Mrs. Evje. You, a bad man?
Evje. Because, if I were not a bad, wicked man, they could not behave in such a way to me, one after the other.
Mrs. Evje. But, my dear, you are the best and dearest and most considerate of men! And they are shameless traitors to you, my dear husband!
Evje. But how on earth, then, could it come about that I, who all my life have tried to keep clear of such things—for I have, haven't I?
Mrs. Evje. Every one knows that, that knows anything about you.
Evje. How could it come about that in my old age I should be despised and forsaken by everybody? Surely it is no crime to want to live in peace, apart from all that sort of thing?
Mrs. Evje. No, indeed; that is what all decent people want to do.
Evje. Yes, I thought so too. But now you see!
Mrs. Evje. But you have been dreadfully unfortunate.
Evje. Why should I have been just the one to be dreadfully unfortunate? Most people escape such things altogether.