Hedvig. [Involuntarily.] Oh no!
Gregers.
Yes, an amazingly clever dog; one that goes to the bottom after wild ducks when they dive and bite themselves fast in tangle and sea-weed, down among the ooze.
Hialmar.
Upon my word now, Gregers—I don't in the least know what you're driving at.
Gregers.
Oh well, you might not be much the wiser if you did. It's understood, then, that I move in early to-morrow morning. [To Gina.] I won't give you any trouble; I do everything for myself. [To Hialmar.] We can talk about the rest tomorrow.—Good-night, Mrs. Ekdal. [Nods to Hedvig.] Good-night.
Gina. Good-night, Mr. Werle.
Hedvig. Good-night.
Hialmar.
[Who has lighted a candle.] Wait a moment; I must show you a light; the stairs are sure to be dark. [Gregers and Hialmar go out by the passage door.
Gina.
[Looking straight before her, with her sewing in her lap.] Wasn't that queer-like talk about wanting to be a dog?
