ALLMERS. No, you take entirely after your mother. You are not in the least like the rest of us—not even like father. But all the same—
ASTA. All the same—?
ALLMERS. Well, I believe that living together has, as it were, stamped us in each other's image—mentally, I mean.
ASTA. [With warm emotion.] Oh, you must never say that, Alfred. It is only I that have taken my stamp from you; and it is to you that I owe everything—every good thing in the world.
ALLMERS. [Shaking his head.] You owe me nothing, Asta. On the contrary—
ASTA. I owe you everything! You must never doubt that. No sacrifice has been too great for you—
ALLMERS. [Interrupting.] Oh, nonsense—sacrifice! Don't talk of such a thing.—I have only loved you, Asta, ever since you were a little child. [After a short pause.] And then it always seemed to me that I had so much injustice to make up to you for.
ASTA. [Astonished.] Injustice? You?
ALLMERS. Not precisely on my own account. But—
ASTA. [Eagerly.] But—?