too have been so foolish as to fancy there was anything wrong?
Rebecca.
[To Rosmer.] Yes, only think,—it was nothing but fancy after all!
Rosmer.
Is that really the case, Kroll? Then why did you desert us so entirely?
Kroll.
[Gravely, in a low voice.] Because my presence would always have been reminding you of the years of your unhappiness, and of—the life that ended in the mill-race.
Rosmer.
Well, it was a kind thought—you were always considerate. But it was quite unnecessary to remain away on that account.—Come, sit here on the sofa. [They sit down.] No, I assure you, the thought of Beata has no pain for me. We speak of her every day. We feel almost as if she were still one of the household.
Kroll.
Do you really?
Rebecca.
[Lighting the lamp.] Yes, indeed we do.
Rosmer.
It is quite natural. We were both so deeply attached to her. And both Rebec—both Miss West and I know that we did all that was possible for her in her affliction. We have nothing to reproach ourselves with.—So I feel nothing but a tranquil tenderness now at the thought of Beata.
