BORKMAN.
You say you did not meet Frida as you came in?
FOLDAL.
No.
BORKMAN. At this moment, as we sit here, she is playing waltzes for the guests of the man who betrayed and ruined me.
FOLDAL.
I hadn't the least idea of that.
BORKMAN. Yes, she took her music, and went straight from me to—to the great house.
FOLDAL.
[Apologetically.] Well, you see, poor child——
BORKMAN.
And can you guess for whom she is playing—among the rest?
FOLDAL.
No.
BORKMAN.
For my son.
FOLDAL.
What?