Bernick.
Put all those old stories out of your head, I say! You don’t know how you torture me by raking them up again. [He walks up and down the room; then he throws his stick away from him.] To think of their coming home just at this time, when so much depends on unmixed good-feeling, both in the press and in the town! There will be paragraphs in the papers all over the country-side. Whether I receive them well or ill, my action will be discussed, my motives turned inside out. People will rip up all those old stories—just as you do. In a society like ours——[Tosses down his gloves upon the table.] And there isn’t a soul here that I can confide in, or that can give me any support.
Mrs. Bernick.
No one at all, Karsten?
Bernick.
No; you know there is not.—That they should descend upon me just at this moment! They are certain to make a scandal in one way or another—especially she. It is nothing less than a calamity to have such people in one’s family.
Mrs. Bernick.
Well, it’s not my fault that——
Bernick.
What is not your fault? That you are related to them? No; that’s true enough.