"Yes, excess is excess in whatever way it shows itself, and I think you ought to be on your guard."
Her voice trembled; their eyes met and measured each other; an unhappiness and bitterness had risen into his, which wounded her.
"What, Tomas, may I not so much as warn you--I, your own mother? No, do not look at me like that. It is not my fault. I have combated it as well as I could--yes, before you were born, Tomas, and I intend to combat it still. For the last year you have not struggled against your temper, and it is especially on me that you vent it."
He stood near the window, looking out. He turned now with a melancholy expression.
"What is it, Tomas? Tell me, in God's name, what it is."
But he turned away again, and laid his head on his arm.
"I do not understand you, Tomas, you are so supercilious to me. You say there is something naturally blind about me, and I know it. Yes, you often humiliate me--often when I am alone, and that I can bear; but often before others as well, and that you should not do. At all events, you ought to be able to bear having your faults pointed out to you by me."
She said the last words almost humbly; they worked strongly upon him. He did not speak, but he turned and began to walk quickly up and down in visible agitation.
"If I could only understand what it is you are vexed with me for. It is not only what you rebuked me for---- Yes, Tomas, you cannot bear to hear that word; but I have had to endure more than words. It is not that alone; there is something more under all this. What is it? Why do you never talk, now, Tomas, either to me or Karl? You are unhappy; do you think we have not noticed it? I would so joyfully do anything for you. Even if I am inferior to you----"
"I cannot endure to hear that word," he cried.