Rebecca. Did I try?
Kroll.
Yes, you did. I am no longer such a fool as to believe that there was any feeling in the matter. You simply wanted to get a footing at Rosmersholm—to strike root here—and in that I was to serve you. Now I see it.
Rebecca.
You seem utterly to have forgotten that it was Beata who begged and implored me to come out here?
Kroll.
Yes, when you had bewitched her to. Can the feeling she came to entertain for you be called friendship? It was adoration—almost idolatry. It developed into—what shall I call it?—a sort of desperate passion.—Yes, that is the right word for it.
Rebecca.
Be so good as to recollect the state your sister was in. So far as I am concerned, I don't think any one can accuse me of being hysterical.
Kroll.
No; that you certainly are not. But that makes you all the more dangerous to the people you want to get into your power. It is easy for you to weigh your acts and calculate consequences—just because your heart is cold.
Rebecca. Cold? Are you so sure of that?
