Oh, do you really think so, Hedda. Oh, if I could but hope he was doing that!
Hedda.
You silly little ninny! I should like to scorch your hair off. Go to bed!
[Mrs. Elvsted goes. Enter George.
George.
I'm a little late, eh? But we made such a night of it. Fancy! It was most amusing. Ejlert read his book to me—think of that! Astonishing book! Oh, we really had great fun! I wish I'd written it. Pity he's so irreclaimable.
Hedda.
I suppose you mean he has more of the courage of life than most people?
George.
Good Lord! He had the courage to get more drunk than most people. But, altogether, it was what you might almost call a Bacchanalian orgy. We finished up by going to have early coffee with some of these jolly chaps, and poor old Lövborg dropped his precious manuscript in the mud, and I picked it up—and here it is! Fancy if anything were to happen to it! He never could write it again. Wouldn't it be sad, eh? Don't tell any one about it.