Wangel. And now I live here so happily with her who has taken her place. Ah! On the whole, fate has been very good to me.
Arnholm. You have no children by your second marriage? Wangel. We had a little boy, two—two and a half years ago. But he didn't stay long. He died when he was four—five months old.
Arnholm. Isn't your wife at home today?
Wangel. Oh, yes. She's sure to be here soon. She's down there bathing. She does so every blessed day no matter what the weather.
Arnholm. Is she ill, then?
Wangel. Not exactly ill, although she has been extremely nervous for the last few years—that is to say, she is now and then. I can't make out what really ails her. But to plunge into the sea is her joy and delight.
Arnholm. Yes; I remember that of old.
Wangel (with an almost imperceptible smile). To be sure! You knew Ellida when you were teacher out there at Skjoldviken.
Arnholm. Certainly. She used often to visit at the Parsonage. But I mostly met her when I went to the lighthouse to see her father.
Wangel. Those times out there, you may believe me, have set deep marks upon her. The people in the town here can't understand her at all. They call her the "Lady from the Sea."