Adolf. Promised? You probably said that you'd try to come; it doesn't prevent you from explaining that you have given up your intention.
Thekla. No, I'm not like you: my word is binding on me.
Adolf. One's word can be binding without one being obliged to respect every casual thing one lets fall in conversation; or did somebody make you promise that you'd go? In that case, you can ask him to release you because your husband is ill.
Thekla. No, I've no inclination to do so. And, besides, you're not so ill that you can't quite well come along too.
Adolf. Why must I always come along too? Does it contribute to your greater serenity?
Thekla. I don't understand what you mean.
Adolf. That's what you always say when you know I mean something which you don't like.
Thekla. Re-a-lly? And why shouldn't I like it?
Adolf. Stop! stop! Don't start all over again—good-by for the present—I'll be back soon; I hope that in the meanwhile you'll have thought better of it.
[Exit through the central door and then toward the right. Thekla accompanies him to the back of the stage. Gustav enters, after a pause, from the right.]