Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 6).djvu/69

 Fieldbo.

Well, then, in heaven's name, go in and win! It means your life's happiness! Oh, there's so much I could say to you

Stensgård.

Really? Has she said anything? Has she confided in Miss Bratsberg?

Fieldbo.

No; that's not what I mean. But how can you, in the midst of your happiness, go and fuddle yourself in these political orgies? How can town tattle take any hold upon a mind that is

Stensgård.

Why not? Man is a complex machine—I am, at any rate. Besides, my way to her lies through these very party turmoils.

Fieldbo.

A terribly prosaic way.

Stensgård.

Fieldbo, I am ambitious; you know I am. I must make my way in the world. When I remember that I'm thirty, and am still on the first round of the ladder, I feel my conscience gnawing at me.

Fieldbo.

Not with its wisdom teeth.

Stensgård.

It's of no use talking to you. You have never felt the spur of ambition. You have dawdled and drifted all your days—first at college, then abroad, now here.