Exiles: A Play in Three Acts

by James Joyce

BERTHA.
Gone. [Nervously.] You startled me. Where did you come from?

ROBERT.
[With a movement of his head.] Out there. Did he not tell you I was out there—waiting?

BERTHA.
[Quickly.] Yes, he told me. But I was afraid here alone. With the door open, waiting. [She comes to the table and rests her hand on the corner.] Why do you stand like that in the doorway?

ROBERT.
Why? I am afraid too.

BERTHA.
Of what?

ROBERT.
Of you.

BERTHA.
[Looks down.] Do you hate me now?

ROBERT.
I fear you. [Clasping his hands at his back, quietly but a little defiantly.] I fear a new torture—a new trap.

BERTHA.
[As before.] For what do you blame me?

ROBERT.
[Comes forward a few steps, halts: then impulsively:] Why did you lead me on? Day after day, more and more. Why did you not stop me? You could have—with a word. But not even a word! I forgot myself and him. You saw it. That I was ruining myself in his eyes, losing his friendship. Did you want me to?