Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Volume 9).djvu/365

 Boletta.

Oh, it is torture to think of it!

Arnholm.

Will you renounce all hope of seeing something of the outer world? Renounce your chance of taking part in all that you say you are thirsting for? Can you know that life has such infinite possibilities—and yet be content to realise no single one of them? Think well, Boletta.

Boletta.

Yes, yes—you are quite right, Mr. Arnholm.

Arnholm.

And then—when your father is no longer with you—you might find yourself helpless and alone in the world. Or you might have to give yourself to another man—whom you—possibly—might not be able to care for, any more than for me.

Boletta.

Oh yes,—I see quite well how true it is—all that you say. But still—!Or perhaps, after all

Arnholm.

[Quickly.] Well!

Boletta.

[Looks at him, undecided.] Perhaps it might not be utterly impossible after all

Arnholm.

What, Boletta?