Werle. For I did not know whether, from love for your dead mother’s memory——
Gregers. I am not overstrained.
Werle. Well, whatever you may or may not be, you have lifted a heavy weight from my heart. I am so exceedingly glad that I may count upon your approval in this matter.
Gregers (looking fixedly at him). Now I know you mean to use me.
Werle. Use you? What an expression!
Gregers. Ah, don’t let us be nice in our choice of words—not when we are alone, at any rate. (Laughs shortly.) So that’s it! So that was why—curse it!—— I must come to town in person. For the benefit of Mrs. Sorby, a scene of family life is to be arranged here. Tableau of father and son! That would be something new!
Werle. How dare you speak in that tone?
Gregers. When was there any family life here? Not as long as I can remember. But now a little of that sort of thing may come in useful. For it would look uncommonly well to have people talking of the son hurrying hither—on the wings of filial piety—to his old father’s wedding feast. What then becomes of all the rumors of the poor dead mother’s sorrows and suffering? Nothing! Her son hurls them to the earth.
Werle. Gregers, I don’t believe there is a man on earth you dislike as you do me.
Gregers (in a low voice). I have seen you too closely!