ALLMERS. [Yielding.] No, no--I will not. Only let me alone.

ASTA. [Leading him back to the table.] You must rest from your thoughts, Alfred. Come here and sit down.

ALLMERS. [Making as if to seat himself on the bench.] Well, well--as you please.

ASTA. No, I won't let you sit there.

ALLMERS. Yes, let me.

ASTA. No, don't. For then you will only sit looking out--[Forces him down upon a chair, with his back to the right.] There now. Now that's right. [Seats herself upon the bench.] And now we can talk a little again.

ALLMERS. [Drawing a deep breath audibly.] It was good to deaden the sorrow and heartache for a moment.

ASTA. You insist do so, Alfred.

ALLMERS. But don't you think it is terribly weak and unfeeling of me--to be able to do so?

ASTA. Oh, no--I am sure it is impossible to keep circling for ever round one fixed thought.

ALLMERS. Yes, for me it is impossible. Before you came to me, here I sat, torturing myself unspeakably with this crushing, gnawing sorrow--

ASTA. Yes?

ALLMERS. And would you believe it, Asta--? H'm--

ASTA. Well?

ALLMERS. In the midst of all the agony, I found myself speculating what we should have for dinner to-day.

ASTA. [Soothingly.] Well, well, if only it rests you to--

ALLMERS. Yes, just fancy, dear--it seemed as if it did give me rest.

[Holds out, his hand to her across the table.] How good it is, Asta, that I have you with me. I am so glad of that. Glad, glad--even in my sorrow.

ASTA. [Looking earnestly at him.] You ought most of all to be glad that you have Rita.

ALLMERS. Yes, of course I should. But Rita is no kin to me--it isn't like having a sister.

ASTA. [Eagerly.] Do you say that, Alfred?

ALLMERS. Yes, our family is a thing apart. [Half jestingly.] We have always had vowels for our initials. Don't you remember how often we used to speak of that? And all our relations--all equally poor. And we have all the same colour of eyes.

ASTA. Do you think I have--?

ALLMERS. No, you take entirely after your mother. You are not in the least like the rest of us--not even like father. But all the same--

ASTA. All the same--?

ALLMERS. Well, I believe that living together has, as it were, stamped us in each other's image--mentally, I mean.

ASTA. [With warm emotion.] Oh, you must never say that, Alfred. It is only I that have taken my stamp from you; and it is to you that I owe everything--every good thing in the world.

ALLMERS. [Shaking his head.] You owe me nothing, Asta. On the contrary--

ASTA. I owe you everything! You must never doubt that. No sacrifice has been too great for you--

ALLMERS. [Interrupting.] Oh, nonsense--sacrifice! Don't talk of such a thing.--I have only loved you, Asta, ever since you were a little child.

[After a short pause.] And then it always seemed to me that I had so much injustice to make up to you for.

ASTA. [Astonished.] Injustice? You?

ALLMERS. Not precisely on my own account. But--

ASTA. [Eagerly.] But--?

ALLMERS. On father's.

ASTA. [Half rising from the bench.] On--father's! [Sitting down again.]

What do you mean by that, Alfred?

ALLMERS. Father was never really kind to you.

ASTA. [Vehemently.] Oh, don't say that!

ALLMERS. Yes, it is true. He did not love you--not as he ought to have.

ASTA. [Evasively.] No, perhaps not as he loved you. That was only natural.

ALLMERS. [Continuing.] And he was often hard to your mother, too--at least in the last years.

ASTA. [Softly.] Mother was so much, much younger than he--remember that.

ALLMERS. Do you think they were not quite suited to each other?

ASTA. Perhaps not.

ALLMERS. Yes, but still--. Father, who in other ways was so gentle and warm-hearted--so kindly towards every one--

ASTA. [Quietly.] Mother, too, was not always as she ought to have been.

ALLMERS. Your mother was not!

ASTA. Perhaps not always.

ALLMERS. Towards father, do you mean?

ASTA. Yes.