William may have been much to blame—I’m convinced of that. But think, to have repented for years, and—
Mrs Scholz.
No—no! Good heavens, what can you be thinking of! It’s not so easily got over; that would be worse still. It’s very good of you to have taken so to the boy, and it’s nice too that he’s coming—as indeed why shouldn’t he? But, after all, what’s the good of it? It’s not so easy to fill up a gulf—yes, yes, there are gulfs—that’s what they are, gulfs—deep gulfs—in our family.
Mrs Buchner.
Still I can’t help thinking that we—that those of us with firm, honest intentions—
Mrs Scholz.
Intentions, intentions! don’t talk to me! I know better! One can intend, and intend, and intend, hundreds of things, and nothing gets any further. No, no!—it’s quite another thing with your daughter. She is so—and William is so—and both are what they are.—Much too good a sort for one of us—much, much too good.—Oh, Lord, yes!—intentions!—Ah yes! all these good intentions—Your intentions are all very well, but whether they lead to anything—I doubt it!
Mrs Buchner.
But I hope it—all the more.