Robert
[Moodily.] You are with me.
Bertha
No, Robert. Why should I be?
Robert
Because I asked you to come to this place. I tried to prepare it for you. [He points vaguely here and there.] A sense of quietness.
Bertha
[Touching his jacket with her fingers.] And this, too. Your nice velvet coat.
Robert
Also. I will keep no secrets from you.
Bertha
You remind me of someone in a picture. I like you in it . . . But you are not angry, are you?
Robert
[Darkly.] Yes. That was my mistake. To ask you to come here. I felt it when I looked at you from the garden and saw you—you, Bertha—standing here. [Hopelessly.] But what else could I have done?
Bertha
[Quietly.] You mean because others have been here?
Robert
Yes.
[He walks away from her a few paces. A gust of wind makes the lamp on the table flicker. He lowers the wick slightly.]
