Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 9).djvu/284

 BOLETTA.

But there's really not a word of truth in it, you know—not for us who live here constantly. What is it to us that the great outside world passes our doors on its way to the midnight sun? We cannot join in the stream. There is no midnight sun for us. Oh no; we must be content to linger our lives out, here in our carp-pond.

ARNHOLM.

[Seats himself besides her.] Tell me now, dear Boletta—I wonder if there is not something or other,—some particular thing I mean—that you are all the time longing for, here at home?

BOLETTA. Well, perhaps there may be.

ARNHOLM. Then what is it? What are you longing for?

BOLETTA. Chiefly to get away.

ARNHOLM. That before everything?

BOLETTA.

Yes. And next to learn a little more; to gain some real insight into things in general.

ARNHOLM.

When I used to read with you, your father often said that he would let you go to college.