ALLMERS. [Warmly.] Oh yes, I know, I know.
RITA. [With decision.] But there it must end. I will live my life—together with you—wholly with you. I cannot go on being only Eyolf's mother—only his mother and nothing more. I will not, I tell you! I cannot! I will be all in all to you! To you, Alfred!
ALLMERS. But that is just what you are, Rita. Through our child—
RITA. Oh—vapid, nauseous phrases—nothing else! No, Alfred, I am not to be put off like that. I was fitted to become the child's mother, but not to be a mother to him. You must take me as I am, Alfred.
ALLMERS. And yet you used to be so fond of Eyolf.
RITA. I was so sorry for him—because you troubled yourself so little about him. You kept him reading and grinding at books. You scarcely even saw him.
ALLMERS. [Nodding slowly.] No; I was blind. The time had not yet come for me—
RITA. [Looking in his face.] But now, I suppose, it has come?
ALLMERS. Yes, at, last. Now I see that the highest task I can have in the world is to be a true father to Eyolf.
RITA. And to me?—what will you be to me?