Gregers. Hedvig! Do you mean Hedvig? How could she blot it out for you?
Hjalmar (without answering). I have loved that child beyond all words. I was happy beyond all words whenever I returned to my poor home, and she with her sweet little short-sighted eyes flew to meet me. Confiding fool that I was! I cared for her beyond all words, and, poet-like, I lulled myself in the delusion that she also cared for me beyond all words.
Gregers. And you say that was only a delusion?
Hjalmar. How can I tell? I can’t get anything out of Gina. And besides, she lacks all sense of the ideal side of these complications. But I feel impelled to open my heart to you, Gregers. There is that terrible doubt—perhaps Hedvig has never really and truly loved me.
Gregers. You may yet have proof of that. (Listening.) What is that? The wild duck screaming?
Hjalmar. The wild duck’s quacking. Father’s in the loft.
Gregers. It is he! (His eyes brighten with pleasure.) I say again you may yet have proof that poor, misunderstood Hedvig loves you!
Hjalmar. Ah! what proof can she give me! I dare not believe in any protestations from that quarter.
Gregers. Hedvig certainly does not know what deceit is.
Hjalmar. Ah! Gregers, that’s just what is not so certain. Who knows what Gina and that Mrs. Sorby may have sat many a time here whispering and tattling about? And Hedvig keeps her ears open, I can tell you. Perhaps, the deed of gift wasn’t so unexpected after all. I fancy I noticed something of the sort.