Tjaelde (getting up). Wronged you?
Mrs. Tjaelde. Have you finished already, dear?
Tjaelde. Yes.
Mrs. Tjaelde. No more wine?
Tjaelde. I said I had finished. Wronged you? How?
Valborg. Well, I cannot imagine how one could be more cruelly wronged than to be allowed to assume a position that was nothing but a lie, to live up to means that had no real existence but were merely a sham—one's clothes a lie, one's very existence a lie! Suppose I were the sort of girl that found a certain delight in making use of her position as a rich man's daughter—in using it to the fullest possible extent; well, when I discovered that all that my father had given me was stolen-that all he had made me believe in was a lie—I am sure that then my anger and my shame would be beyond all bounds!
Mrs. Tjaelde. My child, you have never been tried. You don't know how such things may happen. You don't really know what you are saying!
Hamar. Well it might do Möller good if he heard what she says!
Valborg. He has heard it. His daughter said that to him.
Mrs. Tjaelde. His own daughter! Child, child, is that what you write to each other about? God forgive you both!