_Reb._ (_sitting close to him_). It is only a little one. I bullied
BEATA into the mill-race--because of a wild uncontrollable-- (_ROSMER
moves uneasily._) Sit still, dear--uncontrollable fancy--for _you_!

_Rosmer_ (_goes and sits on sofa_). Oh, my goodness, REBECCA--you
_mustn't_, you know!

[_He jumps up and down as if embarrassed._

_Reb._ Don't be alarmed, dear, it is all over now. After living alone
with you in solitude, when you showed me all your thoughts without
reserve,--little by little, somehow the fancy passed off. I caught
the ROSMER view of life badly, and dulness descended on my soul as an
extinguisher upon one of our Northern dips. The ROSMER view of life is
ennobling, very--but hardly lively. And I've more yet to tell you.

_Rosmer_ (_turning it off_). Isn't that enough for one evening P

_Reb._ (_almost voiceless_). No, dear. I have a Past--_behind_ me!

_Rosmer_. _Behind_ you? How strange. I had an idea of that sort
already. (_Starts, as if in fear._) A joke! (_Sadly._) Ah, no--_no_,
I must not give way to _that_! Never mind the Past, REBECCA; I
once thought that I had made the grand discovery that, if one is
only virtuous, one will be happy. I see now it was too daring, too
original--an immature dream. What bothers me is that I can't--somehow
I _can't_--believe entirely in you--I am not even sure that I _have_
ennobled you so very much--_isn't_ it terrible?