Rita.
No. Not in perfect love.
Allmers.
And yet we are sorrowing so bitterly for him.
Rita.
[With sarcasm.] Yes, isn’t it curious that we should grieve like this over a little stranger boy?
Allmers.
[With an outburst.] Oh, don’t call him a stranger!
Rita.
[Sadly shaking her head.] We never won the boy, Alfred. Not I—nor you either.