RICHARD.
Night after night?
BERTHA.
[Gazing before her and speaking with intense passion.] To meet my lover! [Holding out her arms before her.] My lover! Yes! My lover!
[She bursts suddenly into tears and sinks down on a chair, covering her face with her hands. Richard approaches her slowly and touches her on the shoulder.]
RICHARD.
Bertha! [She does not answer.] Bertha, you are free.
BERTHA.
[Pushes his hand aside and starts to her feet.] Don’t touch me! You are a stranger to me. You do not understand anything in me—not one thing in my heart or soul. A stranger! I am living with a stranger!
[A knock is heard at the hall door. Bertha dries her eyes quickly with her handkerchief and settles the front of her gown. Richard listens for a moment, looks at her keenly and, turning away, walks into his study. Robert Hand enters from the left. He is dressed in dark brown and carries in his hand a brown Alpine hat.]
ROBERT.
[Closing the door quietly behind him.] You sent for me.
BERTHA.
[Rises.] Yes. Are you mad to think of going away like that—without even coming here—without saying anything?
ROBERT.
[Advancing towards the table on which the paper lies, glances at it.] What I have to say I said here.
BERTHA.
When did you write it? Last night—after I went away?