Gregers. Besides, if I am to go on living, I must try to find some cure for my sick conscience.
Werle. It will never be sound. Your conscience has been sickly from childhood. That is a legacy from your mother, Gregers—the only one she left you.
Gregers. [With a scornful half-smile.] Have you not yet forgiven her for the mistake you made in supposing she would bring you a fortune?
Werle. Don't let us wander from the point.—Then you hold to your purpose of setting young Ekdal upon what you imagine to be the right scent?
Gregers. Yes, that is my fixed resolve.
Werle. Well, in that case I might have spared myself this visit; for of course it is useless to ask whether you will return home with me?
Gregers. Quite useless.
Werle. And I suppose you won't enter the firm either?
Gregers. No.
