Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 11).djvu/98



Why, you can reckon it out for yourself—you that are so clever. In eight-and-twenty hours—nine-and-twenty hoursLet me see! Let me see!

[Shrieking and stopping her ears.] Alfred!

[Clenching his hand firmly upon the table.] Can you conceive the meaning of a thing like this?

[Looks at him.] Of what?

Of this that has been done to Rita and me.

The meaning of it?

[Impatiently.] Yes, the meaning, I say. For, after all, there must be a meaning in it. Life, existence—destiny, cannot be so utterly meaningless.

Oh, who can say anything with certainty about these things, my dear Alfred?

[Laughs bitterly.] No, no; I believe you are right there. Perhaps the whole thing goes sim