BEATRICE.
[Looks at her.] Yes, I can.
[A short pause. Bertha withdraws her hand, and turns away her head in some embarrassment.]
BERTHA.
You said just now that another person is intimate in this house. You meant your cousin... Was it he?
BEATRICE.
Yes.
BERTHA.
Have you not forgotten him?
BEATRICE.
[Quietly.] I have tried to.
BERTHA.
[Clasping her hands.] You hate me. You think I am happy. If you only knew how wrong you are!
BEATRICE.
[Shakes her head.] I do not.
BERTHA.
Happy! When I do not understand anything that he writes, when I cannot help him in any way, when I don’t even understand half of what he says to me sometimes! You could and you can. [Excitedly.] But I am afraid for him, afraid for both of them. [She stands up suddenly and goes towards the davenport.] He must not go away like that. [She takes a writing pad from the drawer and writes a few lines in great haste.] No, it is impossible! Is he mad to do such a thing? [Turning to Beatrice.] Is he still at home?
BEATRICE.
[Watching her in wonder.] Yes. Have you written to him to ask him to come here?