Rebecca. Yes, you should not have been silent so long, John.

Rosmer. I cannot understand how I came to be such a coward.

Rebecca. I am sure it was not really from cowardice.

Rosmer. Yes, indeed. I can see that at bottom there was some
cowardice about it.

Rebecca. So much the braver of you to face it as you did. (Sits
down beside him on a chair by the writing-table.) But now I want
to confess something that I have done--something that you must not
be vexed with me about.

Rosmer. Vexed? My dear girl, how can you think--?

Rebecca. Yes, because I dare say it was a little presumptuous of
me, but--

Rosmer. Well, let me hear what it was.

Rebecca. Last night, when that Ulrick Brendel was going, I wrote
him a line or two to take to Mortensgaard.

Rosmer (a little doubtfully). But, my dear Rebecca--What did you
write, then?

Rebecca. I wrote that he would be doing you a service if he
would interest himself a little in that unfortunate man, and help