RICHARD.
[Turns to her.] Do you think I care?
BERTHA.
But I care. What would he say if he knew? You, who talk so much of the high kind of feeling you have for me, expressing yourself in that way to another woman. If he did it, or other men, I could understand because they are false pretenders. But you, Dick! Why do you not tell him then?
RICHARD.
You can if you like.
BERTHA.
I will. Certainly I will.
RICHARD.
[Coolly.] He will explain it to you.
BERTHA.
He doesn’t say one thing and do another. He is honest in his own way.
RICHARD.
[Plucks one of the roses and throws it at her feet.] He is, indeed! The soul of honour!
BERTHA.
You may make fun of him as much as you like. I understand more than you think about that business. And so will he. Writing those long letters to her for years, and she to you. For years. But since I came back I understand it—well.
RICHARD.
You do not. Nor would he.
BERTHA.
[Laughs scornfully.] Of course. Neither he nor I can understand it. Only she can. Because it is such a deep thing!