Little Eyolf

by Henrik Ibsen

RITA. Yes, you have said so often enough.

ALLMERS. I thought so. Ever since I grew up, I have thought so. [With an affectionate expression in his eyes.] And it was you that enabled me to devote myself to it, my dear Rita—

RITA. Oh, nonsense!

ALLMERS. [Smiling to her.]—you, with your gold, and your green forests—

RITA. [Half laughing, half vexed.] If you begin all that rubbish again, I shall beat you.

ASTA. [Looking sorrowfully at him.] But the book, Alfred?

ALLMERS. It began, as it were, to drift away from me. But I was more and more beset by the thought of the higher duties that laid their claims upon me.

RITA. [Beaming, seizes his hand.] Alfred!

ALLMERS. The thought of Eyolf, my dear Rita.

RITA. [Disappointed, drops his hand.] Ah—of Eyolf!