only a temporary infatuation; I was really, truly and honestly,
in love with you once.

Lona: Why do you think I have come home?

Bernick: Whatever you have in your mind, I entreat, you to do
nothing until I have exculpated myself. I can do that, Lona; at
all events I can excuse myself.

Lona: Now you are frightened. You once were in love with me, you
say. Yes, you told me that often enough in your letters; and
perhaps it was true, too--in a way--as long as you were living
out in the great, free world which gave you the courage to think
freely and greatly. Perhaps you found in me a little more
character and strength of will and independence than in most of
the folk at home here. And then we kept it secret between us;
nobody could make fun of your bad taste.

Bernick: Lona, how can you think--?

Lona: But when you came back--when you heard the gibes that were
made at me on all sides--when you noticed how people laughed at
what they called my absurdities...

Bernick: You were regardless of people's opinion at that time.

Lona: Chiefly to annoy the petticoated and trousered prudes that
one met at every turn in the town. And then, when you met that
seductive young actress--