ROBERT.
Intimately.
[Richard sits down again in the same place and leans forward, his head on his hands.]
ROBERT.
[Moving his chair a little closer.] May I ask you a question?
RICHARD.
You may.
ROBERT.
[With some hesitation.] Has it never happened to you in these years—I mean when you were away from her, perhaps, or travelling—to... betray her with another. Betray her, I mean, not in love. Carnally, I mean... Has that never happened?
RICHARD.
It has.
ROBERT.
And what did you do?
RICHARD.
[As before.] I remember the first time. I came home. It was night. My house was silent. My little son was sleeping in his cot. She, too, was asleep. I wakened her from sleep and told her. I cried beside her bed; and I pierced her heart.
ROBERT.
O, Richard, why did you do that?
RICHARD.
Betray her?