ALLMERS. Thanks, dear. Did you find anything particular in them? ASTA. [Lightly.] Oh, you know you always find something or other in such old papers. [Speaking lower and seriously.] It is the letters to mother that are in this portfolio. ALLMERS. Those, of course, you must keep yourself. ASTA. [With an effort.] No; I am determined that you shall look through them, too, Alfred. Some time--later on in life. I haven't the key of the portfolio with me just now. ALLMERS. It doesn't matter, my dear Asta, for I shall never read your mother's letters in any case. ASTA. [Fixing her eyes on him.] Then some time or other--some quiet evening--I will tell you a little of what is in them. ALLMERS. Yes, that will be much better. But do you keep your mother's letters--you haven't so many mementos of her. [He hands ASTA the portfolio. She takes it, and lays it on the chair under her outdoor things. RITA comes into the room again.] RITA. Ugh! I feel as if that horrible old woman had brought a sort of graveyard smell with her. ALLMERS. Yes, she was rather horrible. RITA. I felt almost sick while she was in the room. ALLMERS. However, I can very well understand the sort of spellbound fascination that she talked about. The loneliness of the mountain-peaks and of the great waste places has something of the same magic about it. ASTA. [Looks attentively at him.] What is it that has happened to you, Alfred? ALLMERS. [Smiling.] To me? ASTA. Yes, something has happened--something seems almost to have transformed you. Rita noticed it too. RITA. Yes, I saw it the moment you came. A change for the better, I hope, Alfred? ALLMERS. It ought to be for the better. And it must and shall come to good. RITA. [With an outburst.] You have had some adventure on your