Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 10).djvu/135

 Lövborg.

Yes, Hedda, and when I made my confessions to you—told you about myself, things that at that time no one else knew! There I would sit and tell you of my escapades—my days and nights of devilment. Oh, Hedda—what was the power in you that forced me to confess these things?

Hedda.

Do you think it was any power in me?

Lövborg.

How else can I explain it? And all those—those roundabout questions you used to put to me

Hedda.

Which you understood so particularly well

Lövborg.

How could you sit and question me like that? Question me quite frankly

Hedda.

In roundabout terms, please observe.

Lövborg.

Yes, but frankly nevertheless. Cross-question me about—all that sort of thing?

Hedda.

And how could you answer, Mr. Lövborg?

Lövborg.

Yes, that is just what I can't understand—in looking back upon it. But tell me now, Hedda—was there not love at the bottom of our friend