Friedrich (seriously): If I had the slightest inkling of your address, yes, even your present name, I should not have missed to announce to you the sudden death of my father.
Rita (after pause): Oh, he is dead. I see you still wear mourning. How long ago is it?
Friedrich: Half a year. Since then I am looking for you, and I hope you will not forbid me to address you now, as of yore, with that name, which is so highly esteemed in our native city.
Rita (smiling friendly): Your solemnity—is delightful. Golden! But sit down.
Friedrich (remains standing; he is hurt): I must confess, Miss Hattenbach, that I was not prepared for such a reception from you. I hoped that I might expect, after these four or five years, that you would receive me differently than with this—with this—how shall I say?
Rita: Toleration.
Friedrich: No, with this arrogance.
Rita: How?
Friedrich (controlling himself): I beg your pardon. I am sorry to have said that.
Rita (after a pause, hostile): You wish to be taken seriously? (She sits down, with a gesture of the hand) Please, what have you to say to me?