ROBERT.
[Sitting beside her.] Are you annoyed with me?
BERTHA.
No.
ROBERT.
I thought you were. You put away my poor flowers so quickly.
BERTHA.
[Takes them from the table and holds them close to her face.] Is this what you wish me to do with them?
ROBERT.
[Watching her.] Your face is a flower too—but more beautiful. A wild flower blowing in a hedge. [Moving his chair closer to her.] Why are you smiling? At my words?
BERTHA.
[Laying the flowers in her lap.] I am wondering if that is what you say—to the others.
ROBERT.
[Surprised.] What others?
BERTHA.
The other women. I hear you have so many admirers.
ROBERT.
[Involuntarily.] And that is why you too...?
BERTHA.
But you have, haven’t you?