Alfred. Still, it is just at moments like this, when I hold you in my arms as I do now, that I ask myself over and over again why I did not do this long ago.
Svava. Oh, I don't think about that—not the least bit! It is the safest place in the world—that is what I think!
Alfred. Perhaps before this year it would not have been so.
Svava. What do you mean?
Alfred. I mean—well, I mean practically the same as you; that I have not always been the man I am now.—But I must hurry away. The letter says it is something urgent. (They cross the room together.)
Svava. One minute won't make any difference, will it?—because there is something I must say to you first.
Alfred (standing still). What is it?
Svava. When I saw you standing amongst all the others yesterday, I felt for the first moment as if I did not know you. Some change seemed to have come over you—the effect of the others, perhaps—anyway you really were actually different.
Alfred. Of course. People always are that, among strangers. When you came in with the ladies, it just seemed to me as if I had never observed you carefully before. Besides, there are certain things one cannot know till one sees a person amongst others. It was the first time I realised how tall you are—and your way of bending just a tiny bit to one side when you bow to any one. And your colouring! I had never properly seen—
Svava. Do be quiet, and let me get a word in!