Riis. Yes--what characteristics she gets from you and what from me, and so forth. In what respects, that is to say, she takes after your family, and in what respect after mine, and so forth. Svava is a remarkable girl. Mrs. Riis. She is that. Riis. She is neither altogether you nor altogether me nor is she exactly a compound of us both. Mrs. Riis. Svava is something more than that. Riis. A considerable deal more than that, too. (Disappears again; then comes out with his coat on, brushing himself.) What did you say? Mrs. Riis. I did not speak.--I rather think it is my mother that Svava is most like. Riis. I should think so! Svava, with her quiet pleasant ways! What a thing to say! Mrs. Riis. Svava can be passionate enough. Riis. Svava never forgets her manners as your mother did. Mrs. Riis. You never understood mother. Still, no doubt they are unlike in a great many things. Riis. Absolutely!--Can you see now how right I was in chattering to her in various languages from the beginning, even when she was quite tiny? Can you see that now? You were opposed to my doing it. Mrs. Riis. I was opposed to your perpetually plaguing the child, and also to the endless jumping from one thing to another. Riis. But look at the result, my dear! Look at the result! (Begins to hum a tune.) Mrs. Riis. You are surely never going to pretend that it is the languages that have made her what she is? Riis (as he disappears). No, not the languages; but--(His voice is heard from within his room)--the language have done a wonderful lot! She has savoir vivre--what? (Comes out again.) Mrs. Riis. I am sure that is not what Svava is most admired for. Riis. No, no. On the boat, a man asked me if I were related to the Miss Riis who had founded the Kindergartens in the town. I said I had the honour to be her father. You should have seen his face! I nearly had a fit. Mrs. Riis. Yes, the Kindergartens have been a great success from the very first. Riis. And they are responsible for her getting engaged, too--aren't they? What? Mrs. Riis. You must ask her. Riis. You have never even noticed my new suit. Mrs. Riis. Indeed I have. Riis. I didn't hear as much as the tiniest cry of admiration from you. Look at the harmony of it all!--the scheme of colour, even down to the shoes!--what? And the handkerchief, too! Mrs. Riis. How old are you, dear? Riis. Hold your tongue!--Anyway, how old do you think people take me to be? Mrs. Riis. Forty, of course. Riis. "Of course"? I don't see that it is so obvious. This suit is a kind of Bridal Symphony, composed at Cologne when I got the telegram telling me of Svava's engagement. Just think of it! At Cologne--not ten hours' journey from Paris! But I could not wait ten hours; I had risen too much in my own estimation in view of my approaching relationship with the richest family in the country. Mrs. Riis. Is that suit all you have to show for it, then?