Mrs. Evje. No, you shan't!—not while he has anything to do with a newspaper. Otherwise it will all begin over again to-morrow. He is not his own master, you know.
The Editor. I have done with it all.
Mrs. Evje. Oh, you have said that so often! Nobody believes it. No; when a man can push political hatred so far as to write about an old friend, in whose house he has been a daily guest, as if he were a criminal—and all because he doesn't like his son-in-law, or his servant—one doesn't shake hands with him the very day his attacks appear in the paper.
The Editor (who, all the tinge, has kept his back turned to MRS. EVJE, and has not looked at her). Evje, you are a good-hearted fellow, I know. Don't listen to what others say, now. This is a very bitter hour for me. You would be doing a good deed! Give me your hand—or a word! I am in such a state now that I must have visible signs of some one's forgiveness, or I shall—!
Mrs. Evje (emphatically). Yes, a little repentance will do you good! But it will do you no good if you obtain forgiveness easily! You want to learn, just for once, what it is to be wounded at heart. You are only accustomed to deal with people whom you can flog one day and have at your feet—either from fear or from vanity—the next. And have we—God forgive us!—ever thought seriously the worse of you for it? No; because we never understood what it was till we were hit by it ourselves. But that is all the more reason why we should do our duty now! Hatred shall be met with hatred!
The Doctor (at the back of the room, to GERTRUD and HARALD). She is her father's daughter, after all, when it comes to the point!
The Editor (turns upon MRS. EVJE, with his fist clenched, but restrains himself from answering her). Then you won't shake hands, Evje? Not a word of forgiveness?
Evje. I think my wife is right.
The Editor (controlling himself with difficulty). You are a weak man, I know—
Evje. What do you mean?