ROBERT.
Friends, yes.
BERTHA.
Do you speak to them in the same way?
ROBERT.
[In an offended tone.] How can you ask me such a question? What kind of person do you think I am? Or why do you listen to me? Did you not like me to speak to you in that way?
BERTHA.
What you said was very kind. [She looks at him for a moment.] Thank you for saying it—and thinking it.
ROBERT.
[Leaning forward.] Bertha!
BERTHA.
Yes?
ROBERT.
I have the right to call you by your name. From old times—nine years ago. We were Bertha—and Robert—then. Can we not be so now, too?
BERTHA.
[Readily.] O yes. Why should we not?
ROBERT.
Bertha, you knew. From the very night you landed on Kingstown pier. It all came back to me then. And you knew it. You saw it.
BERTHA.
No. Not that night.