Ida.
No—what?
William.
Did you see how he met me? He—you see—he knows that I have to fly from myself, he knows me. Just ask him, he will make it clear to you, that is to say, he threatens to—Ah, I know better! Only just watch how he always looks at me. He means me to be anxious, to be frightened—Ha! ha! ha! No, my dear brother, we’re not so pitiful as all that yet! And now you do see, don’t you, Ida, that I daren’t let you—I mean, you mustn’t have any illusions about me. There is only one way. I must be frank with you—I must manage that somehow—I fight for that. When you know me through and through, then—I mean if you can bear with me, if you can still—love me—then—that would be—then I think something might arise in me, something brave, even proud—then I should really live, and if they were all to despise me—(Ida nestles against him devotedly.) And now, before I go up to father, I’ll tell you too—you know what I mean?
[Ida nods.
William.
Now you shall—I must force myself to tell you what this—between me and my father—yes, Ida, I will do it—(They walk arm in arm.) Just imagine! I was here on a visit.—No, I can’t begin like that, I must go farther back. You know before that I had been making my own way for a long time. I suppose I hadn’t told you that?
Ida.
No—But quietly, only not so much—Don’t excite yourself so, Willy!