FOLDAL.
I had practically no choice in the matter. And, you see, one
feels a need for companionship as one begins to get on in years.
And so crushed as I then was—so utterly broken down——
BORKMAN.
[Jumping up in anger.] Is this meant for me? A reproach——!
FOLDAL.
[Alarmed.] No, no, for Heaven's sake, John Gabriel——!
BORKMAN. Yes, you are thinking of the disaster to the bank, I can see you are.
FOLDAL.
[Soothingly.] But I don't blame you for that! Heaven forbid!
BORKMAN. [Growling, resumes his seat.] Well, that is a good thing, at any rate.
FOLDAL. Besides, you mustn't think it is my wife that I complain of. It is true she has not much polish, poor thing; but she is a good sort of woman all the same. No, it's the children.
BORKMAN.
I thought as much.
FOLDAL. For the children—well, they have more culture and therefore they expect more of life.
BORKMAN. [Looking at him sympathetically.] And so your children despise you, Vilhelm?