Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 8).djvu/339

 Relling. To the grey-haired [Drinks.] By-the-bye, is his hair grey or white?

Hialmar. Something between the two, I fancy; for that matter, he has very few hairs left of any colour.

Relling. Well well, one can get through the world with a wig. After all, you are a happy man, Ekdal; you have your noble mission to labour for

Hialmar. And I do labour, I can tell you.

Relling. And then you have your excellent wife, shuffling quietly in and out in her felt slippers, with that see-saw walk of hers, and making everything cosy and comfortable about you.

Hialmar. Yes, Gina—[Nods to her]—you are a good helpmate on the path of life.

Gina. Oh, don't sit there cricketizing me

Relling. And your Hedvig too, Ekdal!

Hialmar. [Affected.] The child, yes! The child before everything! Hedvig, come here to me. [Strokes her hair.] What day is it to-morrow, eh?