HADDA PADDA. You don't know? ... Then I did succeed in hiding it?

INGOLF. Why did you hide it, Hadda? Why, I almost believed you
bore me a grudge. You seemed to hold more aloof each day.

HADDA PADDA. And even that did not betray me?

INGOLF. Why did you hide it, Hadda?

(Footsteps are heard outside.)

HADDA PADDA [kisses Ingolf hastily, gets up, and seats herself at
his side, takes his hand]. Don't you understand, dear, I was
afraid of knowing the certainty. The stronger my love grew, the
more carefully I had to hide it. I dared not risk those beautiful
dream-children of uncertainty for a disguised certainty. Whenever
we talked together, and you looked up at me, I was startled. I
thought you understood, and your hurried glance reached me only
after the fear of seeing the answer in it.

INGOLF. You, the most sincere of women, could cherish so strong a
love and seem so cold.

HADDA PADDA. Now I have made too great a virtue of my love. Some
of my reserve was pride. Just think, you lived with us during your
entire schooltime, and in the summer sister and I were by turns at
your home. We grew up, you, handsome and manly, and a lord of
pleasures; and you always seemed to be careful not to pay me
greater attention than the other girls, especially at parties.