Werle. How the devil, after so many years, can I remember?
Gregers. At that time you wrote me a letter—a business letter, of course—and in a postscript you briefly said that Hjalmar Ekdal had married a Miss Hansen.
Werle. Well, that was right enough—that was her name.
Gregers. But you did not write that the Miss Hansen was Gina Hansen, our former housekeeper.
Werle (laughs sarcastically but somewhat constrainedly). No, it really never occurred to me that you were so deeply interested in our former housekeeper.
Gregers. Nor was I. But (in a lower voice) there was another here in the house who was deeply interested in her.
Werle. What do you mean (angrily to him)? I suppose you are alluding to me?
Gregers (in a low but firm tone). Yes, I allude to you.
Werle. And you dare? You permit yourself to? How can he, that ungrateful wretch, the photographer? How dare he presume to make such insinuations?
Gregers. Hjalmar has not referred to all this by a single word. I don’t believe he so much as suspects anything of it.