Ellida. Well?
Arnholm. Would your answer to my letter have been different?
Ellida. How can I tell? When Wangel came the answer was different.
Arnholm. What is your object, then, in telling me that you were bound?
Ellida (getting up, as if in fear and unrest). Because I must have someone in whom to confide. No, no; sit still.
Arnholm. Then your husband knows nothing about this?
Ellida. I confessed to him from the first that my thoughts had once been elsewhere. He never asked to know more, and we have never touched upon it since. Besides, at bottom it was simply madness. And then it was over directly—that is to a certain extent.
Arnholm (rising). Only to a certain extent? Not quite?
Ellida. Yes, yes, it is! Oh, good heavens! Dear Arnholm, it is not what you think. It is something so absolutely incomprehensible, I don't know how I could tell it you. You would only think I was ill, or quite mad.
Arnholm. My dearest lady! Now you really must tell me all about it.