Mercedes. It is sad, I admit; but perhaps public opinion is not altogether to blame.
Pepito. Teodora did go to your rooms—she was there
Ernest. To prevent the duel with Nebreda.
Pepito. Then why did she hide herself?
Ernest. Because we feared her presence would be misconstrued.
Pepito. The explanation is easy and simple. The difficult thing, Ernest, is to get us to believe it, for there is another still more easy and simple.
Ernest. Which dishonours more, and that's the beauty of it.
Pepito. Well, at least, admit that Teodora was giddy, if not really culpable.
Ernest. Guilt is prudent and cautious. On the other hand, how imprudent is innocence!
Pepito. Look here, if your rule holds good for everybody, the worst of us is an angel or a saint.
Ernest. You are right. What does it matter? What is the weight or value of such calumny? The worst of it is that thought is degraded by mean contact with a mean idea. From force of dwelling upon a crime, the conscience becomes familiar with it. It shows itself terrible and repellent—but it shows itself—at night, in dark solitude! Yes—[aside] but what! why are they listening to me so strangely, almost in suspense? [Aloud] I am myself; my name is an honourable one. If I killed Nebreda solely because of a lie, what would I not do to myself if guilt threatened to give the truth to calumny?
Pepito. [Aside to Mercedes.] He denied it! Why, it is as clear as daylight.
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