Kroll. I merely called for the purpose of informing you that I consider you an artful and designing person, but that, on the whole, considering your birth and moral antecedents, you know—(nods at her)—it is not surprising. (REBECCA walks about, wringing her hands) Why, what is the matter? Did you really not know that you had no right to your father's name? I'd no idea you would mind my mentioning such a trifle!
Reb. (breaking out). I do mind. I am an emancipated enigma, but I retain a few little prejudices still. I don't like owning to my real age, and I do prefer to be legitimate. And, after your information—of which I was quite ignorant, as my mother, the late Mrs. GAMVIK, never once alluded to it—I feel I must confess everything. Strong-minded advanced women are like that. Here is ROSMER. (ROSMER enters with his hat and stick.) ROSMER, I want to tell you and Rector KROLL a little story. Let us sit down, dear, all three of us. (They sit down, mechanically, on chairs.) A long time ago, before the play began—(in a voice scarcely audible)—in Ibsenite dramas, all the interesting things somehow do happen before the play begins—
Rosmer. But, REBECCA, I know all this. KROLL—(looks hard at her). Perhaps I had better go?
Reb. No—I will be short—this was it. I wanted to take my share in the life of the New Era, and march onward with ROSMER. There was one dismal, insurmountable barrier—(to ROSMER, who nods gravely)—BEATA! I understood where your deliverance lay—and I acted. I drove BEATA into the mill-race ... There!
Rosmer (after a short silence). H'm! Well, KROLL—(takes up his hat)—if you're thinking of walking home, I'll go too. I'm going to be orthodox once more—after this!
Kroll (severely and impressively, to REB.). A nice sort of young woman you are! [Both go out hastily, without looking at REB.
Reb. (speaks to herself, under her breath). Now I have done it. I wonder why. (Pulls bell-rope.) Madam HELSETH, I have just had a glimpse of two rushing White Horses. Bring down my hair-trunk.
[Enter Madam H., with large hair-trunk, as Curtain falls.
ACT IV.
Late evening. REBECCA WEST stands by a lighted lamp, with a shade over it, packing sandwiches, &c., in a reticule, with a faint smile. The antimacassar is on the sofa. Enter ROSMER.