ASTA. [Looks at him.] Of what?

ALLMERS. Of this that has been done to Rita and me.

ASTA. The meaning of it?

ALLMERS. [Impatiently.] Yes, the meaning, I say. For, after all,
there must be a meaning in it. Life, existence--destiny, cannot be
so utterly meaningless.

ASTA. Oh, who can say anything with certainty about these things,
my dear Alfred?

ALLMERS. [Laughs bitterly.] No, no; I believe you are right there.
Perhaps the whole thing goes simply by hap-hazard--taking its own
course, like a drifting wreck without a rudder. I daresay that is
how it is. At least, it seems very like it.

ASTA. [Thoughtfully.] What if it only seems--?

ALLMERS. [Vehemently.] Ah? Perhaps you can unravel the mystery for
me? I certainly cannot. [More gently.] Here is Eyolf, just entering
upon conscious life: full of such infinite possibilities--splendid
possibilities perhaps: he would have filled my life with pride and
gladness. And then a crazy old woman has only to come this way--and
show a cur in a bag--

ASTA. But we don't in the least know how it really happened.