Allmers.
Yes, mainly that.
Rita.
And so that is what has made you so discontented with yourself of late; and with the rest of us as well. For you know you were discontented, Alfred.
Allmers.
[Gazing straight before him.] There I sat bent over my table, day after day, and often half the night too—writing and writing at the great thick book on "Human Responsibility." H'm!
Asta.
[Laying her hand upon his arm.] But, Alfred—that book is to be your life-work.
Rita.
Yes, you have said so often enough.
Allmers.
I thought so. Ever since I grew up, I have thought so. [With an affectionate expression in his eyes.] And it was you that enabled me to devote myself to it, my dear Rita
Rita.
Oh, nonsense!
Allmers.
[Smiling to her.]—you, with your gold, and your green forests
