RITA. Oh, yes, he seemed to be tired enough--very tired, in fact. But, poor fellow, he had come on foot the greater part of the way. ASTA. And then perhaps the high mountain air may have been rather too keen for him. RITA. Oh, no; I don't think so at all. I haven't heard him cough once. ASTA. Ah, there you see now! It was a good thing, after all, that the doctor talked him into taking this tour. RITA. Yes, now that it is safely over.--But I can tell you it has been a terrible time for me, Asta. I have never cared to talk about it--and you so seldom came out to see me, too-- ASTA. Yes, I daresay that wasn't very nice of me--but-- RITA. Well, well, well, of course you had your school to attend to in town. [Smiling.] And then our road-maker friend--of course he was away too. ASTA. Oh, don't talk like that, Rita. RITA. Very well, then; we will leave the road-maker out of the question.--You can't think how I have been longing for Alfred! How empty the place seemed! How desolate! Ugh, it felt as if there had been a funeral in the house! ASTA. Why, dear me, only six or seven weeks-- RITA. Yes; but you must remember that Alfred has never been away from me before--never so much as twenty-four hours. Not once in all these ten years. ASTA. No; but that is just why I really think it was high time he should have a little outing this year. He ought to have gone for a tramp in the mountains every summer--he really ought. RITA. [Half smiling.] Oh yes, it's all very well fair you to talk. If I were as--as reasonable its you, I suppose I should have let him go before--perhaps. But I positively could not, Asta! It seemed to me I should never get him back again. Surely you can understand that? ASTA. No. But I daresay that is because I have no one to lose. RITA. [With a teasing smile.] Really? No one at all? ASTA. Not that _I_ know of. [Changing the subject.] But tell me, Rita, where is Alfred? Is he still asleep?