(bravely). I want to marry Bob.

(Keeping his eyes on her all the time, GERALD moves slowly away from
her.)

GERALD (to himself). Bob! Bob! But you knew Bob first.

PAMELA. Yes.

GERALD. And then you promised to marry me. You couldn't have been in
love with him. I don't understand.

PAMELA (sadly). I don't understand either, but that's how it's happened.

GERALD. And to think how I've been throwing you in Bob's way, and
wanting you and him to be fond of each other. (Fiercely) _That_ didn't
make you think that I didn't love you?

PAMELA (faltering). I--I don't--you didn't--

GERALD. I was so confident of you. That was your fault. You made me.

PAMELA. I think you could have made me love you if you hadn't been so
confident.

GERALD. I trusted you. You had told me. _I_ knew I should never change,
and I thought I knew _you_ wouldn't.

PAMELA. I was wrong. I never did love you.

GERALD. Then why did you say--

PAMELA (looking at him rather wistfully). You're rather charming,
Gerald, you know, and you--

GERALD (turning away from her furiously). _Damn_ charming! That's what
you all say. I'm sick of it! You think that if a man's charming, that's
the end of him, and that all he's good for is to amuse a few old ladies
at a tea party. I'm sick of it! The rude 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.