Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/230



I mean I am glad you made up your mind to it at last.

[On the sofa, coldly.] Are you ill, Ella?

[Looking hardly at her.] You know quite well that I am ill.

I knew you were not strong, and hadn't been for years.

I told you before I left you that you ought to consult a doctor.

There is no one in my neighbourhood that I have any real confidence in. And, besides, I did not feel it so much at that time.

Are you worse, then, Aunt?

Yes, my dear boy; I am worse now.

But there's nothing dangerous?

Oh, that depends how you look at it.