John Gabriel Borkman

by Henrik Ibsen

ERHART. Thanks, Aunt. [Bowing to BORKMAN.] Good-bye, father. [Whispers to MRS. WILTON.] Let us get away, the sooner the better.

MRS. WILTON.
[In a low voice.] Yes, let us.

MRS. BORKMAN. [With a malignant smile.] Mrs. Wilton, do you think you are acting quite wisely in taking that girl with you?

MRS. WILTON. [Returning the smile, half ironically, half seriously.] Men are so unstable, Mrs. Borkman. And women too. When Erhart is done with me—and I with him—then it will be well for us both that he, poor fellow, should have some one to fall back upon.

MRS. BORKMAN.
But you yourself?

MRS. WILTON.
Oh, I shall know what to do, I assure you. Good-bye to you all!

[She bows and goes out by the hall door. ERHART stands for a
moment as though wavering; then he turns and follows her.

MRS. BORKMAN.
[Dropping her folded hands.] Childless.

BORKMAN.
[As though awakening to a resolution.] Then out into the storm
alone! My hat! My cloak!
[He goes hastily towards the door.

ELLA RENTHEIM.
[In terror, stopping him.] John Gabriel, where are you going?