Gina. But, dear good Ekdal, I didn’t mean it in that way.
Hedvig. Father, shall I bring in a bottle of beer?
Hjalmar. No, nothing at all. I want nothing for myself. (Standing still.) Beer?—was it beer you said?
Hedvig (brightly). Yes, father; lovely, fresh beer.
Hjalmar. Well, if you will insist, you may as well bring in a bottle.
Gina. Yes, do, and then we’ll make ourselves comfortable.
Hedvig runs towards the kitchen door.
Hjalmar (by the stove; stops her, looks at her, takes her head, and presses her to him). Hedvig! Hedvig!
Hedvig (gladly, with tears in her eyes). Ah! Dear father!
Hjalmar. No, do not call me that! There have I been sitting at the rich man’s table and taking thought for myself—there have I sat and reveled at the groaning board. And yet I could not——