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
