MASTER. No, I didn't mean that.
GERDA. Yes, you meant that you were too old for me, but not for her. I catch the insulting point—She's pretty—I don't deny it—for a servant-girl——
MASTER. I am sorry for you, Gerda!
GERDA. Why do you say that?
MASTER. Because you are to be pitied. Jealous of my servant—that ought to be rehabilitation enough.
GERDA. Jealous, I——
MASTER. Why do you fly in a rage at my nice, gentle kinswoman?
GERDA. "A little more than kin."
MASTER. No, my dear, I have long ago resigned myself—and I am satisfied with my solitude—[The telephone rings, and he goes to answer it] Mr. Fischer? No, that isn't here.—Oh, yes, that's me.—Has he skipped?—With whom, do you say?—with Starck's daughter! Oh, good Lord! How old is she?—Eighteen! A mere child! [Rings off.
GERDA. I knew he had run away.—But with a woman!—Now you're pleased.