GERDA. Oh, in the end it became a symbol—of instability. When we went to housekeeping the thermometer was not put in its place at once—of course, it ought to be outside the window. I promised to put it up—and forgot it. He promised, and forgot. Then we nagged each other about it, and at last, to get away from it, I hid it in this drawer. I came to hate it, and so did he. Do you know what was back of all that? Neither one of us believed that our relationship would last, because we unmasked at once and gave free vent to our antipathies. To begin with, we lived on tiptoe, so to speak—always ready to fly off at a moment's notice. That was what the thermometer stood for—and here it is still lying! Always on the move, always changeable, like the weather. [She puts away the thermometer and goes over to the chess-board] My chess pieces! Which he bought to kill the time that hung heavy on our hands while we were waiting for the little one to come. With whom does he play now?
CONSUL. With me.
GERDA. Where is he?
CONSUL. He is in his room writing a letter.
GERDA. Where?
CONSUL. [Pointing toward the left] There.
GERDA. [Shocked] And here he has been going for five years?
CONSUL. Ten years—five of them alone!
GERDA. Of course, he loves solitude.
CONSUL. But I think he has had enough of it.