MRS. SÖRBY. Why, to the sweet vintages, gentlemen. [_She sips a glass of punch. The gentlemen laugh and flirt with her._ WERLE. Mrs. Sörby can always find a loop-hole—when she wants to. Fill your glasses, gentlemen! Pettersen, will you see to it——! Gregers, suppose we have a glass together. [GREGERS _does not move._] Won’t you join us, Ekdal? I found no opportunity of drinking with you at table. [GRÅBERG, _the Bookkeeper, looks in at the baize door._ GRÅBERG. Excuse me, sir, but I can’t get out. WERLE. Have you been locked in again? GRÅBERG. Yes, and Flakstad has carried off the keys. WERLE. Well, you can pass out this way. GRÅBERG. But there’s some one else—— WERLE. All right; come through, both of you. Don’t be afraid. [GRÅBERG _and_ OLD EKDAL _come out of the office._ WERLE. [_Involuntarily._] Ugh! [_The laughter and talk among the Guests cease._ HIALMAR _starts at the sight of his father, puts down his glass, and turns towards the fireplace._ EKDAL. [_Does not look up, but makes little bows to both sides as he passes, murmuring._] Beg pardon, come the wrong way. Door locked—door locked. Beg pardon. [_He and_ GRÅBERG _go out by the back, to the right._ WERLE. [_Between his teeth._] That idiot Gråberg! GREGERS. [_Open-mouthed and staring, to HIALMAR._] Why surely that wasn’t——! THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN. What’s the matter? Who was it? GREGERS. Oh, nobody, only the bookkeeper and some one with him. THE SHORT-SIGHTED GENTLEMAN. [_To HIALMAR._] Did _you_ know that man? HIALMAR. I don’t know—I didn’t notice—— THE FLABBY GENTLEMAN. What the deuce has come over every one? [_He joins another group who are talking softly._ MRS. SÖRBY. [_Whispers to the Servant._] Give him something to take with him;—something good, mind. PETTERSEN. [_Nods._] I'll see to it. _Goes out._ GREGERS. [_Softly and with emotion, to HIALMAR._] So that was really he! HIALMAR. Yes. GREGERS. And you could stand there and deny that you knew him! HIALMAR. [_Whispers vehemently._] But how _could_ I——! GREGERS. ——acknowledge your own father? HIALMAR.