BEATRICE. [_Hesitating, glances at him for an instant._] Why do you think I come here? RICHARD. Why? Many reasons. To give Archie lessons. We have known one another so many years, from childhood, Robert, you and I—haven’t we? You have always been interested in me, before I went away and while I was away. Then our letters to each other about my book. Now it is published. I am here again. Perhaps you feel that some new thing is gathering in my brain; perhaps you feel that you should know it. Is that the reason? BEATRICE. No. RICHARD. Why, then? BEATRICE. Otherwise I could not see you. [_She looks at him for a moment and then turns aside quickly._] RICHARD. [_After a pause repeats uncertainly._] Otherwise you could not see me? BEATRICE. [_Suddenly confused._] I had better go. They are not coming back. [_Rising._] Mr Rowan, I must go. RICHARD. [_Extending his arms._] But you are running away. Remain. Tell me what your words mean. Are you afraid of me? BEATRICE. [_Sinks back again._] Afraid? No. RICHARD. Have you confidence in me? Do you feel that you know me? BEATRICE. [_Again shyly._] It is hard to know anyone but oneself. RICHARD. Hard to know me? I sent you from Rome the chapters of my book as I wrote them; and letters for nine long years. Well, eight years. BEATRICE. Yes, it was nearly a year before your first letter came. RICHARD. It was answered at once by you. And from that on you have watched me in my struggle. [_Joins his hands earnestly._] Tell me, Miss Justice, did you feel that what you read was written for your eyes? Or that you inspired me? BEATRICE. [_Shakes her head._] I need not answer that question. RICHARD. What then? BEATRICE. [_Is silent for a moment._] I cannot say it. You yourself must ask me, Mr Rowan. RICHARD. [_With some vehemence._] Then that I expressed in those chapters and letters, and in my character and life as well, something in your soul which you could not—pride or scorn? BEATRICE. Could not? RICHARD. [_Leans towards her._] Could not because you dared not. Is that why? BEATRICE. [_Bends her head._] Yes. RICHARD. On account of others or for want of courage—which? BEATRICE. [_Softly._] Courage. RICHARD. [_Slowly._] And so you have followed me with pride and scorn also in your heart? BEATRICE. And loneliness. [_She leans her head on her hand, averting her face. Richard rises and walks slowly to the window on the left. He looks out for some moments and then returns towards her, crosses to the lounge and sits down near her._] RICHARD. Do you love him still? BEATRICE. I do not even know. RICHARD. It was that that made me so reserved with you—then—even though I felt your interest in me, even though I felt that I too was something in your life. BEATRICE. You were. RICHARD. Yet that separated me from you. I was a third person, I felt. Your names were always spoken together, Robert and Beatrice, as long as I can remember. It seemed to me, to everyone...