Beata (nodding).
So that, unless you come and pay me a visit there----
Richard.
This is good-bye? For always. So you needn't keep yourself so frightfully in hand. (He looks at her doubtfully.) You needn't, really. (He falls on his knees before her and hides his face in her lap.)
Beata (stroking his hair).
"I knew a sad old tale of Tristram and Iseult"--How grey you've grown in these last few days! (She kisses his hair.) Don't get up yet--I want to look at you again--for the last time.--Only I can't see you--your face has been like a mask ever since yesterday.--Look at me just once as you used to--just once!
Richard (rising).
I've never changed to you.
Beata.
Haven't you?--Who knows?--We've grown old, you and I. There's a layer of ashes on our hearts--a layer of conventionality and good behaviour and weariness and disappointment.--Who knows what we were like before the fire went out? Not a trace is left to tell--not so much as a riband or a flower. The words are forgotten, the letters are destroyed, the emotions have faded. Here we sit like two ghosts on our own graves. (Passionately.) Oh, to go back just once to the old life, and then forget everything----