RICHARD.
You know why, Bertha. Ask yourself.
BERTHA.
Yes, I know why. You knew the answer you would get. That is why.
RICHARD.
That is not why. I did not even ask you.
BERTHA.
Yes. You knew I would go, asked or not. I do things. But if I do one thing I can do two things. As I have the name I can have the gains.
RICHARD.
[With increasing excitement.] Bertha, I accept what is to be. I have trusted you. I will trust you still.
BERTHA.
To have that against me. To leave me then. [Almost passionately.] Why do you not defend me then against him? Why do you go away from me now without a word? Dick, my God, tell me what you wish me to do?
RICHARD.
I cannot, dear. [Struggling with himself.] Your own heart will tell you. [He seizes both her hands.] I have a wild delight in my soul, Bertha, as I look at you. I see you as you are yourself. That I came first in your life or before him then—that may be nothing to you. You may be his more than mine.
BERTHA.
I am not. Only I feel for him, too.
RICHARD.
And I do too. You may be his and mine. I will trust you, Bertha, and him too. I must. I cannot hate him since his arms have been around you. You have drawn us near together. There is something wiser than wisdom in your heart. Who am I that I should call myself master of your heart or of any woman’s? Bertha, love him, be his, give yourself to him if you desire—or if you can.
BERTHA.
[Dreamily.] I will remain.