perhaps do her good to see you again, and have a talk with you about home and old times.
Arnholm.
Then it was your wife you meant when you wrote that some one here was waiting and—and perhaps longing for me!
Wangel. Yes; who else?
Arnholm.
[Quickly.] Of course, of course.—But I did not understand you.
Wangel.
Naturally not, as I said before. I was on an entirely wrong scent.
Arnholm. And you call yourself selfish!
Wangel.
Oh, I had such a great error to atone for. I felt I had no right to reject any expedient that could possibly ease her mind a little.
Arnholm.
What do you take to be the real explanation of the power this stranger exercises over her?
Wangel.
H'm, my dear friend—there may be sides to that question that don't admit of explanation.
Arnholm.
Something inexplicable in itself, do you mean? Entirely inexplicable?
