No, his lunch will be taken in to him later. Come along! [_The men seat themselves at table, and eat and drink._ GINA _and_ HEDVIG _go in and out and wait upon them._ RELLING. Molvik was frightfully screwed yesterday, Mrs. Ekdal. GINA. Really? Yesterday again? RELLING. Didn’t you hear him when I brought him home last night? GINA. No, I can’t say I did. RELLING. That was a good thing, for Molvik was disgusting last night. GINA. Is that true, Molvik? MOLVIK. Let us draw a veil over last night’s proceedings. That sort of thing is totally foreign to my better self. RELLING. [_To_ GREGERS.] It comes over him like a sort of possession, and then I have to go out on the loose with him. Mr. Molvik is dæmonic, you see. GREGERS. Dæmonic? RELLING. Molvik is dæmonic, yes. GREGERS. H'm. RELLING. And dæmonic natures are not made to walk straight through the world; they must meander a little now and then.—Well, so you still stick up there at those horrible grimy works? GREGERS. I have stuck there until now. RELLING. And did you ever manage to collect that claim you went about presenting? GREGERS. Claim? [_Understands him._] Ah, I see. HIALMAR. Have you been presenting claims, Gregers? GREGERS. Oh, nonsense. RELLING. Faith, but he has, though! He went round to all the cottars' cabins presenting something he called “the claim of the ideal.” GREGERS. I was young then. RELLING. You’re right; you were very young. And as for the claim of the ideal—you never got it honoured while _I_ was up there. GREGERS. Nor since either. RELLING. Ah, then you’ve learnt to knock a little discount off, I expect. GREGERS. Never, when I have a true man to deal with. HIALMAR. No, I should think not, indeed. A little butter, Gina. RELLING. And a slice of bacon for Molvik. MOLVIK. Ugh! not bacon! _A knock at the garret door._ HIALMAR. Open the door, Hedvig; father wants to come out. [HEDVIG _goes over and opens the door a little way;_ EKDAL _enters with a fresh rabbit-skin; she closes the door after him._