Kroll. Were not the years that followed even harder for you?
Rebecca. No; how can you say such a thing! I, who was so
genuinely fond of Beata--! And she, poor soul was so sadly in need
of care and sympathetic companionship.
Kroll. You deserve to be thanked and rewarded for the forbearance
with which you speak of her.
Rebecca (moving a little nearer to him). Dear Mr. Kroll, you say
that so kindly and so sincerely that I feel sure you really bear
me no ill-will.
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--.
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