ADOLF [_gets up_]. I am like a child without any bones, and my brain is empty.
GUSTAV. Take a walk through the room.
ADOLF. I can"t.
GUSTAV. You must; if you don"t I"ll hit you.
ADOLF [_stands up_]. What do you say?
GUSTAV. I"ve told you--I"ll hit you.
ADOLF [_jumps back to the circular table on the right, beside himself._]
You!
GUSTAV [_follows him_]. Bravo! That"s driven the blood to your head, and woken up your self-respect. Now I"ll give you an electric shock. Where"s your wife?
ADOLF. Where"s my wife?
GUSTAV. Yes.
ADOLF. At--a meeting.
GUSTAV. Certain?
ADOLF. Absolutely.
GUSTAV. What kind of a meeting?
ADOLF. An orphan a.s.sociation.
GUSTAV. Did you part friends?
ADOLF [_hesitating_]. Not friends.
GUSTAV. Enemies, then? What did you say to make her angry?
ADOLF. You"re terrible. I"m frightened of you. How did you manage to know that?
GUSTAV. I"ve just got three known quant.i.ties, and by their help I work out the unknown. What did you say to her, old chap?
ADOLF. I said--only two words--but two awful words. I regret them--I regret them.
GUSTAV. You shouldn"t do that. Well, speak!
ADOLF. I said, "Old coquette."
GUSTAV. And what else?
ADOLF. I didn"t say anything else.
GUSTAV. Oh yes, you did; you"ve only forgotten it. Perhaps because you haven"t got the pluck to remember it. You"ve locked it up in a secret pigeonhole; open it.
ADOLF. I don"t remember.
GUSTAV. But I know what it was--the sense was roughly this: "You ought to be ashamed of yourself to be always flirting at your age. You"re getting too old to find any more admirers."
ADOLF. Did I say that--possibly? How did you manage to know it?
GUSTAV. On my way here I heard her tell the story on the steamer.
ADOLF. To whom?
GUSTAV [_walks up and down on the left_]. To four boys, whom she happened to be with. She has a craze for pure boys, just like--
ADOLF. A perfectly innocent _penchant_.
GUSTAV. Quite as innocent as playing brother and sister when one is father and mother.
ADOLF. You saw her, then?
GUSTAV. Yes, of course; but you"ve never seen her if you didn"t see her then--I mean, if you weren"t present--and that"s the reason, don"t you know, why a husband can never know his wife. Have you got her photograph?
ADOLF [_takes a photo out of his pocketbook. Inquisitively_]. Here you are.
GUSTAV [_takes it_]. Were you present when it was taken?
ADOLF. No.
GUSTAV. Just look at it? Is it like the portrait you painted? No, the features are the same, but the expression is different. But you don"t notice that, because you insist on seeing in it the picture of her which you"ve painted. Now look at this picture as a painter, without thinking of the original. What does it represent? I can see nothing but a tricked-out flirt, playing the decoy. Observe the cynical twist in the mouth, which you never managed to see. You see that her look is seeking a man quite different from you. Observe the dress is _decollete_, the coiffure t.i.tivated to the last degree, the sleeves finished high up. You see?
ADOLF. Yes, now I see.
GUSTAV. Be careful, my boy.
ADOLF. Of what?
GUSTAV [_gives him back the portrait_]. Of her revenge. Don"t forget that by saying she was no longer attractive to men you wounded her in the one thing which she took most seriously. If you"d called her literary works twaddle she"d have laughed, and pitied your bad taste, but now--take it from me--if she hasn"t avenged herself already it"s not her fault.
ADOLF. I must be clear on that point.
[_He goes over to Gustav, and sits down in his previous place.
Gustav approaches him._]
GUSTAV. Find out yourself.
ADOLF. Find out myself?
GUSTAV. Investigate. I"ll help you, if you like.