ROBERT.
With me? No. Perhaps—
MARY.
You are still angry with your father? And he is so good!
ROBERT.
That is just the trouble, that he is so good. Oh, his kindness is almost more difficult to bear than his violent temper! His anger only hurts, his kindness humiliates; over against his anger I set my pride—but what can I set against his kindness?
MARY.
And you wanted to go away, you wicked Robert, and leave us all!
ROBERT.
I wanted to go, but I am still here. Oh! That was a wretched time! I despaired of everything; of you, Mary; of myself; but all that is now past. There must be a little shade, only not too much. Let us go out, Mary. It is so close here in the house. The musicians shall play us the merriest piece they know. [They are about to go.]