RITA. [Rejecting the plea.] It was Asta, nevertheless! [Smiling, with a sidelong glance of scorn. ] Or, no—it was little Eyolf. Little Eyolf, my dear!
ALLMERS. Eyolf—?
RITA. Yes, you used to call her Eyolf, did you not? I seem to remember your telling me so—once, in a moment of confidence. [Coming up to him.] Do you remember it—that entrancingly beautiful hour, Alfred?
ALLMERS. [Recoiling, as if in horror.] I remember nothing! I will not remember!
RITA. [Following him.] It was in that hour—when your other little Eyolf was crippled for life!
ALLMERS. [In a hollow voice, supporting himself against the table.] Retribution!
RITA. [Menacingly.] Yes, retribution!
[ASTA and BORGHEIM return by way of the boat-shed. She is carrying some water-lilies in her hand.]
RITA. [With self-control.] Well, Asta, have you and Mr. Borgheim talked things thoroughly over?
ASTA. Oh, yes—pretty well.