Borkman.
[Standing beside the writing-table with his left hand resting upon it, and his right thrust in the breast of his coat.] Come in! [Vilhelm Foldal comes softly into the room. He is a bent and worn man with mild blue eyes and long, thin grey hair straggling down over his coat collar. He has a portfolio under his arm, a soft felt hat, and large horn spectacles, which he pushes up over his forehead.
Borkman.
[Changes his attitude and looks at Foldal with a half disappointed, half pleased expression.] Oh, is it only you?
Foldal.
Good evening, John Gabriel. Yes, you see it is me.
Borkman.
[With a stern glance.] I must say you are rather a late visitor.
Foldal.
Well, you know, it's a good bit of a way, especially when you have to trudge it on foot.
Borkman.
But why do you always walk, Vilhelm? The tramway passes your door.
