Adolph.  Then I shall die!

Tekla.  But you are not afraid of losing me, are you—­as I am too old to be wanted by anybody else?

Adolph.  You have not forgotten my words yet, Tekla!  I take it all back now!

Tekla.  Can you explain to me why you are at once so jealous and so cock-sure?

Adolph.  No, I cannot explain anything at all.  But it’s possible that the thought of somebody else having possessed you may still be gnawing within me.  At times it appears to me as if our love were nothing but a fiction, an attempt at self-defence, a passion kept up as a matter of honor—­and I can’t think of anything that would give me more pain than to have him know that I am unhappy.  Oh, I have never seen him—­but the mere thought that a person exists who is waiting for my misfortune to arrive, who is daily calling down curses on my head, who will roar with laughter when I perish—­the mere idea of it obsesses me, drives me nearer to you, fascinates me, paralyses me!

Tekla.  Do you think I would let him have that joy?  Do you think I would make his prophecy come true?

Adolph.  No, I cannot think you would.

Tekla.  Why don’t you keep calm then?

Adolph.  No, you upset me constantly by your coquetry.  Why do you play that kind of game?

Tekla.  It is no game.  I want to be admired—­that’s all!

Adolph.  Yes, but only by men!

Tekla.  Of course!  For a woman is never admired by other women.

Adolph.  Tell me, have you heard anything—­from him—­recently?

Tekla.  Not in the last sis months.

Adolph.  Do you ever think of him?

Tekla.  No!—­Since the child died we have broken off our correspondence.

Adolph.  And you have never seen him at all?

Tekla.  No, I understand he is living somewhere down on the West
Coast.  But why is all this coming into your head just now?

Adolph.  I don’t know.  But during the last few days, while I was alone, I kept thinking of him—­how he might have felt when he was left alone that time.

Tekla.  Are you having an attack of bad conscience?

Adolph.  I am.

Tekla.  You feel like a thief, do you?

Adolph.  Almost!

Tekla.  Isn’t that lovely!  Women can be stolen as you steal children or chickens?  And you regard me as his chattel or personal property.  I am very much obliged to you!

Adolph.  No, I regard you as his wife.  And that’s a good deal more than property—­for there can be no substitute.  Tekla.  Oh, yes!  If you only heard that he had married again, all these foolish notions would leave you.—­Have you not taken his place with me?

Adolph.  Well, have I?—­And did you ever love him?