Not to-day.
Rosmer. Don't you mean to do so in future, either? Rebecca. I
cannot say yet, dear.
Rosmer. Has anything come for me?
Rebecca. The "County News" has come.
Rosmer. The "County News"!
Rebecca. There it is, on the table.
Rosmer (putting down his hat and stick). Is there anything--?
Rebecca. Yes.
Rosmer. And you did not send it up to me
Rebecca. You will read it quite soon enough.
Rosmer. Well, let us see. (Takes up the paper and stands by the
table reading it.) What!--"cannot pronounce too emphatic a warning
against unprincipled deserters." (Looks at her.) They call me a
deserter, Rebecca.
Rebecca. They mention no names at all.
Rosmer. It comes to the same thing. (Goes on reading.) "Secret
traitors to the good cause."--"Judas-like creatures, who
shamelessly confess their apostasy as soon as they think the most
opportune and most profitable moment has arrived."--"A reckless
outrage on the fair fame of honoured ancestors"--"in the
expectation that those who are enjoying a brief spell of
authority will not disappoint them of a suitable reward." (Lays
the paper down on the table.) And they write that of me--these men
who have known me so long and so intimately--write a thing that
they do not even believe themselves! They know there is not a
single word of truth in it--and yet they write it.
Rebecca. There is more of it yet.
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