ERHART. [Insistently.] Yes, mother, he is dead to Fanny. And besides, this other makes no difference to me!
MRS. BORKMAN.
[Looking sternly at him.] So you know all this—about the other.
ERHART.
Yes, mother, I know quite well—all about it!
MRS. BORKMAN.
And yet you can say that it makes no difference to you?
ERHART. [With defiant petulance.] I can only tell you that it is happiness I must have! I am young! I want to live, live, live!
MRS. BORKMAN.
Yes, you are young, Erhart. Too young for this.
MRS. WILTON. [Firmly and earnestly.] You must not think, Mrs. Borkman, that I haven't said the same to him. I have laid my whole life before him. Again and again I have reminded him that I am seven years older than he——
ERHART.
[Interrupting.] Oh, nonsense, Fanny—I knew that all the time.
MRS. WILTON.
But nothing—nothing was of any use.
MRS. BORKMAN. Indeed? Nothing? Then why did you not dismiss him without more ado? Close your door to him? You should have done that, and done it in time!