Hjalmar. Yes, of course; you know he did. Where should I have got the means to learn photography, to set up a studio, and make a start? That costs money, you know.
Gregers. And father paid for all this?
Hjalmar. Yes, dear friend, didn’t you know? I understood him to say he had written to you about it.
Gregers. Not a word of what he had done. He must have forgotten it. We’ve only exchanged business letters with one another. So it was father?
Hjalmar. Yes, sure enough. He never wished people to know about it, but it was he. And it was he, too, who made it possible for me to get married. But perhaps you don’t know about that either?
Gregers. No, I certainly did not (shakes his arm). My dear, Hjalmar, I can’t tell you how happy all this makes me—and how it pains me. Perhaps, after all, I have wronged father—in certain things. For this shews he has a heart, you see. It shews a kind of conscience.
Hjalmar. Conscience!
Gregers. Yes, yes, or whatever you like to call it. No, I have no words to tell you how glad I am to hear this of father. And so you are married, Hjalmar. That’s more than I shall ever manage. Well, I hope you are happy in your marriage?
Hjalmar. Yes, I am indeed. She is as bright and brave a woman as man could desire. And she is not quite without education, either.
Gregers (slightly astonished). No, of course not.