GUSTAV.  Forgive?  What?  I am the one who must ask you to forgive.

TEKLA. [Changing tone] I believe we are crying, both of us—­we who are old enough to know better!

GUSTAV. [Feeling his way] Old?  Yes, I am old.  But you—­you grow younger every day.

(He has by that time manoeuvred himself up to the chair on the left and sits down on it, whereupon TEKLA sits down on the sofa.)

TEKLA.  Do you think so?

GUSTAV.  And then you know how to dress.

TEKLA.  I learned that from you.  Don’t you remember how you figured out what colors would be most becoming to me?

GUSTAV.  No.

TEKLA.  Yes, don’t you remember—­hm!—­I can even recall how you used to be angry with me whenever I failed to have at least a touch of crimson about my dress.

GUSTAV.  No, not angry!  I was never angry with you.

TEKLA.  Oh, yes, when you wanted to teach me how to think—­do you remember?  For that was something I couldn’t do at all.

GUSTAV.  Of course, you could.  It’s something every human being does.  And you have become quite keen at it—­at least when you write.

TEKLA. [Unpleasantly impressed; hurrying her words] Well, my dear Gustav, it is pleasant to see you anyhow, and especially in a peaceful way like this.

GUSTAV.  Well, I can hardly be called a troublemaker, and you had a pretty peaceful time with me.

TEKLA.  Perhaps too much so.

GUSTAV.  Oh!  But you see, I thought you wanted me that way.  It was at least the impression you gave me while we were engaged.

TEKLA.  Do you think one really knows what one wants at that time?  And then the mammas insist on all kinds of pretensions, of course.

GUSTAV.  Well, now you must be having all the excitement you can wish.  They say that life among artists is rather swift, and I don’t think your husband can be called a sluggard.

TEKLA.  You can get too much of a good thing.

GUSTAV. [Trying a new tack] What!  I do believe you are still wearing the ear-rings I gave you?

TEKLA. [Embarrassed] Why not?  There was never any quarrel between us—­and then I thought I might wear them as a token—­and a reminder—­that we were not enemies.  And then, you know, it is impossible to buy this kind of ear-rings any longer. [Takes off one of her ear-rings.]

GUSTAV.  Oh, that’s all right, but what does your husband say of it?

TEKLA.  Why should I mind what he says?

GUSTAV.  Don’t you mind that?—­But you may be doing him an injury. 
It is likely to make him ridiculous.

TEKLA. [Brusquely, as if speaking to herself almost] He was that before!

GUSTAV. [Rises when he notes her difficulty in putting back the ear-ring] May I help you, perhaps?

TEKLA.  Oh—­thank you!

GUSTAV. [Pinching her ear] That tiny ear!—­Think only if your husband could see us now!