[Ah. Now there's a better question - one she does not already know the answer to. Rosalind leans back against the side of the desk, half-turned toward Elizabeth as she speaks.]

It was. To support him is in part a simple matter of self-interest, but not entirely. [She studies the floorboards for a moment, thoughtfully, eyebrows lifting and head canting to the side after a second, as if in allowance of the argument she knows Robert would make.] Really, everything we do is ultimately a matter of selfishness. We seek pleasure and flee pain. What we call character is simply a matter of what brings us satisfaction, and how deeply we fear.