Wangel (walks uneasily about the room). Oh, yes! And I have been since then, too. Why, I am so much, much older than she is. I ought to have been at once as a father to her and a guide. I ought to have done my best to develop and enlighten her mind. Unfortunately nothing ever came of that. You see, I hadn't stamina enough, for I preferred her just as she was. So things went worse and worse with her, and then I didn't know what to do. (In a lower voice.) That was why I wrote to you in my trouble, and asked you to come here.
Arnholm (looks at him in astonishment). What, was it for this you wrote?
Wangel. Yes; but don't let anyone notice anything.
Arnholm. How on earth, dear doctor—what good did you expect me to be? I don't understand it.
Wangel. No, naturally. For I was on an altogether false track. I thought Ellida's heart had at one time gone out to you, and that she still secretly cared for you a little—that perhaps it would do her good to see you again, and talk of her home and the old days.
Arnholm. So it was your wife you meant when you wrote that she expected me, and—and perhaps longed for me.
Wangel. Yes, who else?
Arnholm (hurriedly). No, no. You're right. But I didn't understand.
Wangel. Naturally, as I said, for I was on an absolutely wrong track.
Arnholm. And you call yourself selfish!