Hjalmar. Yes, then—then you will see!—Hedvig, I have determined to make your future secure. All shall be well with you as long as you live. I will ask something for you—and nothing else. That shall be the poor inventor’s sole reward.
Hedvig (whispering, with her arms about his neck). Oh! you dear, dear father!
Relling (to Gregers). Well, now, don’t you think it very pleasant, just for a change, to sit at a well-spread table in the midst of a happy family circle?
Hjalmar. Yes, I deeply prize these hours spent at table.
Gregers. I, for my part, do not thrive in the air of a swamp.
Relling. Air of a swamp?
Hjalmar. Oh! now don’t begin with that stuff again!
Gina. Goodness knows there’s no foul air here, Mr. Werle, for I air the place every day.
Gregers (rising from the table). The stench I mean, no amount of your airing would get rid of.
Hjalmar. Stench!