Hjalmar. No. Life is an education, you see. Then the daily intercourse with me—and then there are some gifted men who often come to see us, I assure you. You wouldn’t know Gina again.
Gregers. Gina?
Hjalmar. Yes, dear friend. Didn’t you remember her name was Gina?
Gregers. Her name was Gina? Why, I know nothing——
Hjalmar. But don’t you remember she was in service here for a time?
Gregers (looking at him). Is it Gina Hansen?
Hjalmar. Yes, of course it’s Gina Hansen.
Gregers. Who looked after the house during the last year that mother lay ill?
Hjalmar. Certainly that is so. But, dear friend, I’m quite certain your father wrote you I had got married.
Gregers (who has risen). Yes, he certainly did, but not that—(walks up and down). Yet—wait a moment—perhaps he did—now I come to think of it. But father always writes me such short letters. (Half seating himself on the arm of the chair.) Now tell me, Hjalmar—for this is too delightful—how did you get to know Gina—to know your wife?