ALLMERS. Yes, just fancy, dear--it seemed as if it did give me rest.
[Holds out, his hand to her across the table.] How good it is, Asta,
that I have you with me. I am so glad of that. Glad, glad--even in my
sorrow.
ASTA. [Looking earnestly at him.] You ought most of all to be glad that
you have Rita.
ALLMERS. Yes, of course I should. But Rita is no kin to me--it isn't
like having a sister.
ASTA. [Eagerly.] Do you say that, Alfred?
ALLMERS. Yes, our family is a thing apart. [Half jestingly.] We have
always had vowels for our initials. Don't you remember how often we used
to speak of that? And all our relations--all equally poor. And we have
all the same colour of eyes.
ASTA. Do you think I have--?
ALLMERS. No, you take entirely after your mother. You are not in the
least like the rest of us--not even like father. But all the same--
ASTA. All the same--?
ALLMERS. Well, I believe that living together has, as it were, stamped
us in each other's image--mentally, I mean.
ASTA. [With warm emotion.] Oh, you must never say that, Alfred. It is
only I that have taken my stamp from you; and it is to you that I owe
everything--every good thing in the world.