My dear Doctor,—what in the world—what good did you suppose I could do? I don’t understand.
Wangel.
No, of course you do not; I had got upon a wrong scent. I fancied that Ellida had once cared for you, and that she still had a secret leaning in your direction. So I thought it might perhaps do her good to see you again, and have a talk with you about home and old times.
Arnholm.
Then it was your wife you meant when you wrote that some one here was waiting and—and perhaps longing for me!
Wangel.
Yes; who else?
Arnholm.
[Quickly.] Of course, of course.—But I did not understand you.
Wangel.