Arnholm. Of course, to keep my promise all the same. I will take care you get out into the world and see something of it. Learn some things you really want to know; live safe and independent. Your future I shall provide for also, Bolette. For in me you will always have a good, faithful, trustworthy friend. Be sure of that.
Bolette. Good heavens! Mr. Arnholm, all that is so utterly impossible now.
Arnholm. Is that impossible too?
Bolette. Surely you can see that! After what you have just said to me, and after my answer—Oh! you yourself must see that it is impossible for me now to accept so very much from you. I can accept nothing from you—nothing after this.
Arnholm. So you would rather stay at home here, and let life pass you by?
Bolette. Oh! it is such dreadful misery to think of that.
Arnholm. Will you renounce knowing something of the outer world? Renounce bearing your part in all that you yourself say you are hungering for? To know there is so infinitely much, and yet never really to understand anything of it? Think carefully, Bolette.
Bolette. Yes, yes! You are right, Mr. Arnholm.
Arnholm. And then, when one day your father is no longer here, then perhaps to be left helpless and alone in the world; or live to give yourself to another man—whom you, perhaps, will also feel no affection for—
Bolette. Oh, yes! I see how true all you say is. But still—and yet perhaps—