Alfred (to Mopsa). And have you positively lugged this thing all the way out here. Wasn't it heavy?
Mopsa (nods). It had to be. It contains all the letters written to my poor dear Mother—by Master-builder Solness, you know. My Mother had such a rich, beautiful past. I thought, Alfred, we might look them through together quietly some evening, when Spreta is out of the way.
[Looks attentively at him.]
Alfred (uneasily, to himself). Oh, my good gracious! (Aloud.) It would certainly have to be some evening when—— But on the whole, perhaps, I—I really almost think we had better—— It isn't as if you were really my second cousin!
Spreta (re-entering from verandah). Has that horrible person with the rats gone? He has given me almost a kind of turn.
Alfred. He is a sort of itinerant Trope, I suppose. Talking of turns, did I tell you that I, too, have experienced a kind of inward revolution away up there among the peaks?... I have.
Spreta. Oh, heavens! Alfred, was it the cookery at those high mountain hotels?
Alfred (soothingly, patting her head). Not altogether—be very sure of that. But it is rather a long story. I should recommend you to sit down. (They sit down expectantly.) I will try to tell you. (Gazing straight before him.) When I look back into the vague mists that enshroud my earliest infancy, I seem almost to——
Spreta (slaps him). Oh, for goodness' sake, Alfred, do skip the introduction!