BILL. Have you been thinking it over?
[FREDA gives a bitter little laugh.]
BILL. Don't! We must make a plan. I'll get you away. I won't let you suffer. I swear I won't.
FREDA. That will be clever.
BILL. I wish to Heaven my affairs weren't in such a mess.
FREDA. I shall be—all—right, thank you.
BILL. You must think me a blackguard. [She shakes her head] Abuse me—say something! Don't look like that!
FREDA. Were you ever really fond of me?
BILL. Of course I was, I am now. Give me your hands.
She looks at him, then drags her hands from his, and covers her face.
BILL. [Clenching his fists] Look here! I'll prove it. [Then as she suddenly flings her arms round his neck and clings to him] There, there!