Bertha
Did you think of me last night?
Robert
[Comes nearer.] I think of you always—as something beautiful and distant—the moon or some deep music.
Bertha
[Smiling.] And last night which was I?
Robert
I was awake half the night. I could hear your voice. I could see your face in the dark. Your eyes . . . I want to speak to you. Will you listen to me? May I speak?
Bertha
[Sitting down.] You may.
Robert
[Sitting beside her.] Are you annoyed with me?
Bertha
No.
Robert
I thought you were. You put away my poor flowers so quickly.
Bertha
[Takes them from the table and holds them close to her face.] Is this what you wish me to do with them?
Robert
[Watching her.] Your face is a flower too—but more beautiful. A wild flower blowing in a hedge. [Moving his chair closer to her.] Why are you smiling? At my words?
