_At_ WERLE'S _house. In front a richly-upholstered study._ (R.) _A green baize door leading to_ WERLE'S _office. At back, open folding doors, revealing an elegant dining-room, in which a brilliant Norwegian dinner-party is going on. Hired Waiters in profusion. A glass is tapped with a knife. Shouts of "Bravo!" Old Mr._ WERLE _is heard making a long speech, proposing--according to the custom of Norwegian society on such occasions--the health of his House-keeper, Mrs._ SÖRBY. _Presently several short-sighted, flabby, and thin-haired_ CHAMBERLAINS _enter from the dining-room with_ HIALMAR EKDAL, _who writhes shyly under their remarks._ A CHAMBERLAIN. As we are the sole surviving specimens of Norwegian nobility, suppose we sustain our reputation as aristocratic sparklers by enlarging upon the enormous amount we have eaten, and chaffing Hialmar Ekdal, the friend of our host's son, for being a professional photographer? THE OTHER CHAMBERLAINS. Bravo! We will. [_They do; delight of_ HIALMAR. OLD WERLE _comes in, leaning on his Housekeeper's arm, followed by his son,_ GREGERS WERLE. OLD WERLE. [_Dejectedly._] Thirteen at table! [_To_ GREGERS, _with a meaning glance at_ HIALMAR.] This is the result of inviting an old college friend who has turned photographer! Wasting vintage wines on _him_, indeed. [_He passes on gloomily._ HIALMAR. [_To_ GREGERS.] I am almost sorry I came. Your old man is _not_ friendly. Yet he set me up as a photographer fifteen years ago. _Now_ he takes me down! But for him, I should never have married Gina, who, you may remember, was a servant in your family once. GREGERS. What? my old college friend married fifteen years ago--and to our Gina, of all people! If I had not been up at the works all these years, I suppose I should have heard something of such an event. But my father never mentioned it. Odd! [_He ponders_; OLD EKDAL _comes out through the green baize-door, bowing, and begging pardon, carrying copying work_. OLD WERLE _says "Ugh" and "Pah" involuntarily._ HIALMAR _shrinks back, and looks another way. A_ CHAMBERLAIN _asks him pleasantly if he knows that old man._ HIALMAR. I--oh no. Not in the least. No relation! GREGERS. [_Shocked._] What, Hialmar, you, with your great soul, deny your own father! HIALMAR. [_Vehemently._] Of course--what else _can_ a photographer do with a disreputable old parent, who has been in a penitentiary for making a fraudulent map? I shall leave this splendid banquet. The Chamberlains are not kind to me, and I feel the crushing hand of fate on my head! [_Goes out hastily, feeling it._ MRS. SÖRBY. [_Archly._] Any nobleman here say "Cold Punch"? [_Every nobleman says "Cold Punch" and follows her out in search of it with enthusiasm._ GREGERS _approaches his father, who wishes he would go_. GREGERS.