ANABEL. I was blinded--maddened. Gerald stung me and stung me till I was mad. I left him for reason's sake, for sanity's sake. We should have killed one another. OLIVER. You, stung him, too, you know--and pretty badly, at the last: you dehumanised him. ANABEL. When? When I left him, you mean? OLIVER. Yes, when you went away with that Norwegian--playing your game a little too far. ANABEL. Yes, I knew you'd blame me. I knew you'd be against me. But don't you see, Oliver, you helped to make it impossible for us. OLIVER. Did I? I didn't intend to. ANABEL. Ha, ha, Oliver! Your good intentions! They are too good to bear investigation, my friend. Ah, but for your good and friendly intentions--- OLIVER. You mean my friendship with Gerald went against you? ANABEL. Yes. And your friendship with me went against Gerald. OLIVER. So I am the devil in the piece. ANABEL. You see, Oliver, Gerald loved you far too well ever to love me altogether. He loved us both. But the Gerald that loved you so dearly, old, old friends as you were, and TRUSTED you, he turned a terrible face of contempt on me. You don't know, Oliver, the cold edge of Gerald's contempt for me--because he was so secure and strong in his old friendship with you. You don't know his sneering attitude to me in the deepest things with you. He had a passion for me. But he loved you. OLIVER. Well, he doesn't any more. We went apart after you had gone. The friendship has become almost casual. ANABEL. You see how bitterly you speak. OLIVER. Yet you didn't hate me, Anabel. ANABEL. No, Oliver--I was AWFULLY fond of you. I trusted you--and I trust you still. You see I knew how fond Gerald was of you. And I had to respect this feeling. So I HAD to be aware of you: and I HAD to be conscious of you: in a way, I had to love you. You understand how I mean? Not with the same fearful love with which I loved Gerald. You seemed to me warm and protecting--like a brother, you know--but a brother one LOVES. OLIVER. And then you hated me? ANABEL. Yes, I had to hate you. OLIVER. And you hated Gerald? ANABEL. Almost to madness--almost to madness. OLIVER. Then you went away with that Norwegian. What of him? ANABEL. What of him? Well, he's dead. OLIVER. Ah! That's why you came back? ANABEL. No, no. I came back because my only hope in life was in coming back. Baard was beautiful--and awful. You know how glisteningly blond he was. Oliver, have you ever watched the polar bears? He was cold as iron when it is so cold that it burns you. Coldness wasn't negative with him. It was positive--and awful beyond expression--like the aurora borealis. OLIVER. I wonder you ever got back. ANABEL. Yes, so do I. I feel as if I'd fallen down a fissure in the ice. Yet I have come back, haven't I? OLIVER. God knows! At least, Anabel, we've gone through too much ever to start the old game again. There'll be no more sticky love between us. ANABEL. No, I think there won't, either. OLIVER. And what of Gerald?