RITA. Then do skip the introduction! ALLMERS. Rita,--you must not think it was the doctor's advice that drove me up to the mountains. ASTA. Was it not, Alfred? RITA. What was it, then? ALLMERS. It was this: I found there was no more peace for me, there in my study. RITA. No peace! Why, who disturbed you? ALLMERS. [Shaking his head.] No one from without. But I felt as though I were positively abusing--or, say rather, wasting--my best powers--frittering away the time. ASTA. [With wide eyes.] When you were writing at your book? ALLMERS. [Nodding.] For I cannot think that my powers are confined to that alone. I must surely have it in me to do one or two other things as well. RITA. Was that what you sat there brooding over? ALLMERS. Yes, mainly that. RITA. And so that is what has made you so discontented with yourself of late; and with the rest of us as well. For you know you were discontented, Alfred. ALLMERS. [Gazing straight before him.] There I sat bent over my table, day after day, and often half the night too--writing and writing at the great thick book on "Human Responsibility." H'm! ASTA. [Laying her hand upon his arm.] But, Alfred--that book is to be your life-work. RITA. Yes, you have said so often enough. ALLMERS. I thought so. Ever since I grew up, I have thought so. [With an affectionate expression in his eyes.] And it was you that enabled me to devote myself to it, my dear Rita-- RITA. Oh, nonsense! ALLMERS. [Smiling to her.]--you, with your gold, and your green forests-- RITA. [Half laughing, half vexed.] If you begin all that rubbish