ALLMERS. [Pats her on the head.] And you have actually found time to do that, dear?
ASTA. Oh, yes. I have done it partly out here and partly at my own rooms in town.
ALLMERS. Thanks, dear. Did you find anything particular in them?
ASTA. [Lightly.] Oh, you know you always find something or other in such old papers. [Speaking lower and seriously.] It is the letters to mother that are in this portfolio.
ALLMERS. Those, of course, you must keep yourself.
ASTA. [With an effort.] No; I am determined that you shall look through them, too, Alfred. Some time—later on in life. I haven't the key of the portfolio with me just now.
ALLMERS. It doesn't matter, my dear Asta, for I shall never read your mother's letters in any case.
ASTA. [Fixing her eyes on him.] Then some time or other—some quiet evening—I will tell you a little of what is in them.
ALLMERS. Yes, that will be much better. But do you keep your mother's letters—you haven't so many mementos of her.
[He hands ASTA the portfolio. She takes it, and lays it on the chair under her outdoor things. RITA comes into the room again.]