Rita.
Oh—vapid, nauseous phrases—nothing else! No, Alfred, I am not to be put off like that. I was fitted to become the child's mother, but not to be a mother to him. You must take me as I am, Alfred.
Allmers.
And yet you used to be so fond of Eyolf.
Rita.
I was so sorry for him—because you troubled yourself so little about him. You kept him reading and grinding at books. You scarcely even saw him.
Allmers.
[Nodding slowly.] No; I was blind. The time had not yet come for me
Rita.
[Looking in his face.] But now, I suppose, it has come?
Allmers.
Yes, at last. Now I see that the highest task I can have in the world is to be a true father to Eyolf.
Rita.
And to me?—what will you be to me?
Allmers.
[Gently.] I will always go on caring for you—with calm, deep tenderness. [He tries to take her hands.]
