Gina. Well, it wasn’t me that got grandfather the writing. Why it was Bertha when she went to the house.
Hjalmar. Your voice seems to me to be trembling.
Gina (putting the shade over the lamp). Does it?
Hjalmar. And your hands are shaking. Aren’t they?
Gina (firmly). Speak straight out, Ekdal. What is it he’s gone and said about me?
Hjalmar. Is it true—can it be true that—that there was a kind of relation between you and Mr. Werle, while you were in service at his house?
Gina. That is not true. Not at that time, no. Mr. Werle was after me, certainly. And the wife fancied there was something in it, and then she made such a hocus-pocus and hurly-burly, and she knocked me about and drove me about so—that she did—and so I left her service.
Hjalmar.—Afterward then!
Gina. Yes. Then I went home. And mother—she wasn’t as good as you thought, Ekdal; and she kept on at me about one thing and another—for Mr. Werle was a widower then.
Hjalmar. Well, and then!