[A pretty and richly-decorated garden-room, full of furniture, flowers,
and plants. At the back, open glass doors, leading out to a verandah. An
extensive view over the fiord. In the distance, wooded hillsides. A door
in each of the side walls, the one on the right a folding door, placed
far back. In front on the right, a sofa, with cushions and rugs. Beside
the sofa, a small table, and chairs. In front, on the left, a larger
table, with arm-chairs around it. On the table stands an open hand-bag.
It is an early summer morning, with warm sunshine.]
[Mrs. RITA ALLMERS stands beside the table, facing towards the
left, engaged in unpacking the bag. She is a handsome, rather tall,
well-developed blonde, about thirty years of age, dressed in a
light-coloured morning-gown.]
[Shortly after, Miss ASTA ALLMERS enters by the door on the right,
wearing a light brown summer dress, with hat, jacket, and parasol. Under
her arm she carries a locked portfolio of considerable size. She
is slim, of middle height, with dark hair, and deep, earnest eyes.
Twenty-five years old.]
ASTA. [As she enters.] Good-morning, my dear Rita.
RITA. [Turns her head, and nods to her.] What! is that you, Asta? Come
all the way from town so early?
ASTA. [Takes of her things, and lays them on a chair beside the door.]
Yes, such a restless feeling came over me. I felt I must come out
to-day, and see how little Eyolf was getting on--and you too. [Lays the
portfolio on the table beside the sofa.] So I took the steamer, and here
I am.
RITA. [Smiling to her.] And I daresay you met one or other of your
friends on board? Quite by chance, of course.
ASTA. [Quietly.] No, I did not meet a soul I knew. [Sees the bag.] Why,
Rita, what have you got there?
RITA. [Still unpacking.] Alfred's travelling-bag. Don't you recognise
it?
ASTA. [Joyfully, approaching her.] What! Has Alfred come home?
RITA. Yes, only think--he came quite unexpectedly by the late train last
night.
ASTA. Oh, then that was what my feeling meant! It was that that drew
me out here! And he hadn't written a line to let you know? Not even a
post-card?
RITA. Not a single word.
ASTA. Did he not even telegraph?
RITA. Yes, an hour before he arrived--quite curtly and coldly. [Laughs.]
Don't you think that was like him, Asta?
ASTA. Yes; he goes so quietly about everything.
RITA. But that made it all the more delightful to have him again.
ASTA. Yes, I am sure it would.
RITA. A whole fortnight before I expected him!
ASTA. And is he quite well? Not in low spirits?
RITA. [Closes the bag with a snap, and smiles at her.] He looked quite
transfigured as he stood in the doorway.
ASTA. And was he not the least bit tired either?
RITA. Oh, yes, he seemed to be tired enough--very tired, in fact. But,
poor fellow, he had come on foot the greater part of the way.
ASTA. And then perhaps the high mountain air may have been rather too
keen for him.
RITA. Oh, no; I don't think so at all. I haven't heard him cough once.
ASTA. Ah, there you see now! It was a good thing, after all, that the
doctor talked him into taking this tour.
RITA. Yes, now that it is safely over.--But I can tell you it has been a
terrible time for me, Asta. I have never cared to talk about it--and you
so seldom came out to see me, too--