courts. There is more in that boy's ideas than I was willing to admit at the time. Well--meanwhile I've agreed to think the matter over for twenty-four hours. A mere formality, of course--and yet not quite, after all. The fact is, I wanted to talk it out with you.
Richard.
Very well.
Kellinghausen.
Beata--Richard--I don't need to be told that there's nothing wrong in this house--nothing wrong between you two, to put it plainly. I can see that for myself. But in such a dirty business the most harmless fact may be used against you; and you won't misunderstand me if I ask you--both-- You see, you two have always been in such close sympathy--I don't say that to reproach you--God forbid! It was natural enough--you're both so much cleverer than I am--but I ask you, for all our sakes, to look back and try to remember if you've ever written each other any letters that might--might seem--to an outsider--a little too friendly? Good heavens! I should understand it if you had! Or--or--have you ever written anything about me? Anything that might--? There are plenty of things to criticise about me. But I must know the truth. There must not be the least pretext for this attack. I ask you to stop and consider.
Richard.
There is nothing to consider, my dear Michael.
Kellinghausen.
Not so fast, my dear fellow! Take time. Think the matter over.