George.—Is she fond of him?
Doctor.—And he of her also. Such poetical souls are always fond of each other.
George.—What do you mean by that?
Doctor (sharply).—And you—how do you take my words?
George (rises.)—Not another word. You understand me, and you must know that I do not always forgive.
Doctor (rises also, approaches George and looks into his eyes).—I believe you wish to frighten me. Besides this, what more do you wish?
George (after a moment of struggle with himself).—You must ask me what I did wish, because I do not now wish for anything. You have known her longer than I have, therefore I came to you as her friend and mine, and for answer you banter with me. In your eyes there shone hatred for me, although I have never wronged, you. Be the judge yourself! I would be more than right in asking you: What do you wish of me, if it were not for the reason (with pride) that it is immaterial to me. (He goes out.)
Doctor.—We shall see.
SCENE XIII.
Jozwowicz. Servant.