Ellida. You are right there. So he is.
Arnholm. Well, but how did it happen? How did it come about?
Ellida. Ah! dear Arnholm, you mustn't ask me about that. I couldn't explain it to you, and even if I could, you would never be able to understand, in the least.
Arnholm. Hm! (In lower tone.) Have you ever confided anything about me to your husband? Of course, I meant about the useless step—I allowed myself to be moved to.
Ellida. No. You may be sure of that. I've not said a word to him about—about what you speak of.
Arnholm. I am glad. I felt rather awkward at the thought that—
Ellida. There was no need. I have only told him what is true—that I liked you very much, and that you were the truest and best friend I had out there.
Arnholm. Thanks for that. But tell me—why did you never write to me after I had gone away?
Ellida. I thought that perhaps it would pain you to hear from one who—who could not respond as you desired. It seemed like re-opening a painful subject.
Arnholm. Hm. Yes, yes, perhaps you were right.