Exiles

epub:type="z3998:persona">Richard Please, sit down. Bertha will be back in a moment. Beatrice sits down again in the easychair. Richard sits beside the table. Richard I had begun to think you would never come back. It is twelve days since you were here. Beatrice I thought of that too. But I have come. Richard Have you thought over what I told you when you were here last? Beatrice Very much. Richard You must have known it before. Did you? She does not answer. Do you blame me? Beatrice No. Richard Do you think I have acted towards you⁠—badly? No? Or towards anyone? Beatrice Looks at him with a sad puzzled expression. I have asked myself that question. Richard And the answer? Beatrice I could not answer it. Richard If I were a painter and told you I had a book of sketches of you you would not think it so strange, would you? Beatrice It is not quite the same case, is it? Richard Smiles slightly. Not quite. I told you also that I would not show you what I had written unless you asked to see it. Well? Beatrice I will not ask you. Richard Leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands joined. Would you like to see it? Beatrice Very much. Richard Because it is about yourself? Beatrice Yes. But not only that. Richard Because it is written by me? Yes? Even if what you would find there is sometimes cruel? Beatrice Shyly. That is part of your mind, too. Richard Then it is my mind that attracts you? Is that it? 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 ⁠… Beatrice We are first cousins. It is not strange that we were often together. Richard He told me of your secret engagement with him. He had no secrets from me; I suppose you know that. Beatrice Uneasily. What happened⁠—between us⁠—is so long ago. I was a child. Richard Smiles maliciously. A child? Are you sure? It was in the garden of his mother’s house. No? He points towards the garden. Over there. You plighted your troth, as they say, with a kiss. And you gave him your garter. Is it allowed to mention that? Beatrice With some reserve. If you think it worthy of mention. Richard I think you have not forgotten it. Clasping his hands quietly. I do not understand it. I thought, too, that after I had gone⁠ ⁠… Did my going make you suffer? Beatrice I always knew you would go some day. I did not suffer; only I was changed. Richard Towards him? Beatrice Everything was changed. His life, his mind, even, seemed to change after that. Richard Musing. Yes. I saw that you had changed when I received your first letter after a year; after your illness, too. You even said so in your letter. Beatrice It brought me near to death. It made me see things differently. Richard And so a coldness began between you, little by little. Is that it? Beatrice Half closing her eyes. No. Not at once. I saw in him a pale reflection of you: then that too faded. Of what