Brack.
[In a discreet undertone.] A little lower down!
Hedda.
Oh, how disgusting!—how vulgar!—how ridiculous!—like everything else about me!
Brack.
Yes, we're realistic types of human nature, and all that—but a trifle squalid, perhaps. And why did you give Lövborg your pistol, when it was certain to be traced by the police? For a charming cold-blooded woman with a clear head and no scruples, wasn't it just a leetle foolish!
Hedda.
Perhaps; but I wanted him to do it beautifully, and he didn't! Oh, I've just admitted that I did give him the pistol—how annoyingly unwise of me! Now I'm in your power, I suppose?
Brack.
Precisely—for some reason it's not easy to understand. But it's inevitable, and you know how you dread anything approaching scandal. All your past proceedings show that. [To George and Mrs. Elvsted who come in together from the back-room.] Well, how are you getting on with the reconstruction of poor Lövborg's great work, eh?