My poor friend!
Martha, resigning the chair to Rhoda, goes out. Mrs. Beeler looks up at Rhoda anxiously.
What were you saying when I came in?
As Rhoda does not answer, she turns to Michaelis.
Something about your defending her.—Against what?
Michaelis.
Nothing. Her nature is its own defence.
Mrs. Beeler.
Caressing her.
Ah, no! She needs help. She cannot bear it that this disaster has come, through her. It has made her morbid. She says things about herself, that make me tremble. Has she spoken to you—about herself?