Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/236



Oh mother—do spare me these phrases! I wasn't born to be a "missionary."—Good-night, aunt dear! Good-night, mother!

[He goes hastily out through the hall.

[After a short silence.] It has not taken you long to recapture him, Ella, after all.

I wish I could believe it.

But you shall see you won't be allowed to keep him long.

Allowed? By you, do you mean?

By me or—by her, the other one

Then rather she than you.

[Nodding slowly.] That I understand. I say the same. Rather she than you.

Whatever should become of him in the end?