ADOLF. No, I can't explain it, but it may be that the thought that another man has possessed you, gnaws and consumes me. It seems to me at times as though our whole love were a figment of the brain--a passion that had turned into a formal matter of honor. I know nothing which would be more intolerable for me to bear, than for him to have the satisfaction of making me unhappy. Ah, I've never seen him, but the very thought that there is such a man who watches in secret for my unhappiness, who conjures down on me the curse of heaven day by day, who would laugh and gloat over my fall--the very idea of the thing lies like a nightmare on my breast, drives me to you, holds me spellbound, cripples me. THEKLA [_goes behind the circular table and comes on Adolf's right_]. Do you think I should like to give him that satisfaction, that I should like to make his prophecy come true? ADOLF. No, I won't believe that of you. THEKLA. Then if that's so, why aren't you easy on the subject? ADOLF. It's your flirtations which keep me in a chronic state of agitation. Why do you go on playing that game? THEKLA. It's no game. I want to be liked, that's all. ADOLF. Quite so; but only liked by men. THEKLA. Of course. Do you suggest it would be possible for one of us women to get herself liked by other women? ADOLF. I say. [_Pause._] Haven't you heard recently--from him? THEKLA. Not for the last six months. ADOLF. Do you never think of him? THEKLA [_after a pause, quickly and tonelessly_]. No. [_With a step toward the left._] Since the death of the child there is no longer any tie between us. [_Pause._] ADOLF. And you never see him in the street? THEKLA. No; he must have buried himself somewhere on the west coast. But why do you harp on that subject just now? ADOLF. I don't know. When I was so alone these last few days, it just occurred to me what he must have felt like when he was left stranded. THEKLA. I believe you've got pangs of conscience. ADOLF. Yes. THEKLA. You think you're a thief, don't you? ADOLF. Pretty near. THEKLA. All right. You steal women like you steal children or fowl. You regard me to some extent like his real or personal property. Much obliged. ADOLF. No; I regard you as his wife, and that's more than property: it can't be made up in damages. THEKLA. Oh yes, it can. If you happen to hear one fine day that he has married again, these whims and fancies of yours will disappear. [_She comes over to him._] Haven't you made up for him to me? ADOLF. Have I?--and did you use to love him in those days? THEKLA [_goes behind him to the fireplace on the right_]. Of course I loved him--certainly. ADOLF. And afterwards? THEKLA. I got tired of him. ADOLF. And just think, if you get tired of me in the same way? THEKLA. That will never be. ADOLF. But suppose another man came along with all the qualities that you want in a man? Assume the hypothesis, wouldn't you leave me in that case? THEKLA. No.