Asta.
Poor little white-faced boy! Has he to be for ever at his lessons again?
Rita.
[With a slight shrug.] Alfred will have it so, you know. Asta. Yes; but I think you ought to put down your foot about it, Rita. Rita. [Somewhat impatiently.] Oh no; come now, I really cannot meddle with that. Alfred knows so much better about these things than I do. And what would you have Eyolf do? He can't run about and play, you see—like other children. Asta. [With decision.] I will talk to Alfred about this. Rita. Yes, do; I wish you would.—Oh! here he is. [Alfred Allmers, dressed in light summer clothes, enters by the door on the left, leading Eyolf by the hand. He is a slim, lightly-built man of about thirty-six or thirty-seven, with gentle eyes, and thin brown hair and beard. His expression is serious and thoughtful. Eyolf wears a suit cut like a uniform, with gold braid and gilt military buttons. He is lame, and walks
