Relling.
Yes you are—or not far from it. You are a sick man, too, you see.
Gregers.
You are right there.
Relling.
Yes. Yours is a complicated case. First of all there is that plaguy integrity-fever; and then—what's worse—you are always in a delirium of hero-worship; you must always have something to adore, outside yourself.
Gregers.
Yes, I must certainly seek it outside myself.
Relling.
But you make such shocking mistakes about every new phœnix you think you have discovered. Here again you have come to a cotter's cabin with your claim of the ideal; and the people of the house are insolvent.
Gregers.
If you don't think better than that of Hialmar Ekdal, what pleasure can you find in being everlastingly with him?
Relling.
Well, you see, I'm supposed to be a sort of a doctor—save the mark! I can't but give a hand to the poor sick folk who live under the same roof with me.
Gregers.
Oh, indeed! Hialmar Ekdal is sick too, is he!
