[With suppressed indignation.] Why do they say that, do you think?
Eyolf.
I suppose they are jealous of me. For you know, Papa, they are so poor, they have to go about barefoot.
Allmers.
[Softly, with choking voice.] Oh, Rita—how it wrings my heart!
Rita.
[Soothingly, rising.] There, there, there!
Allmers.
[Threateningly.] But these rascals shall soon find out who is the master down at the beach!
Asta.