ather. Please be a little--

Axel. You allow her to treat me simply as the largest sized of all the
dolls you have given her to play with. You cannot bear to see her give
away any more of her affection than she might give to one of her dolls.

Father. Please talk in a more seemly manner! Please show us a proper
respect--

Axel. Forgive me, my dear parents, if I don't. What I mean is that a
child cannot be a wife, and as long as she remains with you she will
always be a child.

Mother. But, Axel, did we not tell you she was only a child--

Father. We warned you, we asked you to wait a year or two--

Mother. Because we could not see that she loved you sufficiently.

Father. But your answer was that it was just the child in her that you
loved.

Mother. Just the child's innocence and simplicity. You said you felt
purer in her presence; indeed, that she sometimes made you feel as if
you were in church. And we, her father and mother, understood that, for
we had felt it ourselves.

Father. We felt that just as much as you, my son.

Mother. Do you remember one morning, when she was asleep, that you said
her life was a dream which it would be a sin to disturb?

Father. And said that the mere thought of her made you tread more softly
for fear of waking her.

Axel. That is quite true. Her childlike nature shed happiness upon
me, her gentle innocence stilled me. It is quite true that I felt her
influence upon my senses like that of a beautiful morning.

Father. And now you are impatient with her for being a child!

Axel. Exactly! At the time when I was longing to lead her to the altar,
I daresay I only thought of her as an inspiration to my better self and
my best impulses. She was to me what the Madonna is to a good Catholic;
but now she has become something more than that. The distance between
us no longer exists; I cannot be satisfied with mere adoration, I must
love; I cannot be satisfied with kneeling to her, I need my arms around
her. Her glance has the same delicacy it always had, the same innocence;
but I can no longer sit and gaze at her by the hour. Her glance must
lose itself in mine in complete surrender. Her hand, her arm, her mouth
are the same as they were; but I need to feel her hand stroking my hair,
her arm round my neck, her mouth on mine; her thoughts must embrace mine
and be like sunshine in my heart. She was a symbol to me, but the symbol
has become flesh and blood. When first she came into my