BERTHA.
Is anyone out there?
[At the same time she retreats towards the middle of the room. Then she calls again in the same way.]
BERTHA.
Is anyone there?
[Robert appears in the open doorway that leads in from the garden. His coat is buttoned and the collar is turned up. He holds the doorposts with his hands lightly and waits for Bertha to see him.]
BERTHA.
[Catching sight of him, starts back: then, quickly.] Robert!
ROBERT.
Are you alone?
BERTHA.
Yes.
ROBERT.
[Looking towards the door on the right.] Where is he?
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?
BERTHA.
[Looking up.] You never asked me.
ROBERT.
Asked you what?
BERTHA.
If he suspected—or knew.
ROBERT.
And would you have told me?
BERTHA.
Yes.
ROBERT.
[Hesitatingly.] Did you tell him—everything?
BERTHA.
I did.
ROBERT.
I mean—details.
BERTHA.
Everything.
ROBERT.
[With a forced smile.] I see. You were making an experiment for his sake. On me. Well, why not? It seems I was a good subject. Still, it was a little cruel of you.
BERTHA.
Try to understand me, Robert. You must try.
ROBERT.
[With a polite gesture.] Well, I will try.
BERTHA.
Why do you stand like that near the door? It makes me nervous to look at you.
ROBERT.
I am trying to understand. And then I am afraid.
BERTHA.
[Holds out her hand.] You need not be afraid.
[Robert comes towards her quickly and takes her hand.]
ROBERT.
[Diffidently.] Used you to laugh over me—together? [Drawing his hand away.] But now I must be good or you may laugh over me again—tonight.
BERTHA.
[Distressed, lays her hand on his arm.] Please listen to me, Robert… But you are all wet, drenched! [She passes her hands over his coat.] O, you poor fellow! Out there in the rain all that time! I forgot that.
ROBERT.
[Laughs.] Yes, you forgot the climate.
BERTHA.
But you are really drenched. You must change your coat.
ROBERT.
[Takes her hands.] Tell me, it is pity then that you feel for me, as he—as Richard—says?
BERTHA.
Please change your coat, Robert, when I ask you. You might get a very bad cold from that. Do, please.
ROBERT.
What would it matter now?
BERTHA.
[Looking round her.] Where do you keep your clothes here?
ROBERT.
[Points to the door at the back.] In there. I fancy I have a jacket here. [Maliciously.] In my bedroom.
BERTHA.
Well, go in and take that off.
ROBERT.
And you?
BERTHA.
I will wait here for you.
ROBERT.
Do you command me to?
BERTHA.
[Laughing.] Yes, I command you.
ROBERT.
[Promptly.] Then I will. [He goes quickly towards the bedroom door; then turns round.] You won’t go away?
BERTHA.
No, I will wait. But don’t be long.
ROBERT.
Only a moment.
[He goes into the bedroom, leaving the door open. Bertha looks curiously about her and then glances in indecision towards the door at the back.]
ROBERT.
[From the bedroom.] You have not gone?
BERTHA.
No.
ROBERT.
I am in the dark here. I must light the lamp.
[He is heard striking a match, and putting a glass shade on a lamp. A pink light comes in through the doorway. Bertha glances at her watch at her wristlet and then sits at the table.]
ROBERT.
[As before.] Do you like the effect of the light?
BERTHA.
O, yes.
ROBERT.
Can you admire it from where you are?
BERTHA.
Yes, quite well.
ROBERT.
It was for you.
BERTHA.
[Confused.] I am not worthy even of that.
ROBERT.
[Clearly, harshly.] Love’s labour lost.
BERTHA.
[Rising nervously.] Robert!
ROBERT.
Yes?
BERTHA.
Come here, quickly! Quickly, I say!
ROBERT.
I am ready.
[He appears in the doorway, wearing a darkgreen velvet jacket. Seeing her agitation, he comes quickly towards her.]
ROBERT.
What is it, Bertha?
BERTHA.
[Trembling.] I was afraid.
ROBERT.
Of being alone?
BERTHA.
[Catches his hands.] You know what I mean. My nerves are all upset.
ROBERT.
That I…?
BERTHA.
Promise me, Robert, not to think of such a thing. Never. If you like me at all. I thought that moment…
ROBERT.
What an idea?
BERTHA.
But promise me if you like me.
ROBERT.
If I like you, Bertha! I promise. Of course, I promise. You are trembling all over.
BERTHA.
Let me sit down somewhere. It will pass in a moment.
ROBERT.
My poor Bertha! Sit down. Come.
[He leads her towards a chair near the table. She sits down. He stands beside her.]
ROBERT.
[After a short pause.] Has it passed?
BERTHA.
Yes. It was only for a moment. I was very silly. I was afraid that… I wanted to see you near me.
ROBERT.
That… that you made me promise not to think of?
BERTHA.
Yes.
ROBERT.
[Keenly.] Or something else?
BERTHA.
[Helplessly.] Robert, I feared something. I am not sure what.
ROBERT.
And now?
BERTHA.
Now you are here. I can see you. Now it has passed.
ROBERT.
[With resignation.] Passed. Yes. Love’s labour lost.
BERTHA.
[Looks up at him.] Listen, Robert. I want to explain to you about that. I could not deceive Dick. Never. In nothing. I told him everything—from the first. Then it went on and on; and still you never spoke or asked me. I wanted you to.
ROBERT.
Is that the truth, Bertha?
BERTHA.
Yes, because it annoyed me that you could think I was like… like the other women I suppose you knew that way. I think that Dick is right too. Why should there be secrets?
ROBERT.
[Softly.] Still, secrets can be very sweet. Can they not?
BERTHA.
[Smiles.] Yes, I know they can. But, you see, I could not keep things secret from Dick. Besides, what is the good? They always come out in the end. Is it not better for people to know?
ROBERT.
[Softly and a little shyly.] How could you, Bertha, tell him everything? Did you? Every single thing that passed between us?
BERTHA.
Yes. Everything he asked me.
ROBERT.
Did he ask you—much?
BERTHA.
You know the kind he is. He asks about everything. The ins and outs.
ROBERT.
About our kissing, too?
BERTHA.
Of course. I told him all.
ROBERT.
[Shakes his head slowly.] Extraordinary little person! Were you not ashamed?
BERTHA.
No.
ROBERT.
Not a bit?
BERTHA.
No. Why? Is that terrible?
ROBERT.
And how did he take it? Tell me. I want to know everything, too.
BERTHA.
[Laughs.] It excited him. More than usual.
ROBERT.
Why? Is he excitable—still?
BERTHA.
[Archly.] Yes, very. When he is not lost in his philosophy.
ROBERT.
More than I?
BERTHA.
More than you? [Reflecting.] How could I answer that? You both are, I suppose?
[Robert turns aside and gazes towards the porch, passing his hand once or twice thoughtfully over his hair.]
BERTHA.
[Gently.] Are you angry with me again?
ROBERT.
[Moodily.] You are with me.
BERTHA.
No, Robert. Why should I be?
ROBERT.
Because I asked you to come to this place. I tried to prepare it for you. [He points vaguely here and there.] A sense of quietness.
BERTHA.
[Touching his jacket with her fingers.] And this, too. Your nice velvet coat.
ROBERT.
Also. I will keep no secrets from you.
BERTHA.
You remind me of someone in a picture. I like you in it… But you are not angry, are you?
ROBERT.
[Darkly.] Yes. That was my mistake. To ask you to come here. I felt it when I looked at you from the garden and saw you—you, Bertha—standing here. [Hopelessly.] But what else could I have done?
BERTHA.
[Quietly.] You mean because others have been here?
ROBERT.
Yes.
[He walks away from her a few paces. A gust of wind makes the lamp on the table flicker. He lowers the wick slightly.]
BERTHA.
[Following him with her eyes.] But I knew that before I came. I am not angry with you for it.
ROBERT.
[Shrugs his shoulders.] Why should you be angry with me after all? You are not even angry with him—for the same thing—or worse.
BERTHA.
Did he tell you that about himself?
ROBERT.
Yes. He told me. We all confess to one another here. Turn about.
BERTHA.
I try to forget it.
ROBERT.
It does not trouble you?
BERTHA.
Not now. Only I dislike to think of it.
ROBERT.
It is merely something brutal, you think? Of little importance?
BERTHA.
It does not trouble me—now.
ROBERT.
[Looking at her over his shoulder.] But there is something that would trouble you very much and that you would not try to forget?
BERTHA.
What?
ROBERT.
[Turning towards her.] If it were not only something brutal with this person or that—for a few moments. If it were something fine and spiritual—with one person only—with one woman. [Smiles.] And perhaps brutal too. It usually comes to that sooner or later. Would you try to forget and forgive that?
BERTHA.
[Toying with her wristlet.] In whom?
ROBERT.
In anyone. In me.
BERTHA.
[Calmly.] You mean in Dick.
ROBERT.
I said in myself. But would you?
BERTHA.
You think I would revenge myself? Is Dick not to be free too?
ROBERT.
[Points at her.] That is not from your heart, Bertha.
BERTHA.
[Proudly.] Yes, it is; let him be free too. He leaves me free also.
ROBERT.
[Insistently.] And you know why? And understand? And you like it? And you want to be? And it makes you happy? And has made you happy? Always? This gift of freedom which he gave you—nine years ago?
BERTHA.
[Gazing at him with wide open eyes.] But why do you ask me such a lot of questions, Robert?
ROBERT.
[Stretches out both hands to her.] Because I had another gift to offer you then—a common simple gift—like myself. If you want to know it I will tell you.
BERTHA.
[Looking at her watch.] Past is past, Robert. And I think I ought to go now. It is nine almost.
ROBERT.
[Impetuously.] No, no. Not yet. There is one confession more and we have the right to speak.
[He crosses before the table rapidly and
