BERTHA.
You think I would revenge myself? Is Dick not to be free too?
ROBERT.
[Points at her.] That is not from your heart, Bertha.
BERTHA.
[Proudly.] Yes, it is; let him be free too. He leaves me free also.
ROBERT.
[Insistently.] And you know why? And understand? And you like it? And you want to be? And it makes you happy? And has made you happy? Always? This gift of freedom which he gave you—nine years ago?
BERTHA.
[Gazing at him with wide open eyes.] But why do you ask me such a lot of questions, Robert?
ROBERT.
[Stretches out both hands to her.] Because I had another gift to offer you then—a common simple gift—like myself. If you want to know it I will tell you.
BERTHA.
[Looking at her watch.] Past is past, Robert. And I think I ought to go now. It is nine almost.
ROBERT.
[Impetuously.] No, no. Not yet. There is one confession more and we have the right to speak.
[He crosses before the table rapidly and sits down beside her.]
BERTHA.
[Turning towards him, places her left hand on his shoulder.] Yes, Robert. I know that you like me. You need not tell me. [Kindly.] You need not confess any more tonight.