Ellida.
[Rises, as if in distress and agitation.] Because I must have some one I can speak to about it. No, no, don't rise.
Arnholm.
Your husband, then, knows nothing of the matter?
Ellida.
I told him from the first that my thoughts had once been drawn elsewhere. He has never wanted to know more. We have never touched upon the subject since. After all, it was nothing but a piece of madness; and then it all came to an end so quickly. At least,—in a way.
Arnholm.
[Rising.] Only in a way? Not entirely?
Ellida.
Oh yes, of course! My dear good Arnholm, it is not at all as you suppose. It's something quite incomprehensible. I don't think I could find words to tell you of it. You would only think I was ill—or else that I was stark mad.
Arnholm.
My dear Mrs. Wangel—now you must and shall tell me the whole story.
Ellida.
Well then—I suppose I must try. How should you, with your common sense, ever be able to understand that [Looks out and breaks off.] Wait—another time—here is some one coming.
