Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 10).djvu/185

 Lövborg.

Yes. I have not torn it to pieces—nor thrown it into the fiord.

Hedda.

No, no. But—where is it then?

Lövborg.

I have destroyed it none the less—utterly destroyed it, Hedda!

Hedda. I don't understand.

Lövborg.

Thea said that what I had done seemed to her like a child-murder.

Hedda. Yes, so she said.

Lövborg.

But to kill his child—that is not the worst thing a father can do to it.

Hedda. Not the worst?

Lövborg.

No. I wanted to spare Thea from hearing the worst.

Hedda.

Then what is the worst?

Lövborg.

Suppose now, Hedda, that a man—in the small hours of the morning—came home to his child's mother after a night of riot and debauchery, and