Kroll. Ill-will? What do you mean?

Rebecca. Well, it would not be so very surprising if it were
rather painful for you to see me, a stranger, doing just as I
like here at Rosmersholm.

Kroll. How in the world could you think--!

Rebecca. Then it is not so? (Holds out her hand to, him.) Thank
you, Mr. Kroll; thank you for that.

Kroll. But what on earth could make you take such an idea into
your head?

Rebecca. I began to be afraid it might be so, as you have so
seldom been out here to see us lately.

Kroll. I can assure you, you have been on the wrong scent
entirely, Miss West. And, in any case, the situation of affairs
is unchanged in any essential point; because during the last sad
years of poor Beata's life it was you and you alone, even then,
that looked after everything here.

Rebecca. But it was more like a kind of regency in the wife's
name.

Kroll. Whatever it was, I--. I will tell you what, Miss West; as
far as I am concerned I should have nothing whatever to say
against it if you. But it doesn't do to say such things.