nd 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.

FOLDAL.
It's better for you to walk--and then you always save twopence.
Well, has Frida been playing to you lately?

BORKMAN.
She has just this moment gone. Did you not meet her outside?

FOLDAL.
No, I have seen nothing of her for a long time; not since she
went to live with this Mrs. Wilton.

BORKMAN.
[Seating himself on the sofa and waving his hand toward a chair.]
You may sit down, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL.
[Seating himself on the edge of a chair.] Many thanks. [Looks
mournfully at him.] You can't think how lonely I feel since Frida
left home.

BORKMAN.
Oh, come--you have plenty left.

FOLDAL.
Yes, God knows I have--five of them. But Frida was the only one
who at all understood me. [Shaking his head sadly.] The others
don't understand me a bit.

BORKMAN.
[Gloomily, gazing straight before him, and drumming on the
table with his fingers.] No, that's just it. That is the curse
we exceptional, chosen people have to bear. The common herd--
the average man and woman--they do not understand us, Vilhelm.

FOLDAL.
[With resignation.] If it were only the lack of understanding--
with a little patience, one could manage to wait for that awhile
yet. [His voice choked with tears.] But there is something
still bitterer.

BORKMAN.
[Vehemently.] There is nothing bitterer than that.

FOLDAL.
Yes, there is, John Gabriel. I have gone through a domestic
scene to-night--just before I started.

BORKMAN.
Indeed? What about?

FOLDAL.
[With an outburst.] My people at home--they despise me.

BORKMAN.
[Indignantly.] Despise----?

FOLDAL.
[Wiping his eyes.] I have long known it; but to-day it came
out unmistakably.

BORKMAN.
[After a short silence.] You made an unwise choice, I fear,
when you married.

FOLDAL.