ROBERT.
[Nodding again.] Yes, you won.
RICHARD.
[Rises.] Excuse me for forgetting. Will you have some whisky?
ROBERT.
All things come to those who wait.
[Richard goes to the sideboard and brings a small tray with the decanter and glasses to the table where he sets it down.]
RICHARD.
[Sits down again, leaning back on the lounge.] Will you please help yourself?
ROBERT.
[Does so.] And you? Steadfast? [Richard shakes his head.] Lord, when I think of our wild nights long ago—talks by the hour, plans, carouses, revelry...
RICHARD.
In our house.
ROBERT.
It is mine now. I have kept it ever since though I don’t go there often. Whenever you like to come let me know. You must come some night. It will be old times again. [He lifts his glass and drinks.] Prosit!
RICHARD.
It was not only a house of revelry; it was to be the hearth of a new life. [Musing.] And in that name all our sins were committed.
ROBERT.
Sins! Drinking and blasphemy [he points] by me. And drinking and heresy, much worse [he points again] by you—are those the sins you mean?