I tried to give her a new life.

And you have. A new and rich life.

Is it worth what I have taken from her—her girlhood, her laughter, her young beauty, the hopes in her young heart?

[Firmly.] Yes. Well worth it. [He looks at Richard for some moments in silence.] If you had neglected her, lived wildly, brought her away so far only to make her suffer . . .

If I had?

[Slightly confused.] You know there were rumours here of your life abroad—a wild life. Some persons who knew you or met you or heard of you in Rome. Lying rumours.

[Coldly.] Continue.

[Laughs a little harshly.] Even I at times thought of her as a victim. [Smoothly.] And of course, Richard, I felt and knew all the time that you were a man of great talent—of something more than talent. And that was your excuse—a valid one in my eyes.

Have you thought that it is perhaps now—at this