entirely. And then she is so variable—so incalculable—so subject to sudden changes.
Arnholm.
No doubt that is due to her morbid state of mind.
Wangel.
Not entirely. The germ of it all is innate in her. Ellida belongs to the sea-folk; that is the trouble.
Arnholm. What do you mean precisely, my dear Doctor?
Wangel.
Have you not noticed that the people who live out by the open sea are like a race apart? They seem almost to live the life of the sea itself. There is the surge of the sea—and its ebb and flow too—both in their thoughts and in their feelings. And they never bear transplantation. No, I should have thought of that before. It was a positive sin against Ellida to take her away from the sea and bring her in here!
Arnholm. Have you come to look at it in that light?
Wangel.
Yes, more and more; but I ought to have known it from the first. Oh, I did really know it then too, but I would not acknowledge it to myself. I loved her so much, you see! And consequently I thought first of myself. In fact, I was utterly and unpardonably selfish.
