Hedda (suppressing an almost imperceptible smile). Well, dear GEORGE, you gave me a tolerably strong hint.
George. Me? Well, to be sure—that is a joke! Why, I only said that I envied him for writing such a book, and it would put me entirely in the shade if it came out, and if anything was to happen to it, I should never forgive myself, as poor LÖVBORG couldn't write it all over again, and so we must take the greatest care of it! And then I left it on a chair and went away—that was all! And you went and burnt the book all up! Bless me, who would have expected it?
Hedda. Nobody, you dear simple old soul! But I did it for your sake—it was love, GEORGE!
George (in an outburst between doubt and joy). HEDDA, you don't mean that! Your love takes such queer forms sometimes, Yes, but yes—(laughing in excess of joy), why, you must be fond of me! Just think of that now! Well, you are fun, HEDDA! Look here, I must just run and tell the housemaid that—she will enjoy the joke so, eh?
Hedda (coldly, in self-command). It is surely not necessary, even for a clever Norwegian man of letters in a realistic social drama, to make quite such a fool of himself as all that?
George. No, that's true too. Perhaps we'd better keep it quiet—though I must tell Aunt JULIE—it will make her so happy to hear that you burnt a manuscript on my account! And, besides, I should like to ask her whether that's a usual thing with young wives. (Looks uneasy and pensive again.) But poor old EJLERT'S manuscript! Oh Lor, you know! Well, well! [Mrs. ELVSTED comes in.
Mrs. E. Oh, please, I'm so uneasy about dear Mr. LÖVBORG. Something has happened to him, I'm sure!
Judge Brack (comes in from the hall, with a new hat in his hand). You have guessed it, first time. Something has!
Mrs. E. Oh, dear, good gracious! What is it? Something distressing, I'm certain of it! [d.
Brack (pleasantly). That depends on how one takes it. He has shot himself, and is in a hospital now, that's all!