summer dress, with hat, jacket, and parasol. Under her arm she carries a locked portfolio of considerable size. She is slim, of middle height, with dark hair, and deep, earnest eyes. Twenty-five years old.
Asta.
[As she enters.] Good-morning, my dear Rita.
Rita.
[Turns her head, and nods to her.] What! is that you, Asta? Come all the way from town so early?
Asta.
[Takes off her things, and lays them on a chair beside the door.] Yes, such a restless feeling came over me. I felt I must come out to-day, and see how little Eyolf was getting on—and you too. [Lays the portfolio on the table beside the sofa.] So I took the steamer, and here I am.
Rita.
[Smiling to her.] And I daresay you met one or other of your friends on board? Quite by chance, of course.
Asta.
[Quietly.] No, I did not meet a soul I knew. [Sees the bag.] Why, Rita, what have you got there?
Rita.
[Still unpacking.] Alfred's travelling-bag. Don't you recognise it?
