Ah, well! so our pure and beautiful friendship has been misinterpreted, bespattered! Just because you wear a morning wrapper, and have lived here alone for a year, people with coarse souls and ignoble eyes make unpleasant remarks! But what really _did_ drive Beata mad? _Why_ did she jump into the mill-race? I'm sure we did everything we could to spare her! I made it the business of my life to keep her in ignorance of all our interests--_didn't_ I, now? REBECCA. You did. But why brood over it? What _does_ it matter? Get on with your great beautiful task, dear--[_approaching him cautiously from behind_]--winning over minds and wills, and creating noblemen, you know--_joyful_ noblemen! ROSMER. [_Walking about restlessly, as if in thought._] Yes, I know. I have never laughed in the whole course of my life--we Rosmers don't--and so I felt that spreading gladness and light, and making the democracy joyful, was properly my mission. But _now_--I feel too upset to go on, Rebecca, unless----[_Shakes his head heavily._] Yes, an idea has just occurred to me----[_Looks at her, and then runs his hands through his hair_]--Oh, my goodness! No--I _can't_. [_He leans his elbows on table._ REBECCA. Be a free man to the full, Rosmer--tell me your idea. ROSMER. [_Gloomily._] I don't know what you'll say to it. It's this: Our platonic comradeship was all very well while I was peaceful and happy. Now that I am bothered and badgered, I feel--_why_, I can't exactly explain, but I _do_ feel that I must oppose a new and living reality to the gnawing memories of the past. I should perhaps, explain that this is equivalent to an Ibsenian proposal. REBECCA. [_Catches at the chair-back with joy._] How? at _last_--a rise at last! [_Recollects herself._] But what am I about? Am I not an emancipated enigma? [_Puts her hands over her ears as if in terror._] What are you saying? You mustn't. I can't _think_ what you mean. Go away, do! ROSMER. [_Softly._] Be the new and living reality. It is the only way to put Beata out of the Saga. Shall we try it? REBECCA. Never! Do not--_do_ not ask me why--for I haven't a notion--but never! [_Nods slowly to him and rises._] White Horses would not induce me! [_With her hand on door-handle._] Now you _know_! [_She goes out._ ROSMER. [_Sits up, stares, thunderstruck, at the stove, and says to himself._] Well--I--_am_---- [_Quick Curtain._ * * * * * ACT THIRD _Sitting-room at Rosmershölm. Sun shining outside in the Garden. Inside_ REBECCA WEST _is watering a geranium with a small watering-pot. Her crochet antimacassar lies in the arm-chair._ MADAME HELSETH _is rubbing the chairs with furniture-polish from a large bottle. Enter_ ROSMER, _with his hat and stick in his hand._ MADAME HELSETH _corks the bottle and goes out to the right_. REBECCA.