ROBERT.
[Deeply and suddenly touched.] It is noble of you, Richard, to forgive me like this.
RICHARD.
[Struggling with himself.] I told you that I wished you not to do anything false and secret against me—against our friendship, against her; not to steal her from me craftily, secretly, meanly—in the dark, in the night—you, Robert, my friend.
ROBERT.
I know. And it was noble of you.
RICHARD.
[Looks up at him with a steady gaze.] No. Not noble. Ignoble.
ROBERT.
[Makes an involuntary gesture.] How? Why?
RICHARD.
[Looks away again: in a lower voice.] That is what I must tell you too. Because in the very core of my ignoble heart I longed to be betrayed by you and by her—in the dark, in the night—secretly, meanly, craftily. By you, my best friend, and by her. I longed for that passionately and ignobly, to be dishonoured for ever in love and in lust, to be…
ROBERT.
[Bending down, places his hands over Richard’s mouth.] Enough. Enough. [He takes his hands away.] But no. Go on.
RICHARD.
To be for ever a shameful creature and to build up my soul again out of the ruins of its shame.
ROBERT.
And that is why you wished that she…
RICHARD.
[With calm.] She has spoken always of her innocence, as I have spoken always of my guilt, humbling me.
ROBERT.
From pride, then?
RICHARD.
From pride and from ignoble longing. And from a motive deeper still.
ROBERT.
[With decision.] I understand you.
[He returns to his place and begins to speak at once, drawing his chair closer.]
ROBERT.
May it not be that we are here and now in the presence of a moment which will free us both—me as well as you—from the last bonds of what is called morality. My friendship for you has laid bonds on me.
RICHARD.
Light bonds, apparently.
ROBERT.
I acted in the dark, secretly. I will do so no longer. Have you the courage to allow me to act freely?
RICHARD.
A duel—between us?
ROBERT.
[With growing excitement.] A battle of both our souls, different as they are, against all that is false in them and in the world. A battle of your soul against the spectre of fidelity, of mine against the spectre of friendship. All life is a conquest, the victory of human passion over the commandments of cowardice. Will you, Richard? Have you the courage? Even if it shatters to atoms the friendship between us, even if it breaks up for ever the last illusion in your own life? There was an eternity before we were born: another will come after we are dead. The blinding instant of passion alone—passion, free, unashamed, irresistible—that is the only gate by which we can escape from the misery of what slaves call life. Is not this the language of your own youth that I heard so often from you in this very place where we are sitting now? Have you changed?
RICHARD.
[Passes his hand across his brow.] Yes. It is the language of my youth.
ROBERT.
[Eagerly, intensely.] Richard, you have driven me up to this point. She and I have only obeyed your will. You yourself have roused these words in my brain. Your own words. Shall we? Freely? Together?
RICHARD.
[Mastering his emotion.] Together no. Fight your part alone. I will not free you. Leave me to fight mine.
ROBERT.
[Rises, decided.] You allow me, then?
RICHARD.
[Rises also, calmly.] Free yourself.
[A knock is heard at the hall door.]
ROBERT.
[In alarm.] What does this mean?
RICHARD.
[Calmly.] Bertha, evidently. Did you not ask her to come?
ROBERT.
Yes, but… [Looking about him.] Then I am going, Richard.
RICHARD.
No. I am going.
ROBERT.
[Desperately.] Richard, I appeal to you. Let me go. It is over. She is yours. Keep her and forgive me, both of you.
RICHARD.
Because you are generous enough to allow me?
ROBERT.
[Hotly.] Richard, you will make me angry with you if you say that.
RICHARD.
Angry or not, I will not live on your generosity. You have asked her to meet you here tonight and alone. Solve the question between you.
ROBERT.
[Promptly.] Open the door. I shall wait in the garden. [He goes towards the porch.] Explain to her, Richard, as best you can. I cannot see her now.
RICHARD.
I shall go. I tell you. Wait out there if you wish.
[He goes out by the door on the right. Robert goes out hastily through the porch but comes back the same instant.]
ROBERT.
An umbrella! [With a sudden gesture.] O!
[He goes out again through the porch. The hall door is heard to open and close. Richard enters, followed by Bertha, who is dressed in a darkbrown costume and wears a small dark red hat. She has neither umbrella nor waterproof.]
RICHARD.
[Gaily.] Welcome back to old Ireland!
BERTHA.
[Nervously, seriously.] Is this the place?
RICHARD.
Yes, it is. How did you find it?
BERTHA.
I told the cabman. I didn’t like to ask my way. [Looking about her curiously.] Was he not waiting? Has he gone away?
RICHARD.
[Points towards the garden.] He is waiting. Out there. He was waiting when I came.
BERTHA.
[Selfpossessed again.] You see, you came after all.
RICHARD.
Did you think I would not?
BERTHA.
I knew you could not remain away. You see, after all you are like all other men. You had to come. You are jealous like the others.
RICHARD.
You seem annoyed to find me here.
BERTHA.
What happened between you?
RICHARD.
I told him I knew everything, that I had known for a long time. He asked how. I said from you.
BERTHA.
Does he hate me?
RICHARD.
I cannot read in his heart.
BERTHA.
[Sits down helplessly.] Yes. He hates me. He believes I made a fool of him—betrayed him. I knew he would.
RICHARD.
I told him you were sincere with him.
BERTHA.
He does not believe it. Nobody would believe it. I should have told him first—not you.
RICHARD.
I thought he was a common robber, prepared to use even violence against you. I had to protect you from that.
BERTHA.
That I could have done myself.
RICHARD.
Are you sure?
BERTHA.
It would have been enough to have told him that you knew I was here. Now I can find out nothing. He hates me. He is right to hate me. I have treated him badly, shamefully.
RICHARD.
[Takes her hand.] Bertha, look at me.
BERTHA.
[Turns to him.] Well?
RICHARD.
[Gazes into her eyes and then lets her hand fall.] I cannot read in your heart either.
BERTHA.
[Still looking at him.] You could not remain away. Do you not trust me? You can see I am quite calm. I could have hidden it all from you.
RICHARD.
I doubt that.
BERTHA.
[With a slight toss of her head.] O, easily if I had wanted to.
RICHARD.
[Darkly.] Perhaps you are sorry now that you did not.
BERTHA.
Perhaps I am.
RICHARD.
[Unpleasantly.] What a fool you were to tell me! It would have been so nice if you had kept it secret.
BERTHA.
As you do, no?
RICHARD.
As I do, yes. [He turns to go.] Goodbye for a while.
BERTHA.
[Alarmed, rises.] Are you going?
RICHARD.
Naturally. My part is ended here.
BERTHA.
To her, I suppose?
RICHARD.
[Astonished.] Who?
BERTHA.
Her ladyship. I suppose it is all planned so that you may have a good opportunity. To meet her and have an intellectual conversation!
RICHARD.
[With an outburst of rude anger.] To meet the devil’s father!
BERTHA.
[Unpins her hat and sits down.] Very well. You can go. Now I know what to do.
RICHARD.
[Returns, approaches her.] You don’t believe a word of what you say.
BERTHA.
[Calmly.] You can go. Why don’t you?
RICHARD.
Then you have come here and led him on in this way on account of me. Is that how it is?
BERTHA.
There is one person in all this who is not a fool. And that is you. I am though. And he is.
RICHARD.
[Continuing.] If so you have indeed treated him badly and shamefully.
BERTHA.
[Points at him.] Yes. But it was your fault. And I will end it now. I am simply a tool for you. You have no respect for me. You never had because I did what I did.
RICHARD.
And has he respect?
BERTHA.
He has. Of all the persons I met since I came back he is the only one who has. And he knows what they only suspect. And that is why I liked him from the first and like him still. Great respect for me she has! Why did you not ask her to come away with you nine years ago?
RICHARD.
You know why, Bertha. Ask yourself.
BERTHA.
Yes, I know why. You knew the answer you would get. That is why.
RICHARD.
That is not why. I did not even ask you.
BERTHA.
Yes. You knew I would go, asked or not. I do things. But if I do one thing I can do two things. As I have the name I can have the gains.
RICHARD.
[With increasing excitement.] Bertha, I accept what is to be. I have trusted you. I will trust you still.
BERTHA.
To have that against me. To leave me then. [Almost passionately.] Why do you not defend me then against him? Why do you go away from me now without a word? Dick, my God, tell me what you wish me to do?
RICHARD.
I cannot, dear. [Struggling with himself.] Your own heart will tell you. [He seizes both her hands.] I have a wild delight in my soul, Bertha, as I look at you. I see you as you are yourself. That I came first in your life or before him then—that may be nothing to you. You may be his more than mine.
BERTHA.
I am not. Only I feel for him, too.
RICHARD.
And I do too. You may be his and mine. I will trust you, Bertha, and him too. I must. I cannot hate him since his arms have been around you. You have drawn us near together. There is something wiser than wisdom in your heart. Who am I that I should call myself master of your heart or of any woman’s? Bertha, love him, be his, give yourself to him if you desire—or if you can.
BERTHA.
[Dreamily.] I will remain.
RICHARD.
Goodbye.
[He
