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There is a pause then the telephone rings.KARLrises, ignores the telephone, takes his coffee cup to the tray, at the same time collecting theDOCTOR’s cup as he passes the work-table. He then exits with the tray upCtoL. While he is off, the telephone stops ringing.KARLre-enters and moves downL, leaving the door open. He pauses for a moment, staring at the work-table, then goes to the record cabinet and takes the Rachmaninoff record from it. He goes to the desk and sits, putting the record on the desk in front of him.LISAsuddenly enters upCfromR, shuts the door behind her and leans against it.KARLrises and turns.

KARL. Lisa! Lisa! (He goes towards her as though he can hardly believe his eyes) Is it true? Is it?

LISA. They found me not guilty.

KARL. (attempting to take her in his arms) Oh, my darling, I’m so thankful. No one shall ever hurt you again, Lisa.

LISA. (pushing him away) No.

KARL. (realizing her coldness and aloofness) What do you mean?

LISA. I’ve come here to get my things.

KARL. (backing above the armchair) What do you mean—your things?

LISA. Just a few things that I need. Then I am going away.

KARL. What do you mean—going away?

LISA. I’m leaving here.

KARL. But surely—that’s ridiculous! D’you mean because of what people would say? Does that matter now?

LISA. You don’t understand. I am going away for good.

KARL. Going away—where?

LISA. (moving slowly downC) What does it matter? Somewhere. I can get a job. There’ll be no difficulty about that. I may go abroad. I may stay in England. Wherever I go I’m starting a new life.

KARL. A new life? You mean—without me?

LISA. Yes. Yes, Karl. That’s just what I do mean. Without you.

KARL. (backing downL) But why? Why?

LISA. (upRof the armchair) Because I’ve had enough.

KARL. I don’t understand you.

LISA. (moving to the sofa) We’re not made to understand each other. We don’t see things the same way, and I’m afraid of you.

KARL. How can you be afraid of me?

LISA. Because you’re the kind of man who always brings suffering.

KARL. No.

LISA. It’s true.

KARL. No.

LISA. I see people as they are. Without malice and without entering into judgement, but without illusions, either. I don’t expect people to be wonderful or life to be wonderful, and I don’t particularly want to be wonderful myself. If there are fields of amaranth—they can be on the other side of the grave as far as I am concerned.

KARL. Fields of amaranth? What are you talking about?

LISA. I’m talking about you, Karl. You put ideas first, not people. Ideas of loyalty and friendship and pity. And because of that the people who are near, suffer. (She moves to R of the armchair) You knew you’d lose your job if you befriended the Schultzes. And you knew, you must have known, what an unhappy life that would mean for Anya. But you didn’t care about Anya. You only cared about your ideas of what was right. But people matter, Karl. They matter as much as ideas. Anya mattered, I matter. Because of your ideas, because of your mercy and compassion for the girl who killed your wife, you sacrificed me. I was the one who paid for your compassion. But I’m not ready to do that any more. I love you, but love isn’t enough. You’ve more in common with the girl Helen than you have with me. She was like you—ruthless. She went all out for the things she believed in. She didn’t care what happened to people as long as she got her own way.

KARL. (moving towards the armchair) Lisa, you can’t mean what you are saying. You can’t.