RICHARD.
[Smiles slightly.] Not quite. I told you also that I would not show you what I had written unless you asked to see it. Well?
BEATRICE.
I will not ask you.
RICHARD.
[Leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands joined.] Would you like to see it?
BEATRICE.
Very much.
RICHARD.
Because it is about yourself?
BEATRICE.
Yes. But not only that.
RICHARD.
Because it is written by me? Yes? Even if what you would find there is sometimes cruel?
BEATRICE.
[Shyly.] That is part of your mind, too.
RICHARD.
Then it is my mind that attracts you? Is that it?
BEATRICE.
[Hesitating, glances at him for an instant.] Why do you think I come here?