involuntarily.] I wonder how you could be so childish. ALLMERS. Was it I that was childish? ASTA. Yes, indeed, I think it was, as I look back upon it all. You were ashamed of having no brother--only a sister. ALLMERS. No, no, it was you, dear--you were ashamed. ASTA. Oh yes, I too, perhaps--a little. And somehow or other I was sorry for you-- ALLMERS. Yes, I believe you were. And then you hunted up some of my old boy's clothes-- ASTA. Your fine Sunday clothes--yes. Do you remember the blue blouse and knickerbockers? ALLMERS. [His eyes dwelling upon her.] I remember so well how you looked when you used to wear them. ASTA. Only when we were at home, alone, though. ALLMERS. And how serious we were, dear, and how mightily pleased with ourselves. I always called you Eyolf. ASTA. Oh, Alfred, I hope you have never told Rita this? ALLMERS. Yes, I believe I did once tell her. ASTA. Oh, Alfred, how could you do that? ALLMERS. Well, you see--one tells one's wife everything--very nearly. ASTA. Yes, I suppose one does. ALLMERS. [As if awakening, clutches at his forehead and starts up.] Oh, how can I sit here and-- ASTA. [Rising, looks sorrowfully at him.] What is the matter? ALLMERS. He had almost passed away from me. He had passed quite away. ASTA. Eyolf! ALLMERS. Here I sat, living in these recollections--and he had no part in them. ASTA. Yes, Alfred--little Eyolf was behind it all.