often seen her, for days and nights together, they would have had no doubts.
Kroll. I had no doubts either—then.
Rosmer. Oh no, unhappily, there wasn't the smallest room for doubt. I have told you of her wild frenzies of passion—which she expected me to return. Oh, how they appalled me! And then her causeless, consuming self-reproaches during the last few years.
Kroll. Yes, when she had learnt that she must remain childless all her life.
Rosmer. Yes, just think of that! Such terrible, haunting agony of mind about a thing utterly beyond her control! How could you call her responsible for her actions?
Kroll. H'm. Can you remember whether you had any books in the house at that time treating of the rationale of marriage—according to the "advanced" ideas of the day.
Rosmer. I remember Miss West lending me a work of the kind. The Doctor left her his library, you know. But, my dear Kroll, you surely cannot suppose we were so reckless as to let my poor sick wife get hold of any such ideas? I can solemnly assure you that the fault was not ours.
