rough man with the heart of gold--that's the only sort that can have
a heart at all, according to some of you.

PAMELA (utterly surprised by this). Gerald!

GERALD. I'm sorry, Pamela. Of course you wouldn't understand. But we
were just talking. (With a sudden disarming smile) I don't know
whether an apology is overdoing the charm?

PAMELA (in distress). Oh, Gerald, you couldn't really have loved me;
you don't really now. Of course, it will hurt you, but you'll soon
get over it. Oh, what's the good of my talking like this? I've never
really known you; I don't know you now.

GERALD (quietly). It's no good now, anyway. (He walks away from her
and looks out through the windows at the back.) Just tell me one or
two things. Were you in love with him when he went to prison?

PAMELA. I don't know--really I don't know. I was so dreadfully sorry
for him all that time before, and I felt so very friendly towards
him, so very--oh, Gerald, so motherly. And I wanted to be wanted so
badly, and you didn't seem to want me in that way. That was why,
when he had gone, I went right away from you, and asked you not to
write to me; I wanted to think it all out--alone.

GERALD. But you wrote to Bob?

PAMELA. Oh, Gerald, he wanted it so badly.

GERALD. I'm sorry.