Bertha
I will. Certainly I will.
Richard
[Coolly.] He will explain it to you.
Bertha
He doesn't say one thing and do another. He is honest in his own way.
Richard
[Plucks one of the roses and throws it at her feet.] He is, indeed! The soul of honour!
Bertha
You may make fun of him as much as you like. I understand more than you think about that business. And so will he. Writing those long letters to her for years, and she to you. For years. But since I came back I understand it—well,
Richard
You do not. Nor would he.
Bertha
[Laughs scornfully.] Of course. Neither he nor I can understand it. Only she can. Because it is such a deep thing!
Richard
[Angrily.] Neither he nor you—nor she either! Not one of you!
Bertha
[With great bitterness.] She will! She will understand it! The diseased woman!
[She turns away and walks over to the little table on the right. Richard restrains a sudden gesture. A short pause.]
