ADOLF [_looks him in the face_]. And now you look at me again with that other expression in those eyes of yours, which draws me to you irresistibly. GUSTAV. Now listen to me. ADOLF. Yes, but speak of yourself. Don't speak any more of me: it's as though I were wounded, every movement hurts me. GUSTAV. Oh no, there isn't much to say about me, don't you know. I'm a private tutor in dead languages and a widower, that's all. [_He goes in front of the table._] Hold my hand. [_Adolf does so._] ADOLF. What awful strength you must have, it seems as though a fellow were catching hold of an electric battery. GUSTAV. And just think, I was once quite as weak as you are. [_Sternly._] Get up. 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 association. 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 quantities, 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?